12 June, 2025 In our turning points series, design studios share some of the key moments that shaped their business. This week, we meet Accept & Proceed. Accept & Proceed is a London based brand and design studio that works with clients like NASA, Nike and LEGO. Founder David Johnston talks us through some of the decisions that defined his business. In 2006, Johnston took the leap to start his own business, armed with a good name and a willingness to bend the truth about his team… I’d gone through my career learning from big organisations, and one small organisation, and I felt like I wasn’t happy where I was. It was my dad who encouraged me to take a leap of faith and try and go it alone. With nothing more than a month’s wages in the bank and a lot of energy, I decided to go and set up an agency. That really just means giving yourself a name and starting to promote yourself in the world. Accept & Proceed founder David Johnston I think the name itself is a very important thing. I wanted something that was memorable but also layered in meaning. A name that starts with an “a” is very beneficial when you’re being listed in the index of books and things like that. But it became a bit of a compass for the way that we wanted to create work, around accepting the status quo for what it is, but with a continual commitment to proceed nonetheless. Because I didn’t have anyone to work with, in those early months I just made up email addresses of people that didn’t exist. That allowed me to cost projects up for multiple people. That’s obviously a degree of hustle I wouldn’t encourage in everyone, but it meant I was able to charge multiple day rates for projects where I was playing the role of four or five people. Self-initiated projects have long been part of the studio’s DNA and played a key role in building key client relationships. A&P by… was a brief to explore these letterforms without any commercial intent apart from the joy of creative expression. I started reaching out to illustrators and artists and photographers and designers that I really rated, and the things that started coming back were incredible. I was overwhelmed by the amount of energy and passion that people like Mr Bingo and Jason Evans were bringing to this. I think in so many ways, the answer to everything is community. I’ve gone on to work with a lot of the people that created these, and they also became friends. It was an early example of dissolving these illusionary boundaries around what an agency might be, but also expanding and amplifying your potential. The first of Accept & Proceed’s Light Calendars Then in 2006, I was trying to establish our portfolio and I wanted something to send out into the world that would also be an example of how Accept & Proceed thinks about design. I landed on these data visualisations that show the amount of light and darkness that would happen in London in the year ahead. I worked with a freelance designer called Stephen Heath on the first one – he is now our creative director. This kickstarted a 10-year exploration, and they became a rite of passage for new designers that came into the studio, to take that very similar data and express it in completely new ways. It culminated in an exhibition in London in 2016, showing ten years’ of prints. They were a labour of love, but they also meant that every single year we had a number of prints that we could send out to new potential contacts. Still when I go to the global headquarters of Nike in Beaverton in Portland, I’m amazed at how many of these sit in leaders’ offices there. When we first got a finance director, they couldn’t believe how much we’d invested as a business in things like this – we even had our own gallery for a while. It doesn’t make sense from a purely numbers mindset, but if you put things out there for authentic reasons, there are ripple effects over time. In 2017, the studio became a B-corp, the fourth creative agency in the UK to get this accreditation. Around 2016, I couldn’t help but look around – as we probably all have at varying points over the last 10 years – and wondered, what the fuck is going on? All these systems are not fit for purpose for the future – financial systems, food systems, relationship systems, energy systems. They’re not working. And I was like shit, are we part of the problem? Accept & Proceed’s work for the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory I’ve always thought of brand as a piece of technology that can fundamentally change our actions and the world around us. That comes with a huge responsibility. We probably paid four months’ wages of two people full-time just to get accredited, so it’s quite a high bar. But I like that the programme shackles you to this idea of improvement. You can’t rest on your laurels if you want to be re-accredited. It’s like the way design works as an iterative process – you have to keep getting better. In 2019, Johnston and his team started thinking seriously about the studio’s own brand, and created a punchy, nuanced new positioning. We got to a point where we’d proven we could help brands achieve their commercial aims. But we wanted to hold a position ourselves, not just be a conduit between a brand and its audience. It still amazes me that so few agencies actually stand for anything. We realised that all the things – vision, mission, principles – that we’ve been creating for brands for years, we hadn’t done for ourselves. It’s a bit like when you see a hairdresser with a really dodgy haircut. But it’s hard to cut your own hair. So we went through that process, which was really difficult, and we landed on “Design for the future” as our promise to the world. And if you’re going to have that as a promise, you better be able to describe the world you’re creating through your work, which we call “the together world.” Accept & Proceed’s work for Second Sea We stand at this most incredible moment in history where the latest technology and science is catching up with ancient wisdom, to know that we must become more entangled, more together, more whole. And we’ve assessed five global shifts that are happening in order to be able to take us towards a more together world through our work – interbeing, reciprocity, healing, resilience and liberation. The year before last, we lost three global rebrand projects based on our positioning. Every one of them said to me, “You’re right but we’re not ready.” But this year, I think the product market fit of what we’ve been saying for the last five years is really starting to mesh. We’re working with Arc’teryx on their 2030 landscape, evolving Nike’s move to zero, and working with LEGO on what their next 100 years might look like, which is mind-boggling work. I don’t think we could have won any of those opportunities had we not been talking for quite a long time about design for the future. In 2023, Johnston started a sunrise gathering on Hackney Marshes, which became a very significant part of his life. I had the flu and I had a vision in my dreamy fluey state of a particular spot on Hackney Marshes where people were gathering and watching the sunrise. I happened to tell my friend, the poet Thomas Sharp this, and he said, “That’s a premonition. You have to make it happen.” The first year there were five of us – this year there were 300 people for the spring equinox in March. I don’t fully know what these gatherings will lead to. Will Accept & Proceed start to introduce the seasons to the way we operate as a business? It’s a thought I’ve had percolating, but I don’t know. Will it be something else? One of the 2024 sunrise gatherings organised by Accept & Proceed founder David Johnston I do know that there’s major learnings around authentic community building for brands. We should do away with these buckets we put people into, of age group and location. They aren’t very true. It’s fascinating to see the breadth of people who come to these gatherings. Me and Laura were thinking at some point of moving out of London, but I think these sunrise gatherings are now my reason to stay. It’s the thing I didn’t know I needed until I had it. They have made London complete for me. There’s something so ancient about watching our star rise, and the reminder that we are actually just animals crawling upon the surface of a planet of mud. That’s what’s real. But it can be hard to remember that when you’re sitting at your computer in the studio. These gatherings help me better understand creativity’s true potential, for brands, for the world, and for us. Design disciplines in this article Brands in this article What to read next Features Turning Points: Cultural branding agency EDIT Brand Identity 20 Nov, 2024

Barricades, as we know them today, are thought to date back to the European wars of religion. According to most historians, the first barricade went up in Paris in 1588; the word derives from the French barriques, or barrels, spontaneously put together. They have been assembled from the most diverse materials, from cobblestones, tyres, newspapers, dead horses and bags of ice (during Kyiv’s Euromaidan in 2013–14), to omnibuses and e‑scooters. Their tactical logic is close to that of guerrilla warfare: the authorities have to take the barricades in order to claim victory; all that those manning them have to do to prevail is to hold them.  The 19th century was the golden age for blocking narrow, labyrinthine streets. Paris had seen barricades go up nine times in the period before the Second Empire; during the July 1830 Revolution alone, 4,000 barricades had been erected (roughly one for every 200 Parisians). These barricades would not only stop, but also trap troops; people would then throw stones from windows or pour boiling water onto the streets. Georges‑Eugène Haussmann, Napoleon III’s prefect of Paris, famously created wide boulevards to make blocking by barricade more difficult and moving the military easier, and replaced cobblestones with macadam – a surface of crushed stone. As Flaubert observed in his Dictionary of Accepted Ideas: ‘Macadam: has cancelled revolutions. No more means to make barricades. Nevertheless rather inconvenient.’   Lead image: Barricades, as we know them today, are thought to have originated in early modern France. A colour engraving attributed to Achille‑Louis Martinet depicts the defence of a barricade during the 1830 July Revolution. Credit: Paris Musées / Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris. Above: the socialist political thinker and activist Louis Auguste Blanqui – who was imprisoned by every regime that ruled France between 1815 and 1880 – drew instructions for how to build an effective barricade Under Napoleon III, Baron Haussmann widened Paris’s streets in his 1853–70 renovation of the city, making barricading more difficult Credit: Old Books Images / Alamy ‘On one hand, [the authorities] wanted to favour the circulation of ideas,’ reactionary intellectual Louis Veuillot observed apropos the ambiguous liberalism of the latter period of Napoleon III’s Second Empire. ‘On the other, to ensure the circulation of regiments.’ But ‘anti‑insurgency hardware’, as Justinien Tribillon has called it, also served to chase the working class out of the city centre: Haussmann’s projects amounted to a gigantic form of real-estate speculation, and the 1871 Paris Commune that followed constituted not just a short‑lived anarchist experiment featuring enormous barricades; it also signalled the return of the workers to the centre and, arguably, revenge for their dispossession.    By the mid‑19th century, observers questioned whether barricades still had practical meaning. Gottfried Semper’s barricade, constructed for the 1849 Dresden uprising, had proved unconquerable, but Friedrich Engels, one‑time ‘inspector of barricades’ in the Elberfeld insurrection of the same year, already suggested that the barricades’ primary meaning was now moral rather than military – a point to be echoed by Leon Trotsky in the subsequent century. Barricades symbolised bravery and the will to hold out among insurrectionists, and, not least, determination rather to destroy one’s possessions – and one’s neighbourhood – than put up with further oppression.   Not only self‑declared revolutionaries viewed things this way: the reformist Social Democrat leader Eduard Bernstein observed that ‘the barricade fight as a political weapon of the people has been completely eliminated due to changes in weapon technology and cities’ structures’. Bernstein was also picking up on the fact that, in the era of industrialisation, contention happened at least as much on the factory floor as on the streets. The strike, not the food riot or the defence of workers’ quartiers, became the paradigmatic form of conflict. Joshua Clover has pointed out in his 2016 book Riot. Strike. Riot: The New Era of Uprisings, that the price of labour, rather than the price of goods, caused people to confront the powerful. Blocking production grew more important than blocking the street. ‘The only weapons we have are our bodies, and we need to tuck them in places so wheels don’t turn’ Today, it is again blocking – not just people streaming along the streets in large marches – that is prominently associated with protests. Disrupting circulation is not only an important gesture in the face of climate emergency; blocking transport is a powerful form of protest in an economic system focused on logistics and just‑in‑time distribution. Members of Insulate Britain and Germany’s Last Generation super‑glue themselves to streets to stop car traffic to draw attention to the climate emergency; they have also attached themselves to airport runways. They form a human barricade of sorts, immobilising traffic by making themselves immovable.   Today’s protesters have made themselves consciously vulnerable. They in fact follow the advice of US civil rights’ Bayard Rustin who explained: ‘The only weapons we have are our bodies, and we need to tuck them in places so wheels don’t turn.’ Making oneself vulnerable might increase the chances of a majority of citizens seeing the importance of the cause which those engaged in civil disobedience are pursuing. Demonstrations – even large, unpredictable ones – are no longer sufficient. They draw too little attention and do not compel a reaction. Naomi Klein proposed the term ‘blockadia’ as ‘a roving transnational conflict zone’ in which people block extraction – be it open‑pit mines, fracking sites or tar sands pipelines – with their bodies. More often than not, these blockades are organised by local people opposing the fossil fuel industry, not environmental activists per se. Blockadia came to denote resistance to the Keystone XL pipeline as well as Canada’s First Nations‑led movement Idle No More. In cities, blocking can be accomplished with highly mobile structures. Like the barricade of the 19th century, they can be quickly assembled, yet are difficult to move; unlike old‑style barricades, they can also be quickly disassembled, removed and hidden (by those who have the engineering and architectural know‑how). Think of super tripods, intricate ‘protest beacons’ based on tensegrity principles, as well as inflatable cobblestones, pioneered by the artist‑activists of Tools for Action (and as analysed in Nick Newman’s recent volume Protest Architecture).   As recently as 1991, newly independent Latvia defended itself against Soviet tanks with the popular construction of barricades, in a series of confrontations that became known as the Barikādes Credit: Associated Press / Alamy Inversely, roadblocks can be used by police authorities to stop demonstrations and gatherings from taking place – protesters are seen removing such infrastructure in Dhaka during a general strike in 1999 Credit: REUTERS / Rafiqur Rahman / Bridgeman These inflatable objects are highly flexible, but can also be protective against police batons. They pose an awkward challenge to the authorities, who often end up looking ridiculous when dealing with them, and, as one of the inventors pointed out, they are guaranteed to create a media spectacle. This was also true of the 19th‑century barricade: people posed for pictures in front of them. As Wolfgang Scheppe, a curator of Architecture of the Barricade (currently on display at the Arsenale Institute for Politics of Representation in Venice), explains, these images helped the police to find Communards and mete out punishments after the end of the anarchist experiment. Much simpler structures can also be highly effective. In 2019, protesters in Hong Kong filled streets with little archways made from just three ordinary bricks: two standing upright, one resting on top. When touched, the falling top one would buttress the other two, and effectively block traffic. In line with their imperative of ‘be water’, protesters would retreat when the police appeared, but the ‘mini‑Stonehenges’ would remain and slow down the authorities. Today, elaborate architectures of protest, such as Extinction Rebellion’s ‘tensegrity towers’, are used to blockade roads and distribution networks – in this instance, Rupert Murdoch’s News UK printworks in Broxbourne, for the media group’s failure to report the climate emergency accurately Credit: Extinction Rebellion In June 2025, protests erupted in Los Angeles against the Trump administration’s deportation policies. Demonstrators barricaded downtown streets using various objects, including the pink public furniture designed by design firm Rios for Gloria Molina Grand Park. LAPD are seen advancing through tear gas Credit: Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images Roads which radicals might want to target are not just ones in major metropoles and fancy post‑industrial downtowns. Rather, they might block the arteries leading to ‘fulfilment centres’ and harbours with container shipping. The model is not only Occupy Wall Street, which had initially called for the erection of ‘peaceful barricades’, but also the Occupy that led to the Oakland port shutdown in 2011. In short, such roadblocks disrupt what Phil Neel has called a ‘hinterland’ that is often invisible, yet crucial for contemporary capitalism. More recently, Extinction Rebellion targeted Amazon distribution centres in three European countries in November 2021; in the UK, they aimed to disrupt half of all deliveries on a Black Friday.   Will such blockades just anger consumers who, after all, are not present but are impatiently waiting for packages at home? One of the hopes associated with the traditional barricade was always that they might create spaces where protesters, police and previously indifferent citizens get talking; French theorists even expected them to become ‘a machine to produce the people’. That could be why military technology has evolved so that the authorities do not have to get close to the barricade: tear gas was first deployed against those on barricades before it was used in the First World War; so‑called riot control vehicles can ever more easily crush barricades. The challenge, then, for anyone who wishes to block is also how to get in other people’s faces – in order to have a chance to convince them of their cause.        2025-06-11 Kristina Rapacki Share

When Russian troops invaded Ukraine on 24 February 2022, Russia’s datacentre sector was one of the fastest-growing segments of the country’s IT industry, with annual growth rates in the region of 10-12%. However, with the conflict resulting in the imposition of Western sanctions against Russia and an outflow of US-based tech companies from the country, including Apple and Microsoft, optimism about the sector’s potential for further growth soon disappeared. In early March 2025, it was reported that Google had disconnected from traffic exchange points and datacentres in Russia, leading to concerns about how this could negatively affect the speed of access to some Google services for Russian users. Initially, there was hope that domestic technology and datacentre providers might be able to plug the gaps left by the exodus of the US tech giants, but it seems they could not keep up with the hosting demands of Russia’s increasingly digital economy. Oleg Kim, director of the hardware systems department at Russian IT company Axoft, says the departure of foreign cloud providers and equipment manufacturers has led to a serious shortage of compute capacity in Russia. This is because the situation resulted in a sharp, initial increase in demand for domestic datacentres, but Russian providers simply did not have time to expand their capacities on the required scale, continues Kim. According to the estimates of Key Point, one of Russia’s largest datacentre networks, meeting Russia’s demand for datacentres will require facilities with a total capacity of 30,000 racks to be built each year over the next five years. On top of this, it has also become more costly to build datacentres in Russia. Estimates suggest that prior to 2022, the cost of a datacentre rack totalled 100,000 rubles ($1,200), but now exceeds 150,000 rubles. And analysts at Forbes Russia expect these figures will continue to grow, due to rising logistics costs and the impact the war is having on the availability of skilled labour in the construction sector. The impact of these challenges is being keenly felt by users, with several of the country’s large banks experiencing serious problems when finding suitable locations for their datacentres. Sberbank is among the firms affected, with its chairperson, German Gref, speaking out previously about how the bank is in need of a datacentre with at least 200MW of capacity, but would ideally need 300-400MW to address its compute requirements. Stanislav Bliznyuk, chairperson of T-Bank, says trying to build even two 50MW datacentres to meet its needs is proving problematic. “Finding locations where such capacity and adequate tariffs are available is a difficult task,” he said. Read more about datacentre developments North Lincolnshire Council has received a planning permission application for another large-scale datacentre development, in support of its bid to become an AI Growth Zone A proposal to build one of the biggest datacentres in Europe has been submitted to Hertsmere Borough Council, and already has the support of the technology secretary and local councillors. The UK government has unveiled its 50-point AI action plan, which commits to building sovereign artificial intelligence capabilities and accelerating AI datacentre developments – but questions remain about the viability of the plans. Despite this, T-Bank is establishing its own network of data processing centres – the first of which should open in early 2027, he confirmed in November 2024. Kirill Solyev, head of the engineering infrastructure department of the Softline Group of Companies, who specialise in IT, says many large Russian companies are resorting to building their own datacentres – because compute capacity is in such short supply. The situation is, however, complicated by the lack of suitable locations for datacentres in the largest cities of Russia – Moscow and St Petersburg. “For example, to build a datacentre with a capacity of 60MW, finding a suitable site can take up to three years,” says Solyev. “In Moscow, according to preliminary estimates, there are about 50MW of free capacity left, which is equivalent to 2-4 large commercial datacentres. “The capacity deficit only in the southern part of the Moscow region is predicted at 564MW by 2030, and up to 3.15GW by 2042.” As a result, datacentre operators and investors are now looking for suitable locations outside of Moscow and St Petersburg, and seeking to co-locate new datacentres in close proximity to renewable energy sources. And this will be important as demand for datacentre capacity in Russia is expected to increase, as it is in most of the rest of the world, due to the growing use of artificial intelligence (AI) tools and services. The energy-intensive nature of AI workloads will put further pressure on operators that are already struggling to meet the compute capacity demands of their customers. Speaking at the recent Ural Forum on cyber security in finance, Alexander Kraynov, director of AI technology development at Yandex, says solving the energy consumption issue of AI datacentres will not be easy. “The world is running out of electricity, including for AI, while the same situation is observed in Russia,” he said. “In order to ensure a stable energy supply of a newly built large datacentre, we will need up to one year.” According to a recent report of the Russian Vedomosti business paper, as of April 2024, Russian datacentres have used about 2.6GW, which is equivalent to about 1% of the installed capacity of the Unified Energy System of Russia. Accommodating AI workloads will also mean operators will need to purchase additional equipment, including expensive accelerators based on graphic processing units and higher-performing data storage systems. The implementation of these plans and the viability of these purchases is likely to be seriously complicated by the current sanctions regime against Russia. That said, Russia’s prime minister, Mikhail Mishustin, claims this part of the datacentre supply equation is being partially solved by an uptick in the domestic production of datacentre kit. According to the Mishustin, more than half of the server equipment and industrial storage and information processing systems needed for datacentres are already being produced in Russia – and these figures will continue to grow. The government also plans to provide additional financial support to the industry, as – to date – building datacentres in Russia has been prevented by relatively long payback periods, of up to 10 years in some cases, of such projects. One of the possible support measures on offer could include the subsidisation of at least part of the interest rates on loans to datacentre developers and operators. At the same time, though, the government’s actions in other areas have made it harder for operators to build new facilities. For example, in March 2025, the Russian government significantly tightened the existing norms for the establishment of new datacentres in the form of new rules for the design of data processing centres, which came into force after the approval by the Russian Ministry of Construction. According to Nikita Tsaplin, CEO of Russian hosting provider RUVDS, the rules led to additional bureaucracy in the sector (due to the positioning of datacentres as typical construction objects). And, according to his predictions, that situation can extend the construction cycle of a datacentre from around five years to seven years. The government’s intervention here was to prevent the installation of servers in residential areas, such as garages, but it looks set to complicate an already complex situation – prompting questions about whether Russia’s datacentre market will ever reach its full potential.

I don’t know why, but it continues to astonish me just how foolish politicians can be – and how easily persuaded they are by really bad advice from smart but tin-eared advisers. In less than a year, Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves have squandered the gift of the huge majority won at last year’s General Election on one key issue after another: their response to the genocide in Gaza; wantonly cruel cuts in disability benefits; failing to find creative ways of taxing wealth; dealing with the water companies – and, now, on the new Planning and Infrastructure Bill. On 23 May 23, the Wildlife Trusts and the RSPB (with a combined membership of more than 2 million) launched a devastating attack on Labour’s whole approach to streamlining the planning system through the Planning and Infrastructure Bill.Advertisement Part 3 of the bill will make it possible for developers to ignore existing environmental protections by paying money into a so-called ‘Nature Recovery Fund’, which will be used to pay for environmental projects elsewhere. Starmer and Reeves have gone out of their way, time after time, to claim that it’s these environmental safeguards that are responsible for delays and blockages in the planning process, even though they know this is completely untrue. According to the Wildlife Trusts, roughly 3 per cent of proposals for new housing are delayed for environmental reasons. As The Guardian reported: ‘the data from analysis of 17,433 planning appeals in England in 2024 found that newts were relevant in just 140 (0.8%) planning appeals, and bats were relevant in 432 (2.48%).’ ‘They pursue this path even though are no polls to show that this is what matters to Labour voters tempted by Reform’ So what makes Starmer and Reeves both stupid and totally dishonest? By all accounts the rationale of their tin-eared advisers is to demonstrate to ‘Reform-friendly’ Labour voters that the environment is as unsafe in their hands as it would be in Nigel Farage’s. That economic growth is all that matters. That caring for the natural world is a middle-class self-indulgence (‘the well-to-do prioritising the nice-to-have’ over the interests of working people). And that pouring as much concrete as possible is self-evidently the best way of achieving that growth. And they go on pursuing this ideological path even though there are no supporting polls to show that this is what really matters to Labour voters tempted by Reform’s populist bullshit.Advertisement So they lie. They dig in. They break promises left, right and centre, ready to die, apparently, in this self-constructed ditch of developer-led deceit. That’s why every single amendment put forward through the committee examining the bill was summarily dismissed by the loyal but lumpen Labour MPs on the committee. These included an amendment tabled by veteran Labour MP Barry Gardiner requiring all house builders to provide a specially designed brick (costing £35) to help cavity-nesting such as swifts, house martins, sparrows and starlings – a measure that Labour in opposition enthusiastically supported! And there’s huge public support for this one small, cost-effective biodiversity regulation. To get a measure of this government’s subservient obedience to the demands of the volume housebuilders, just listen to the words of housing minister Matthew Pennycook: ‘We are not convinced that legislating to mandate the use of specific wildlife features is the right approach, whether that is done through building regulations or a freestanding legal requirement'. It’s all so demeaning. So unnecessary. And now that the mainstream environment movement, urged on primarily by the Wildlife Trusts, has realised just how high the stakes are with this Planning and Infrastructure Bill, it’s reasonable to assume that there will be a much more serious debate in the House of Lords, bringing down on ministers’ helmeted heads the righteous outrage of the entire movement. As we’ve learnt, in less than one deeply depressing year, this is a government that needs to be kicked harder and harder until they get desperate enough to make the pain go away. P.S. If you want to read a brilliant summary of ‘reasons to be outraged’ (and what to do about it), check out George Monbiot’s take on this. Jonathon Porritt is a campaigner and author and co-founder of Forum for the Future This article first appeared on his blog 2025-06-06 Jonathon Porritt comment and share

The interesting thing about console launches is that you never know what unexpected treasures will emerge from the first batch of games. Who could have foretold that the hero of the PlayStation launch would be a fireworks simulation (Fantavision), or that the most joyous title in the initial GameCube lineup would involve simians racing each other in giant transparent globes (Super Monkey Ball)?The latest example could well be Konami’s Survival Kids, the only new third-party game in the Switch 2 opening wave. It’s the latest in the publisher’s cult series of tropical island survival sims, which began on the Game Boy Color and, despite never really attracting vast global success, continued on to the Nintendo DS under a new name, Lost in Blue. Now it’s back as a familyfriendly co-op survival adventure, in which groups of up to four players are shipwrecked on a mysterious archipelago, and must survive by gathering resources, crafting tools, finding food and exploring a series of lush, cartoonish environments. Four people can play online, but the game also supports Switch 2’s game sharing, which lets one person who owns the game connect wirelessly with other consoles to play together.Lush, cartoonish environments … a still from Survival Kids. Photograph: Konami Digital EntertainmentAndrew Dennison, who heads the game’s developer Unity, sees this as one of the Switch 2’s key features. “With splitscreen you have one machine rendering two different versions of the game,” he says. “With GameShare, we can compress one of those views and stream it … we render everything three times and push that out to two other consoles. As much as you can deep dive into tech specs, the benefits of GameShare are delightful. Other players in the same room as you don’t have to own the game, they don’t have to download anything … they can just turn on their Switch or Switch 2, push a button and they’re playing a game.”Unlike survival titles such as Don’t Starve or Project Zomboid (or indeed Lost in Blue), there’s no mortal peril in Survival Kids. Running out of food hampers your progress, but you can’t actually starve; if you die, you just – respawn nearby. “We wanted to make sure the game was enjoyable for people at every skill level,” says Dennison. “It’s a balancing act – we don’t want to bore experienced gamers – but you can streamline gameplay challenge without simplifying to the point of making it irrelevant.” Due to the strict NDAs around the Switch 2 hardware, the developer couldn’t bring in many external testers to fine-tune the difficulty – so Dennison ended up testing the game on his nieces, and on the finance department.All about co-operation … Survival Kids Photograph: Konami Digital EntertainmentBuilding tools is key – combine a vine and a stick and you get a fishing rod with which to lasso useful objects. Construct an umbrella and you can glide across wide canyons. There are no cumbersome item-inventory screens: when you need to build a tool or contraption, you can take what you need and drop it all into a bucket that magically spits it out. Tools are all stored at base camp, not in a menu, so that you can easily take a path home to pick up what you need.As with Overcooked, Survival Kids is all about streamlined cooperation and carefully divvied-out tasks. Chopping wood and breaking rocks is faster with two people, so you need a physical labour team; meanwhile food provides the energy needed to climb cliff faces and carry heavy relics, so you’ll need a chef to gather plants and make dinner. “We really wanted people to go back and eat at the base camp together,” says Richard Jones, creative director for Konami Digital Entertainment. “This way, the base camp becomes a place to return to – a sort of communal kitchen.”skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Pushing ButtonsFree weekly newsletterKeza MacDonald's weekly look at the world of gamingPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionUnlike most modern survival sims, it’s not totally open-ended: your aim is to discover more and more of the islands, which brings a sort of escape room feel to things. It’s also possible to go back and re-try levels to get a quicker time. Despite the family look and feel, there are some interesting and quite demanding physics-based challenges with multiple solutions. There’s a nice humour and lightness to the game as well, perhaps an inevitability considering that Dennison and many of the development team at Unity’s Stratford-upon-Avon office came from Codemasters and Rare.Will Konami bring more of its classic titles to Switch 2? “We know there are other Konami teams who are interested in this platform – we’ll be able to help them,” says Jones. “So yeah, fingers-crossed we’ll see some more Switch 2 projects from Konami.” For now Survival kids feels like a great test case for the new console’s family oriented game sharing.

Schemes include jobs in Liverpool, Bradford and NewcastleRachel Reeves has announced £15bn for transport projects in the north of England, the Midlands and the West Country to stimulate growth outside of the South-east. The chancellor unveiled a funding package this morning for a raft of rail, tram and bus projects ahead of the government’s spending review, due next week, which is expected to include cuts to many departmental budgets. It is also expected to be part of the government’s 10-year infrastructure strategy, which will be announced later this month. Rachel Reeves delivering her speech in Manchester this morning Tram schemes have been handed the biggest investments, including £2.5bn to extend Manchester’s network to Stockport and £2.4bn to expand Birmingham’s network to the city’s planned ‘sports quarter’. A long-awaited tram network in West Yorkshire will get £2.1bn to start construction of the first two lines by 2028, along with new bus stations in Bradford and Wakefield, while South Yorkshire’s tram network has been handed £2.1bn for renewal works and bus service. Liverpool has been allocated £1.6bn to improve links to locations in the city including the new Everton Stadium, and the North East will get £1.8bn to extend the Newcastle to Sunderland Metro via Washington. Other funding packages include £2bn for the East Midlands to improve road, rail and bus links between Derby and Nottingham and £800m for rail upgrades in the West of England. Some of these projects were part of former prime minister Rishi Sunak’s Network North plan, which backed schemes including the West Yorkshire tram system to compensate for the decision to scrap HS2 north of Birmingham. Network North was put on ice following Labour’s election victory last year after Reeves claimed the programme had not been fully funded. The money will be part of a five-year funding allocation from 2027/28 to 2031/32.  >> Also read: It’s time for trams – and Britain needs to catch up >> Also read: Traffic in Towns: 60 years on from Colin Buchanan’s prophetic report

Lately I’ve been playing a new job sim game, Crime Scene Cleaner, while also watching BBC’s comedy series The Cleaner, both of which focus on the aftermath of gruesome murders – sometimes you just need some cosy viewing to take the edge off the day. In the TV show, Greg Davies plays Wicky, the acerbic employee of a government-endorsed clean-up company, while Crime Scene Cleaner’s lead character Kovalsky is a lowly janitor, mopping up blood and disposing of trash to cover up for a mob boss named Big Jim.The crime scenes in both are laughably over the top. Or are they? I’ve never actually seen a real-life murder scene, so perhaps copious blood sprayed over walls and ceilings and the masses of broken furniture is completely normal.Take the edge off … Greg Davies as Wicky in the BBC’s The Cleaner. Photograph: Tom Jackson/PAStepping into Kovalsky’s plastic overshoes, the aim is to leave each location exactly as it was prior to the … um … incident. Unlike Wicky, who has to constantly deal with annoying homeowners and neighbours, Kovalsky has no living humans for company; just the dead ones that he hauls over his shoulder before slinging them unceremoniously into the back of his pickup truck. Each scene plays out in silence, save for the occasional brief chat with Big Jim and Kovalsky’s own pithy self-talk. Both Kovalsky and Wicky are world-weary labourers, doing what is necessary to get through each blood-splattered scene. But there are differences between the two men: Kovalsky swipes cash and valuables to boost his bank balance (he’s saving up to pay his daughter’s medical bills) while Wicky just wants to get finished in time for curry night at the pub.Crime Scene Cleaner is a weird concept for a game, the unnatural offspring of PowerWash Simulator and Hitman. But despite the macabre premise, I’ve come to appreciate the quiet, contemplative and satisfying process of cleaning up, as Kovalsky stuffs fragments of glass, pizza slices and broken crockery into his bin bag before hurling it into his truck and getting started on all the blood spatter with a microfibre mop, pushing sofas and tables back and returning ornaments to their rightful spot on the shelves afterwards. It’s immensely satisfying, despite the game’s realistic yet tiresome insistence on continually wringing out your mops and sponges.No living humans for company … Crime Scene Cleaner video game. Photograph: President StudioExploring increasingly bizarre locations is also a common theme between the two: Crime Scene Cleaner has a pizzeria, a museum and a spooky smart house; The Cleaner takes in an ice-cream parlour, theatre and stately home. I love that the game gives me a chance to become a more sedate version of The Cleaner’s Wicky without the interference of coppers, maniacal novelists or even the killer themselves (as brilliantly portrayed by Helena Bonham Carter in the show). With his daughter ensconced in a medical clinic, Kovalsky’s only (living) companion is his playful German shepherd. Its name? Dexter. Of course.At the end of each clean-up, I find myself standing back and admiring the scene, content with a job well done. Crime Scene Cleaner and The Cleaner both tap into the very essence of black comedy, where horror becomes amusingly banall. In both, the crimes have already happened, the worst has been done and all that remains is… the remains.

Version 1.0.0 By Robert Jan van Pelt (Park Books, 2025) The largest artifact in the touring exhibition Auschwitz. Not Long Ago. Not Far Away., currently on display at the ROM in Toronto, is a wooden barracks building. It’s from the Auschwitz-Monowitz camp, a satellite to Auschwitz created to provide slave labour to the IG Farben corporation for the construction of a synthetic rubber factory.  The discovery of a sister building, back in 2012, led exhibition chief curator and architectural historian Robert Jan van Pelt, University Professor at the Waterloo School of Architecture, on a research journey to write a comprehensive history of the barracks—temporary buildings that have not only housed prisoners, but also provided shelter for military servicemen and women, refugees, and natural disaster survivors. “Many people have experienced, for shorter or longer time periods, life in a barrack, and for all of them it represented life on the edge, for better or worse,” writes Van Pelt. Worm’s eye axonometric of Renkioi Hospital Barrack, a prefabricated hospital designed by Ismabard Kingdom Brunel for a site in Turkey, 1857. Van Pelt’s book criss-crosses with ease through architectural history, military history, and the history of medicine—all of which played crucial roles in the evolving development of this seemingly simple building type. The book is arranged in a dozen episodes, with the barrack at the centre of each, serving as an anchor point for unfolding the rich intellectual and historical context shaping the way these structures were developed and deployed. The book is richly illustrated with archival materials—a feat in itself, given that the documentation for temporary buildings, particularly before 1900, is scarce. These drawings, photos, and paintings are supplemented with 20 worm’s eye views of key buildings, carefully composed by a team of Waterloo architecture school students and alumni.  Thomas Thomaszoon, View of the headquarters of the Spanish in the Huis tea Kleef during the siege of Haarlem, 1572-73. Collection of Noord-Hollands Archief, Haarlem; courtesy Robert Jan van Pelt Like many vernacular buildings, temporary structures larger than a tent, designed to house soldiers in the field, have existed at least since Ancient Rome. One of the first visual accounts of barracks came centuries later, in the winter of 1572, when the Spanish laid siege to the Dutch city of Haarlem, and cartographer Thomas Thomaszoon sketched the position of dozens of Spain’s wood-and-straw structures outside the city. The siege was successful, but only a few years later, the Dutch Republic gained the upper hand. As part of the creation of a standing army, they began to develop more precise instructions for the layout of camps, including the construction of temporary barracks. Antoine-François Omet des Foucaux, Barrack constructed in Hendaye, France, 1793. From Jean-Charles Krafft, Plans, coupes et élévations de diverses productions de l’art de la charpente, 1805. Collection of Bilbliothèque Nationale de France, Paris. Courtesy Robert Jan van Pelt The Napoleonic army made use of barracks in both military camps and training camps; by the mid-1800s, the construction of various barrack types was detailed in field construction manuals issued to officers in many European armies. During the Crimean War (1853-56), over 3,500 prefabricated barracks were manufactured in a Gloucester factory, as a solution to the appalling conditions at the front. But when the structures arrived at port, British forces were not able to unload and erect them—the materials for a single building weighed more than two tons, and each would require 60 horses (or 150 men) to transport to camp on the muddy roads.  The US (Union) Army’s Lincoln Hospital, Washington, DC, 1865. Collection of Library of Congress, Washington, DC. Courtesy Robert Jan van Pelt Prefabrication was also used, with somewhat more success, towards the end of the conflict to erect field hospitals designed by British engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel with a priority on cross-ventilation to limit the spread of disease. Low mortality rates from similar structures led to a continued preference for “barrack hospitals” based on groupings of low-slung, well-ventilated pavilions, rather than conceived as single grand structures. The model was further refined with the addition of primitive underfloor heating and ridge ventilation by former surgeon William A. Hammond for the Union Army during the American Civil War (1861-65).  Barrack hospitals were constructed for civilian use, as well. Following the conclusion of the Franco-Prussian war (1870-71), such designs were built to house patients with infectious diseases in Berlin and proposed as a means to bring professional medical care to Germany’s rural areas. A barracks-inspired hospital was built in Saint Petersburg, Russia, in 1889, and continues to be operational.  If the barrack as an accommodation for the sick is a progressive tale, the 19th-century history of the barrack is equally checkered by the building type’s use for prisoner accommodation, including in the penal colonies of Australia and French Guiana. In North America, barracks were used in an internment camp for Native American Dakotas, and Civil War-era Union barracks at Camp Douglas were used to house Confederate prisoners. The oldest preserved barrack in the world may be in Canada, at Grosse Isle national park. Here, barrack-style quarantine sheds were used to detain thousands of Irish immigrant families during the typhoid fever epidemic of 1846-47, and their damp, fetid conditions contributed to many deaths—an episode Van Pelt describes as a “blot on the national consciousness of Canada.” A single Doecker Hut contains an operation room, pharmacy and hospital management office. The prefabricated, portable hospitals were developed in 1885, and used around the world, including in the First World War. In America, they were marketed for managing epidemics in the wake of the 1892 typhus fever outbreak in New York. Courtesy Berlin State Library and Robert Jan van Pelt   At the turn of the 19th century, the prefabricated portable barrack came to the fore with the manufacturing of the Doecker barracks, by Christoph & Unmack, a firm based in Copenhagen and Germany. Developed by a former military officer-turned-tentmaker, the technically sophisticated model used large rectangular frames that could be clipped together, and covered with “felt-cardboard”—dense felt pressed onto canvas and impregnated with linseed oil. The self-supporting structures proved easy to set up, dismount, and transport, making them suitable for both military applications—and, with little modification, for humanitarian aid. The Red Cross deployed Doecker barracks for use as field hospitals in Manchuria and Yokohama during the Russo-Japanese War (1904-05).  The Barrack, 1572-1914 wraps up in in the early 20th century, but with the note that in the ensuing decades until 1945, millions of barracks were produced by many of the world’s major nations—and that most of these were erected in barbed-wire-ringed compounds. “This is the period in which tens if not hundreds of millions of people, many of whom were civilians, were forced to live in barracks, as refugees, as expellees, as civilian internees, as forced laborers, as prisoners or war, as concentration camp prisoners, and as people made homeless by the destruction wrought by war,” writes Van Pelt. Up until 1914, he notes, this building type largely carried a sense of achievement—an image that would change sharply with the Age of the Camps. But although a WWII barrack was responsible for instigating Van Pelt’s initial investigation, that time period will need to await a second volume on this simple building type with a rich, complex, and complicated history.   As appeared in the June 2025 issue of Canadian Architect magazine  The post Book Review: The Barrack, 1572-1914—Chapters in the History of Emergency Architecture appeared first on Canadian Architect.

The housing crisis in Canada’s North, which has particularly affected the majority Indigenous population in northern communities, has been of ongoing concern to firms such as Taylor Architecture Group (TAG). Formerly known as Pin/Taylor, the firm was established in Yellowknife in 1983. TAG’s Principal, Simon Taylor, says that despite recent political gains for First Nations, “by and large, life is not improving up here.” Taylor and his colleagues have designed many different types of housing across the North. But the problems exceed the normal scope of architectural practice. TAG’s Manager of Research and Development, Kristel Derkowski, says, “We can design the units well, but it doesn’t solve many of the underlying problems.” To respond, she says, “we’ve backed up the process to look at the root causes more.” As a result, “the design challenges are informed by much broader systemic research.”  We spoke to Derkowski about her research, and the work that Taylor Architecture Group is doing to act on it. Here’s what she has to say. Inadequate housing from the start The Northwest Territories is about 51% Indigenous. Most non-Indigenous people are concentrated in the capital city of Yellowknife. Outside of Yellowknife, the territory is very much majority Indigenous.  The federal government got involved in delivering housing to the far North in 1959. There were problems with this program right from the beginning. One issue was that when the houses were first delivered, they were designed and fabricated down south, and they were completely inadequate for the climate. The houses from that initial program were called “Matchbox houses” because they were so small. These early stages of housing delivery helped establish the precedent that a lower standard of housing was acceptable for northern Indigenous residents compared to Euro-Canadian residents elsewhere. In many cases, that double-standard persists to this day. The houses were also inappropriately designed for northern cultures. It’s been said in the research that the way that these houses were delivered to northern settlements was a significant factor in people being divorced from their traditional lifestyles, their traditional hierarchies, the way that they understood home. It was imposing a Euro-Canadian model on Indigenous communities and their ways of life.  Part of what the federal government was trying to do was to impose a cash economy and stimulate a market. They were delivering houses and asking for rent. But there weren’t a lot of opportunities to earn cash. This housing was delivered around the sites of former fur trading posts—but the fur trade had collapsed by 1930. There weren’t a lot of jobs. There wasn’t a lot of wage-based employment. And yet, rental payments were being collected in cash, and the rental payments increased significantly over the span of a couple decades.  The imposition of a cash economy created problems culturally. It’s been said that public housing delivery, in combination with other social policies, served to introduce the concept of poverty in the far North, where it hadn’t existed before. These policies created a situation where Indigenous northerners couldn’t afford to be adequately housed, because housing demanded cash, and cash wasn’t always available. That’s a big theme that continues to persist today. Most of the territory’s communities remain “non-market”: there is no housing market. There are different kinds of economies in the North—and not all of them revolve wholly around cash. And yet government policies do. The governments’ ideas about housing do, too. So there’s a conflict there.  The federal exit from social housing After 1969, the federal government devolved housing to the territorial government. The Government of Northwest Territories created the Northwest Territories Housing Corporation. By 1974, the housing corporation took over all the stock of federal housing and started to administer it, in addition to building their own. The housing corporation was rapidly building new housing stock from 1975 up until the mid-1990s. But beginning in the early 1990s, the federal government terminated federal spending on new social housing across the whole country. A couple of years after that, they also decided to allow operational agreements with social housing providers to expire. It didn’t happen that quickly—and maybe not everybody noticed, because it wasn’t a drastic change where all operational funding disappeared immediately. But at that time, the federal government was in 25- to 50-year operational agreements with various housing providers across the country. After 1995, these long-term operating agreements were no longer being renewed—not just in the North, but everywhere in Canada.  With the housing corporation up here, that change started in 1996, and we have until 2038 before the federal contribution of operational funding reaches zero. As a result, beginning in 1996, the number of units owned by the NWT Housing Corporation plateaued. There was a little bump in housing stock after that—another 200 units or so in the early 2000s. But basically, the Northwest Territories was stuck for 25 years, from 1996 to 2021, with the same number of public housing units. In 1990, there was a report on housing in the NWT that was funded by the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC). That report noted that housing was already in a crisis state. At that time, in 1990, researchers said it would take 30 more years to meet existing housing need, if housing production continued at the current rate. The other problem is that houses were so inadequately constructed to begin with, that they generally needed replacement after 15 years. So housing in the Northwest Territories already had serious problems in 1990. Then in 1996, the housing corporation stopped building more. So if you compare the total number of social housing units with the total need for subsidized housing in the territory, you can see a severely widening gap in recent decades. We’ve seen a serious escalation in housing need. The Northwest Territories has a very, very small tax base, and it’s extremely expensive to provide services here. Most of our funding for public services comes from the federal government. The NWT on its own does not have a lot of buying power. So ever since the federal government stopped providing operational funding for housing, the territorial government has been hard-pressed to replace that funding with its own internal resources. I should probably note that this wasn’t only a problem for the Northwest Territories. Across Canada, we have seen mass homelessness visibly emerge since the ’90s. This is related, at least in part, to the federal government’s decisions to terminate funding for social housing at that time. Today’s housing crisis Getting to present-day conditions in the NWT, we now have some “market” communities and some “non-market” communities. There are 33 communities total in the NWT, and at least 27 of these don’t have a housing market: there’s no private rental market and there’s no resale market. This relates back to the conflict I mentioned before: the cash economy did not entirely take root. In simple terms, there isn’t enough local employment or income opportunity for a housing market—in conventional terms—to work.  Yellowknife is an outlier in the territory. Economic opportunity is concentrated in the capital city. We also have five other “market” communities that are regional centres for the territorial government, where more employment and economic activity take place. Across the non-market communities, on average, the rate of unsuitable or inadequate housing is about five times what it is elsewhere in Canada. Rates of unemployment are about five times what they are in Yellowknife. On top of this, the communities with the highest concentration of Indigenous residents also have the highest rates of unsuitable or inadequate housing, and also have the lowest income opportunity. These statistics clearly show that the inequalities in the territory are highly racialized.  Given the situation in non-market communities, there is a severe affordability crisis in terms of the cost to deliver housing. It’s very, very expensive to build housing here. A single detached home costs over a million dollars to build in a place like Fort Good Hope (Rádeyı̨lı̨kóé). We’re talking about a very modest three-bedroom house, smaller than what you’d typically build in the South. The million-dollar price tag on each house is a serious issue. Meanwhile, in a non-market community, the potential resale value is extremely low. So there’s a massive gap between the cost of construction and the value of the home once built—and that’s why you have no housing market. It means that private development is impossible. That’s why, until recently, only the federal and territorial governments have been building new homes in non-market communities. It’s so expensive to do, and as soon as the house is built, its value plummets.  The costs of living are also very high. According to the NWT Bureau of Statistics, the estimated living costs for an individual in Fort Good Hope are about 1.8 times what it costs to live in Edmonton. Then when it comes to housing specifically, there are further issues with operations and maintenance. The NWT is not tied into the North American hydro grid, and in most communities, electricity is produced by a diesel generator. This is extremely expensive. Everything needs to be shipped in, including fuel. So costs for heating fuel are high as well, as are the heating loads. Then, maintenance and repairs can be very difficult, and of course, very costly. If you need any specialized parts or specialized labour, you are flying those parts and those people in from down South. So to take on the costs of homeownership, on top of the costs of living—in a place where income opportunity is limited to begin with—this is extremely challenging. And from a statistical or systemic perspective, this is simply not in reach for most community members. In 2021, the NWT Housing Corporation underwent a strategic renewal and became Housing Northwest Territories. Their mandate went into a kind of flux. They started to pivot from being the primary landlord in the territory towards being a partner to other third-party housing providers, which might be Indigenous governments, community housing providers, nonprofits, municipalities. But those other organisations, in most cases, aren’t equipped or haven’t stepped forward to take on social housing. Even though the federal government is releasing capital funding for affordable housing again, northern communities can’t always capitalize on that, because the source of funding for operations remains in question. Housing in non-market communities essentially needs to be subsidized—not just in terms of construction, but also in terms of operations. But that operational funding is no longer available. I can’t stress enough how critical this issue is for the North. Fort Good Hope and “one thing that (kind of) worked” I’ll talk a bit about Fort Good Hope. I don’t want to be speaking on behalf of the community here, but I will share a bit about the realities on the ground, as a way of putting things into context.  Fort Good Hope, or Rádeyı̨lı̨kóé, is on the Mackenzie River, close to the Arctic Circle. There’s a winter road that’s open at best from January until March—the window is getting narrower because of climate change. There were also barges running each summer for material transportation, but those have been cancelled for the past two years because of droughts linked to climate change. Aside from that, it’s a fly-in community. It’s very remote. It has about 500-600 people. According to census data, less than half of those people live in what’s considered acceptable housing.  The biggest problem is housing adequacy. That’s CMHC’s term for housing in need of major repairs. This applies to about 36% of households in Fort Good Hope. In terms of ownership, almost 40% of the community’s housing stock is managed by Housing NWT. That’s a combination of public housing units and market housing units—which are for professionals like teachers and nurses. There’s also a pretty high percentage of owner-occupied units—about 46%.  The story told by the community is that when public housing arrived in the 1960s, the people were living in owner-built log homes. Federal agents arrived and they considered some of those homes to be inadequate or unacceptable, and they bulldozed those homes, then replaced some of them—but maybe not all—with public housing units. Then residents had no choice but to rent from the people who took their homes away. This was not a good way to start up a public housing system. The state of housing in Fort Good Hope Then there was an issue with the rental rates, which drastically increased over time. During a presentation to a government committee in the ’80s, a community member explained that they had initially accepted a place in public housing for a rental fee of $2 a month in 1971. By 1984, the same community member was expected to pay $267 a month. That might not sound like much in today’s terms, but it was roughly a 13,000% increase for that same tenant—and it’s not like they had any other housing options to choose from. So by that point, they’re stuck with paying whatever is asked.  On top of that, the housing units were poorly built and rapidly deteriorated. One description from that era said the walls were four inches thick, with windows oriented north, and water tanks that froze in the winter and fell through the floor. The single heating source was right next to the only door—residents were concerned about the fire hazard that obviously created. Ultimately the community said: “We don’t actually want any more public housing units. We want to go back to homeownership, which was what we had before.”  So Fort Good Hope was a leader in housing at that time and continues to be to this day. The community approached the territorial government and made a proposal: “Give us the block funding for home construction, we’ll administer it ourselves, we’ll help people build houses, and they can keep them.” That actually worked really well. That was the start of the Homeownership Assistance Program (HAP) that ran for about ten years, beginning in 1982. The program expanded across the whole territory after it was piloted in Fort Good Hope. The HAP is still spoken about and written about as the one thing that kind of worked.  Self-built log cabins remain from Fort Good Hope’s 1980s Homeownership Program (HAP). Funding was cost-shared between the federal and territorial governments. Through the program, material packages were purchased for clients who were deemed eligible. The client would then contribute their own sweat equity in the form of hauling logs and putting in time on site. They had two years to finish building the house. Then, as long as they lived in that home for five more years, the loan would be forgiven, and they would continue owning the house with no ongoing loan payments. In some cases, there were no mechanical systems provided as part of this package, but the residents would add to the house over the years. A lot of these units are still standing and still lived in today. Many of them are comparatively well-maintained in contrast with other types of housing—for example, public housing units. It’s also worth noting that the one-time cost of the materials package was—from the government’s perspective—only a fraction of the cost to build and maintain a public housing unit over its lifespan. At the time, it cost about $50,000 to $80,000 to build a HAP home, whereas the lifetime cost of a public housing unit is in the order of $2,000,000. This program was considered very successful in many places, especially in Fort Good Hope. It created about 40% of their local housing stock at that time, which went from about 100 units to about 140. It’s a small community, so that’s quite significant.  What were the successful principles? The community-based decision-making power to allocate the funding. The sweat equity component, which brought homeownership within the range of being attainable for people—because there wasn’t cash needing to be transferred, when the cash wasn’t available. Local materials—they harvested the logs from the land, and the fact that residents could maintain the homes themselves. The Fort Good Hope Construction Centre. Rendering by Taylor Architecture Group The Fort Good Hope Construction Centre The HAP ended the same year that the federal government terminated new spending on social housing. By the late 1990s, the creation of new public housing stock or new homeownership units had gone down to negligible levels. But more recently, things started to change. The federal government started to release money to build affordable housing. Simultaneously, Indigenous governments are working towards Self-Government and settling their Land Claims. Federal funds have started to flow directly to Indigenous groups. Given these changes, the landscape of Northern housing has started to evolve. In 2016, Fort Good Hope created the K’asho Got’ine Housing Society, based on the precedent of the 1980s Fort Good Hope Housing Society. They said: “We did this before, maybe we can do it again.” The community incorporated a non-profit and came up with a five-year plan to meet housing need in their community. One thing the community did right away was start up a crew to deliver housing maintenance and repairs. This is being run by Ne’Rahten Developments Ltd., which is the business arm of Yamoga Land Corporation (the local Indigenous Government). Over the span of a few years, they built up a crew of skilled workers. Then Ne’Rahten started thinking, “Why can’t we do more? Why can’t we build our own housing?” They identified a need for a space where people could work year-round, and first get training, then employment, in a stable all-season environment. This was the initial vision for the Fort Good Hope Construction Centre, and this is where TAG got involved. We had some seed funding through the CMHC Housing Supply Challenge when we partnered with Fort Good Hope. We worked with the community for over a year to get the capital funding lined up for the project. This process required us to take on a different role than the one you typically would as an architect. It wasn’t just schematic-design-to-construction-administration. One thing we did pretty early on was a housing design workshop that was open to the whole community, to start understanding what type of housing people would really want to see. Another piece was a lot of outreach and advocacy to build up support for the project and partnerships—for example, with Housing Northwest Territories and Aurora College. We also reached out to our federal MP, the NWT Legislative Assembly and different MLAs, and we talked to a lot of different people about the link between employment and housing. The idea was that the Fort Good Hope Construction Centre would be a demonstration project. Ultimately, funding did come through for the project—from both CMHC and National Indigenous Housing Collaborative Inc. The facility itself will not be architecturally spectacular. It’s basically a big shed where you could build a modular house. But the idea is that the construction of those houses is combined with training, and it creates year-round indoor jobs. It intends to combat the short construction seasons, and the fact that people would otherwise be laid off between projects—which makes it very hard to progress with your training or your career. At the same time, the Construction Centre will build up a skilled labour force that otherwise wouldn’t exist—because when there’s no work, skilled people tend to leave the community. And, importantly, the idea is to keep capital funding in the community. So when there’s a new arena that needs to get built, when there’s a new school that needs to get built, you have a crew of people who are ready to take that on. Rather than flying in skilled labourers, you actually have the community doing it themselves. It’s working towards self-determination in housing too, because if those modular housing units are being built in the community, by community members, then eventually they’re taking over design decisions and decisions about maintenance—in a way that hasn’t really happened for decades. Transitional homeownership My research also looked at a transitional homeownership model that adapts some of the successful principles of the 1980s HAP. Right now, in non-market communities, there are serious gaps in the housing continuum—that is, the different types of housing options available to people. For the most part, you have public housing, and you have homelessness—mostly in the form of hidden homelessness, where people are sleeping on the couches of relatives. Then, in some cases, you have inherited homeownership—where people got homes through the HAP or some other government program. But for the most part, not a lot of people in non-market communities are actually moving into homeownership anymore. I asked the local housing manager in Fort Good Hope: “When’s the last time someone built a house in the community?” She said, “I can only think of one person. It was probably about 20 years ago, and that person actually went to the bank and got a mortgage. If people have a home, it’s usually inherited from their parents or from relatives.” And that situation is a bit of a problem in itself, because it means that people can’t move out of public housing. Public housing traps you in a lot of ways. For example, it punishes employment, because rent is geared to income. It’s been said many times that this model disincentivizes employment. I was in a workshop last year where an Indigenous person spoke up and said, “Actually, it’s not disincentivizing, it punishes employment. It takes things away from you.” Somebody at the territorial housing corporation in Yellowknife told me, “We have clients who are over the income threshold for public housing, but there’s nowhere else they can go.” Theoretically, they would go to the private housing market, they would go to market housing, or they would go to homeownership, but those options don’t exist or they aren’t within reach.  So the idea with the transitional homeownership model is to create an option that could allow the highest income earners in a non-market community to move towards homeownership. This could take some pressure off the public housing system. And it would almost be like a wealth distribution measure: people who are able to afford the cost of operating and maintaining a home then have that option, instead of remaining in government-subsidized housing. For those who cannot, the public housing system is still an option—and maybe a few more public housing units are freed up.  I’ve developed about 36 recommendations for a transitional homeownership model in northern non-market communities. The recommendations are meant to be actioned at various scales: at the scale of the individual household, the scale of the housing provider, and the scale of the whole community. The idea is that if you look at housing as part of a whole system, then there are certain moves that might make sense here—in a non-market context especially—that wouldn’t make sense elsewhere. So for example, we’re in a situation where a house doesn’t appreciate in value. It’s not a financial asset, it’s actually a financial liability, and it’s something that costs a lot to maintain over the years. Giving someone a house in a non-market community is actually giving them a burden, but some residents would be quite willing to take this on, just to have an option of getting out of public housing. It just takes a shift in mindset to start considering solutions for that kind of context. One particularly interesting feature of non-market communities is that they’re still functioning with a mixed economy: partially a subsistence-based or traditional economy, and partially a cash economy. I think that’s actually a strength that hasn’t been tapped into by territorial and federal policies. In the far North, in-kind and traditional economies are still very much a way of life. People subsidize their groceries with “country food,” which means food that was harvested from the land. And instead of paying for fuel tank refills in cash, many households in non-market communities are burning wood as their primary heat source. In communities south of the treeline, like Fort Good Hope, that wood is also harvested from the land. Despite there being no exchange of cash involved, these are critical economic activities—and they are also part of a sustainable, resilient economy grounded in local resources and traditional skills. This concept of the mixed economy could be tapped into as part of a housing model, by bringing back the idea of a ‘sweat equity’ contribution instead of a down payment—just like in the HAP. Contributing time and labour is still an economic exchange, but it bypasses the ‘cash’ part—the part that’s still hard to come by in a non-market community. Labour doesn’t have to be manual labour, either. There are all kinds of work that need to take place in a community: maybe taking training courses and working on projects at the Construction Centre, maybe helping out at the Band Office, or providing childcare services for other working parents—and so on. So it could be more inclusive than a model that focuses on manual labour. Another thing to highlight is a rent-to-own trial period. Not every client will be equipped to take on the burdens of homeownership. So you can give people a trial period. If it doesn’t work out and they can’t pay for operations and maintenance, they could continue renting without losing their home. Then it’s worth touching on some basic design principles for the homeownership units. In the North, the solutions that work are often the simplest—not the most technologically innovative. When you’re in a remote location, specialized replacement parts and specialized labour are both difficult to come by. And new technologies aren’t always designed for extreme climates—especially as we trend towards the digital. So rather than installing technologically complex, high-efficiency systems, it actually makes more sense to build something that people are comfortable with, familiar with, and willing to maintain. In a southern context, people suggest solutions like solar panels to manage energy loads. But in the North, the best thing you can do for energy is put a woodstove in the house. That’s something we’ve heard loud and clear in many communities. Even if people can’t afford to fill their fuel tank, they’re still able to keep chopping wood—or their neighbour is, or their brother, or their kid, and so on. It’s just a different way of looking at things and a way of bringing things back down to earth, back within reach of community members.  Regulatory barriers to housing access: Revisiting the National Building Code On that note, there’s one more project I’ll touch on briefly. TAG is working on a research study, funded by Housing, Infrastructure and Communities Canada, which looks at regulatory barriers to housing access in the North. The National Building Code (NBC) has evolved largely to serve the southern market context, where constraints and resources are both very different than they are up here. Technical solutions in the NBC are based on assumptions that, in some cases, simply don’t apply in northern communities. Here’s a very simple example: minimum distance to a fire hydrant. Most of our communities don’t have fire hydrants at all. We don’t have municipal services. The closest hydrant might be thousands of kilometres away. So what do we do instead? We just have different constraints to consider. That’s just one example but there are many more. We are looking closely at the NBC, and we are also working with a couple of different communities in different situations. The idea is to identify where there are conflicts between what’s regulated and what’s actually feasible, viable, and practical when it comes to on-the-ground realities. Then we’ll look at some alternative solutions for housing. The idea is to meet the intent of the NBC, but arrive at some technical solutions that are more practical to build, easier to maintain, and more appropriate for northern communities.  All of the projects I’ve just described are fairly recent, and very much still ongoing. We’ll see how it all plays out. I’m sure we’re going to run into a lot of new barriers and learn a lot more on the way, but it’s an incremental trial-and-error process. Even with the Construction Centre, we’re saying that this is a demonstration project, but how—or if—it rolls out in other communities would be totally community-dependent, and it could look very, very different from place to place.  In doing any research on Northern housing, one of the consistent findings is that there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Northern communities are not all the same. There are all kinds of different governance structures, different climates, ground conditions, transportation routes, different population sizes, different people, different cultures. Communities are Dene, Métis, Inuvialuit, as well as non-Indigenous, all with different ways of being. One-size-fits-all solutions don’t work—they never have. And the housing crisis is complex, and it’s difficult to unravel. So we’re trying to move forward with a few different approaches, maybe in a few different places, and we’re hoping that some communities, some organizations, or even some individual people, will see some positive impacts.  As appeared in the June 2025 issue of Canadian Architect magazine  The post Insites: Addressing the Northern housing crisis appeared first on Canadian Architect.

Architectural education is an important part of becoming an architect. It provides a foundation in art and architectural history, basic concepts of design, and foundational technical knowledge. It promotes critical thinking, examines social and economic complexities, and encourages creativity and teamwork. I may be biased, but I believe the camaraderie and pride that are part of architectural students’ design studio experience are unmatched by any other educational program.    In this issue of the AIA Canada Journal, Pauline Thimm, Hannah Allawi and I reached out to schools of architecture from across the country. Our conversations centred on research themes in today’s design studios, with a focus on housing affordability. Students and faculties are actively engaging in challenging the status quo on the shortage of housing. It takes a village to derive plausible solutions—and schools of architecture across the country are united in bringing their voices and minds to this pressing issue. In a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC)-supported partnership, AIA Canada Society is also actively participating in research on designing inclusive, sustainable and healthy cities.  We want to thank all the educators who took time to speak with us and provide their invaluable insights.  -Dora Ng, AIA Canada Society President Rick Haldenby Professor, School of Architecture, University of Waterloo Rick Haldenby, FRAIC, served as Director of the School of Architecture at the University of Waterloo from 1988 to 2013, and founded the Waterloo Rome Program in 1979. Among many accomplishments, Haldenby was appointed to the Order of Canada in 2021, and has received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Canadian Council of University Schools of Architecture, the Special Jury Prize at the Kitchener Waterloo Arts Awards, and the Dr. Jean Steckle Award for Heritage Education from the Waterloo Regional Heritage Foundation. Q: Kitchener-Waterloo is known as a university town that is home to top Ontario post-secondary institutions. Tell us a bit about the twin cities. A: The Waterloo Region’s industrial development began with the arrival of German-speaking immigrants in the 19th century. Its cities were literally “founded on factories.” Its prosperity was influenced by a rail-based transport system. In the late 19th century, the extension of the Grand Trunk Railway contributed to the industrialization of the area. In the 1950s, visionary community leaders made concerted efforts to build educational infrastructure, and in just a few years created the University of Waterloo, Wilfrid Laurier University and Conestoga College. The region experienced significant growth in manufacturing industries, insurance companies, and high-tech businesses over time. Home to two universities and a college, it is an education hub that attracts talents and businesses, which increases the demand for housing for students and families. The once-suburban neighbourhood of Northdale, surrounded by these post-secondary institutions, saw a surge in student population in the early 2000s, including a large percentage of international students. We saw a building boom to increase medium-density housing like stacked townhomes and row houses, as well as taller buildings up to 30+ stories in what was once a primarily low-density town. Q:  Like the building boom in Waterloo, we saw many residential high-rises going up in the GTA, but this growth still does not adequately address housing demand. In many cities across Canada, there are unprecedented housing issues including affordability and homelessness. What do you see emerging as key areas of interest and inquiry among students at your school? Is housing one of them? A: Connection between affordability and homelessness is not a one-to-one problem. The housing crisis can have many dimensions. In our undergraduate design studios, we are laying the groundwork for approaches to affordability, environmental responsibility and social justice. Many of my colleagues and graduate students at the University of Waterloo are involved in various research studies, exhibitions and campaigns, including the 2023 Venice Architecture Biennale. We also try to keep a balance to cover diverse topics in architecture, including housing. Second- and third-year design studios focus on urban intensification amid the building boom, enabling students to discuss ideas for keeping cities habitable and attractive for future growth. Design studios have also worked with the local chapter of Habitat for Humanity to support the ambitious program to build affordable housing for families in need. In partnership with the City of Cambridge, Waterloo architecture students designed and built tiny homes as prototypes for emergency shelter. Photo courtesy University of Waterloo Q: Any examples of collaboration between studio projects and practicing professionals in tackling the housing crisis? A: Through collaboration and communication with the community, the School of Architecture has engaged with social housing agencies, municipality planning authorities, Indigenous groups and aging-in-place consultants to develop housing solutions for a diverse population including seniors. Moving the School of Architecture from Waterloo to Cambridge in 2004 was a communal project with great support from the City of Cambridge. Occupying the repurposed silk mill in Cambridge, the school aims to be the design campus for the city to allow exchange of creative ideas and intellectual stimulation. Since the move, we have had many opportunities to collaborate and work closely with the municipality. The Tiny Homes project is an initiative in partnership with the City of Cambridge, whereby Waterloo architecture students were engaged to design and build prototype tiny homes that offer practical, cost-effective and dignified emergency housing solutions. It is an example of collaboration that makes a meaningful difference.  Photo by Danielle Sneesby Shauna Mallory-Hill Associate Professor and Associate Dean of Research, Faculty of Architecture, University of Manitoba Shauna Mallory-Hill, PhD, is currently Associate Professor and Associate Dean of Research at the University of Manitoba’s Faculty of Architecture. Her 25-year-long career spans teaching, research and advocacy, with a focus on building systems, universal and sustainable design, as well as building performance evaluation. Her sponsored research includes accessible design, along with post-occupancy work on how sustainably designed environments impact human health and productivity. Q: How is The University of Manitoba Faculty of Architecture (FAUM) specifically engaging in design explorations addressing housing?  A: In addition to hosting public events and delivering focused design studios, we are actively engaged and support research collaborations including funded research with the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) and the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC). We are also committed to partnering and working with communities.    In 2022, U of M professor Lancelot Coar’s undergraduate studio engaged with One House Many Nations to develop a mobile design and construction trailer for on-site design-build work. Photo by Lancelot Coar One House Many Nations (OHMN) originally started as a grassroots movement to shed light on the housing crisis faced by Indigenous communities.  For the past four years, OHMN, led by Dr. Alex Wilson and Sylvia McAdam, has been working with faculty and students from FAUM, houseless First Nations youth, and students at Saskatoon’s Nutana Collegiate to design and construct small, affordable homes that are trucked to remote Indigenous communities in Northern Saskatchewan. After a house is delivered, it is occupied by one of the youth participants. Each year, another house is built, informed by post-occupancy data that was collected on the previous year’s house(s).  First Nations youth participants have learned to advocate for community needs while gaining skills and knowledge about home-building and maintenance.  Lancelot Coar’s 2022 undergraduate architecture studio engaged with OHMN to create a mobile design lab that can be brought onsite to design-build in First Nations communities. OHMN’s work was exhibited at the Canadian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale of Architecture in 2023.    Q: What are key areas of interest and inquiry among students at your school? Is housing one of them?  A: We are seeing that this generation is increasingly concerned about what is happening to the world—concerns about sustainability, housing, and food deserts are paramount. Students want to work on things that are meaningful. Students also really embrace hands-on learning. Any time students are encouraged and supported to engage with community, they feel like they are making a difference.     Here in Winnipeg, we can all see the encampments of the unhoused. It is apparent that there is work to do to solve this dilemma.This past year, one of our housing-themed studios worked with a local grassroots organization, St. Boniface Street Links, in the design and construction of a prototype transitional house as a safer interim housing solution. This housing project ultimately was built and included as part of the annual Warming Huts design competition at the Forks. Q: Are there any barriers to collaborating in this way, involving practitioners and real community groups? A: We often get groups who approach us to collaborate. We need to be clear that we are not providing a design service, but we are committed to the exploration of ideas and working together on important problems.     It is important to me that doing housing research work in collaboration with Indigenous communities is respectful, responsible and reciprocal. Ensuring that some benefit of the research stays with the community is crucial, given the long history of research involving Indigenous populations where this did not happen. A willingness to listen and understand community priorities and context—and adapt—is key.  It can be difficult for some to have enough capacity to deal with added administration (meetings, paperwork, report writing, etc.); a local liaison is helpful.  The Wîkiwin student-built house is part of an ongoing collaboration with Kawéchiwasik Development Corporation at York Factory First Nation. Photo by Shauna Mallory-Hill Q: Some of your current research and design work is supported by the CMHC Housing Supply Challenge. Can you tell us a bit about that project?  A: The CMHC funding in part supports the Wîkiwin Training Enterprise of York Factory First Nation project, geared to building healthy homes by leveraging local resources and tradespeople in collaboration with the Kawéchiwasik Development Corporation. The purpose is to provide design education and construction skills in the northern communities where they are needed. A key goal is that kids won’t need to leave their communities to get skills, and communities can develop capacity to increase their self-sufficiency.    In collaboration with FAUM, the project will include a comprehensive education model based on a co-created curriculum, training programs, housing designs and research on building materials. Students earn micro-credentials through distance education to get basic training in design and construction, or have the opportunity to work as research assistants to assist with collection of data, such as indoor air quality.     Focusing on sustainable construction techniques, using local materials like stone and wood, the initiative promises to employ residents, cut production costs, and enhance housing quality. Additionally, the creation of a year-round skilled trades school facility and housing for students and teachers will boost the local labour force.    Stage 2 of the project involves the building of the Wîkiwin skilled trades training and research facility and dormitory. This phase will also see the expansion of the educational curriculum in partnership with the University of Manitoba, ultimately increasing the labour force capacity of York Factory First Nation and creating more opportunities for its youth.  Sasha Tsenkova Professor of Planning and Director of the Cities, Policy & Planning Lab at the School of Architecture, Planning & Landscape (SAPL), University of Calgary Sasha Tsenkova, PhD, is a professor at the School of Architecture, Planning & Landscape at the University of Calgary. With a background in architecture, urbanism, and planning, her work spans over 30 years of research, teaching, and professional practice, focusing on creating more inclusive and sustainable urban environments. She is a Fellow of the Canadian Institute of Planners and a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada/Academy of Social Sciences. Q: Major cities across Canada are seeing unprecedented housing issues. As an educator, what have you seen in research or studio projects that tackle these issues?    A: We are a nation of suburban homeowners, where much of the wealth creation in the urban system is driven by investment in housing. Today, income and wealth inequality in Canadian cities is higher than ever before, which is exacerbated by the suburban homeownership model. In cities, newcomers to the housing market—young and old—face incredible affordability constraints. Homelessness has grown exponentially and homeownership is not within the reach of the middle class. In the design world, we must begin to address, through systemic intervention, these challenges. Many of our research and studio projects focus on sustainable urbanism through designs  that explore strategies to provide affordable homes across the income spectrum and embrace different types of housing.      We cannot continue to replicate a model of postwar city building that no longer serves the needs of the people. We encourage students to learn from successful cities in Europe, Latin America, and the United States, where a more systematic approach to neighbourhood design and redevelopment allows various types of housing to be built along the same street within a community. This is a different approach to growth premised on urban regeneration and intensification, where people come before cars and community identity evolves over time.   Q: Any examples of collaboration between studio projects and practicing professionals in tackling the housing crisis?  A: We focus on community-engaged scholarship, research and teaching at SAPL. Integration with communities of practice is necessary, but so is a direct relationship with clients, so that we situate our studio projects in the real-world. The housing crisis is multi-faceted and future professionals need to be aware of the complexity of design intervention—solutions require a nexus of policy, planning and design approaches. In a graduate school, we must prepare aspiring designers, architects and planners to embrace these challenges.      The interface with critical practice is the ultimate test for us to remain relevant and committed to innovation and excellence within the realm of what we can control. Studio teaching needs to address housing affordability in a systematic way, as it will make a critical difference within Canadian society and will define the future of our cities. This requires a much stronger emphasis on sustainable urbanism and community-based projects.  Q: What policies do you feel cities in Canada should create or address to aid in addressing the housing crisis and homelessness?  A: The planning regulation, upzoning, and permitting processes can be improved to enhance infill housing, gentle density and inner-city intensification. Recognizing that cities and neighbourhoods need to be built for people and not for cars requires a focus on transit-oriented development in strategic locations where low-density retail, industrial and housing sites can be redeveloped to become mixed-use urban villages with a variety of housing types. Changes to minimum parking standards and lot coverage can energize the infusion of missing middle housing to create opportunities for multi-generational living, cohousing and home sharing with renters. But the real difference in addressing the homelessness and affordability crisis is the renewed investment into affordable housing through partnerships of federal, provincial and municipal governments with non-profit organizations. We need to grow this segment of the housing market and to make sure that it is an integral part of our urban neighbourhoods through the design process. Q: What role do you think schools of architecture and design have in tackling the housing crisis in Canada?  A: We need to make a major commitment to building knowledge and capacity that focuses on solutions to the housing crisis in our curriculum. Design thinking is premised on innovation; it is part of the competency, creativity and collaboration that we try to instill in future professionals. Architects today are absent from the design of neighbourhoods on the periphery of our cities. We need to bring back that creativity and the knowledge of architects, planners, and designers, and develop the prototypes that will provide solutions to the housing crisis.     SAPL is moving downtown so that we can be a part of downtown rebuilding and innovation. Our adaptive reuse of existing office space in Calgary’s downtown will provide opportunities to connect to local businesses and residents and offer immersion in city life that is critical for our students. Our school will be a living urban design lab, where we embrace social justice, community-inspired design work and collaborate with different communities of practice to demonstrate viable solutions for changing cities and changing societies.   Sara Stevens Associate Professor & Chair – Urban Design at the School of Architecture & Landscape Architecture (SALA), University of British Columbia Sara Stevens is an architectural historian and Associate Professor at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. Her book Developing Expertise (Yale University Press, 2016) studies real estate development in 20th-century American cities. She is a member of the collective Architects Against Housing Alienation, curators of the Canada Pavilion at the 2023 Venice Architecture Biennale. Q:  Major cities across Canada are seeing unprecedented housing issues (affordability issues and homelessness). As an educator, what have you seen in research or studio projects that tackle these issues?  A: There are so many great examples of design studios in Canada that are looking at housing challenges, such as the ‘Not for Sale’ study abroad course on contemporary housing that recently won the ACSA’s 2024 Architectural Education Award. McGill has a long history of housing research with the Minimum Cost Housing Group, which was the subject of a recent exhibition curated by Ipek Türeli. The work of Shawn Bailey and Lancelot Coar at the University of Manitoba is bringing really innovative pedagogy to the question of housing for Indigenous communities to design schools.  Q: Any examples of collaboration between studio projects and practicing professionals in tackling the housing crisis?  A: At UBC, questions around missing middle housing brought forth a collaboration between Haeccity Studio Architects and UBC students that resulted in a publication of the students’ work, co-sponsored by SALA and the Urbanarium, an organization in Vancouver that is a forum for sharing ideas about city building, particularly around climate change and housing affordability. The Urbananium’s design competitions have focused on missing middle housing, mixed-use neighbourhoods, and the codes and regulations that are barriers to housing affordability. Their current competition, Decoding Timber Towers, is focused on prefab and mass timber housing.  Q: What policies do you feel cities in Canada should create or address to aid in the housing crisis and homelessness?  A: I think that Canada needs to take UNDRIP and the TRC Calls to Action seriously. We can’t separate the issue of housing for Indigenous people, and the history of colonization that it’s part of, from the housing challenges everyone else faces. The United Nations Housing as a Human Right work is a great resource on this, as their work also points to the problems of financialization and the effect this has had on renters, social housing, and un-housed folks.  The Land Back Courtyard was part of the Not For Sale exhibition at the Canada Pavilion in the 2023 Venice Architecture Biennale. Photo by Maris Mezulis Q: What role do you think schools of architecture and design have in tackling the housing crisis in Canada? A: Schools of architecture and design can play an important role by educating students about the role of architects in the housing crisis in Canada. We need the next generation of architects to understand that they have a part to play. It’s not an issue that can be solved through policy and the market alone: their expertise in design, which of course touches policy and works with the private sector, is inherently part of this issue.     To develop deeper conversations around this, I am working with collaborators in the collective Architects Against Housing Alienation to organize a super-studio across Canada for the next school year (25-26) called “End Housing Alienation Now!” that is inviting all schools of architecture to run studios on a shared set of themes and principles. (This builds off of the exhibition and campaign we did for the 2023 Venice Architecture Biennale, which the teaching award I mentioned is also related to.) We have commitments from almost all the schools already, and have hosted a number of conversations with people from the schools to develop how this will work, balancing what is shared vs. independent, the different schedules and levels of students, etc.      For these studios, one ambition is that the studios work with local activists, advocates, and professional practices to show students how important these kinds of collaborations can be, and how important embedded local knowledge is. We hope to share resources and create opportunities for students to connect across geographies to ensure that many, many people with lots of passion and expertise are focused on this topic.     As appeared in the June 2025 issue of Canadian Architect magazine  The post AIA Canada Journal: Canadian educators on housing affordability appeared first on Canadian Architect.