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Re-writing the story of Brazil’s slums of despair

Someone once said that cities, like books, can be read. Slums in Brazil provide the most thrilling manuscripts one can study. With over 6,300 of them spread throughout the country, these makeshift towns are home to more than 12 million people who have fallen out of the housing system and are forced to creatively fend for themselves as best as they can. Known as ‘favelas’ they typically come into being when squatters occupy vacant land at the edge of a city and construct their homes with salvaged materials. Once they are settled in a particular location, they need to learn the ropes of living in densely populated communities with limited resources.

One should be cautious not to generalise slums as homogenous territorial entities with the same traits and trends. Each one of them have their own unique characteristics. Their elders hold the memory of the first land occupations. Their topography influences their social relations and informal economy. Their demographic composition evolves through different migration flows. Their ecological environments display a multitude of stresses. Their lack of infrastructure informs their health conditions and well being.

According to UN-Habitat there are two broad categorisations of slums: slums of hope identified as ‘progressing’ settlements and slums of despair or declining neighbourhoods undergoing a process of degeneration. I have recently been invited to join efforts in a project-based learning (PBL) initiative, supporting citizens of Vila Betânia- a favela in the Brazilian city of Belo Horizonte- to shift from a declining neighbourhood towards a progressive, regenerative and hopeful settlement.

PBL is described as a methodology focusing on stakeholders working together over a significant amount of time to develop the capacities to address often complex situations and authentic problems while developing critical, creative and practical skills. This is a truly emancipatory effort in which through close interaction the stresses and boundaries of the teacher-student relationship cease to exist.

The Vila Betânia syllabus was developed within the UNESCO Education for Sustainable Development (ESD) framework, enabling the residents to develop their skills within three dimensions of sustainability: environment, society and economy. The interactive curriculum was informed by best practice theories and methods developed by networks within the fair trade, eco-communities and agro-ecology movements.

In the social design workshops, an intergenerational group practiced empathic communication, considered different decision making techniques, acquired tools for facilitating conflict resolution and recognised the importance of nurturing local traditions. When it came to the environment, they discussed how to transform the human impact on food, land, biodiversity and water systems.

With a series of garbage waterfalls cascading down their slopes of their hillside favela towards a train line, the great design challenge was how to anchor the concept of regenerative urban development in the midst of such a dystopian territory. Through back-casting - a planning method that starts with defining a desirable future and then works backwards to identify policies and resources to achieve it- and a series of scenario planning sessions, the collective dream of Vila Betânia becoming zero-waste and low carbon-emitting was brought to the fore. For them it is clear they want to eliminate the concept of waste while promoting viable livelihoods and distributing prosperity fairly within and between generations.

There are 1001 ways to read the Vila Betânia story. Reading from outside one may identify several areas of criminality and drug activity that some residents seek to avoid. Reading from inside you experience the yearning of the residents to heal the self-inflicted wounds on the natural systems which sustain their life styles. Reading from outside you may consider Betânia as a poor neighbourhood, a place of social unrest isolated from the values and opportunities of mainstream Belo Horizonte. But looking from the inside you also sense the bond of solidarity, fundamental in any form of communal life, however socially detached and unregulated it may appear.

Brazil is undergoing a seismic shift where old forms of intolerance are being rekindled and multi stakeholder dialogue is not seen as a priority. This is not the case of Betânia. Here, a group of residents from different ages, faiths and ethnic backgrounds has created a regenerative design task force to breathe new life into their community. Their collective dream speaks of clean alleyways, colourful houses, protected woodlands and unpolluted water sources. They are committed to take action on their behalf by adopting a regenerative place-centered approach, eschewing the trend of ‘one size fits all’ urban master plans that are rolled out around a city with minimal regard to the bio-cultural uniqueness of place.

For so long, favelas have been a byword for gang violence, drug dealing and deprivation. The people of Vila Betânia are rewriting their timeworn story. In place of despair, the next chapter will be headlined ‘hope.’