HE MONSTE

Art @Olivia Ramsden - Giant Warriors

After watching a short film called “I Hope it Ends with a Monster” by the YouTube channel Curious Archive, I am left wondering about the future of the profession of Architecture and its role in preventing the end of the world. The film proposes that the ending we may crave as a species is one where a fictional and distant monster erases our responsibilities and struggles. This is the quick and painless option, where we hold no responsibility for our actions. It is death to a supernatural being who, for reasons beyond our comprehension, wants us gone. However, the more than likely demon of the apocalypse is the all too real option of annihilation at our own hands: climate apocalypse, nuclear war, plague, etc. Curious Archive references the book “Don’t Even Think About It” by George Marshall, a climate activist and writer who illustrates that humans are incredibly poorly equipped to handle massive, drawn-out catastrophes. The short film goes on to reference numerous pop-media sources that deal with the same issue, like “Carrol & the End of the World” or “When the Wind Blows,” both of which tell a story of people who can’t quite process that the slow, inevitable end is approaching. The characters are rather willing to continue what may seem like bland lives and stick to the regimented routine over acknowledging the end. These are the examples from the short film, but they remind me of stories like “Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind,” “Brazil (1985),” or “The 100” that point out that ignorance towards the natural world is difficult to overcome given our immediate struggles like war, poverty, suffering, and personal identity/agency. It is worth connecting to these stories because we are not so removed from them as we think. It seems easier to continue to ignore or, more so, push off the dread we know we should feel when watching these somber tales. In the case of destruction at our own hands, it is our responsibility to recognize that it won’t feel like a panic or a marked moment in time that is the end, but it will be a slow collapse, one piece at a time. The profession and education of architecture must spotlight, or at a minimum address, The Monster - our own inability to recognize the threat of climate change.

Even on the individual scale, we are master procrastinators of difficult conversations or facing hard realities, so it makes sense that something tough to completely comprehend and so removed from daily struggles is even easier to ignore. The conversation of facts has undeniably proved that climate change due to human influence is occurring. However, as with the mind games The Monster plays on us, how we convince others must be a discussion that understands human nature. Nobel-prize winner Daniel Kahneman noted in talking to George Marshall, “I am extremely skeptical that we can cope with climate change. To mobilize people, this has to become an emotional issue. It has to have the immediacy and salience. A distant, abstract, and disputed thread just doesn't have the necessary characteristics for seriously mobilizing public opinion.” And I agree, we desperately lack “immediacy and salience” despite the more frequent occurrence of severe weather events. Even those who agree that humans are the principal cause of expedited climate change may still have difficulty acting on this information at scale.

An event of the magnitude required to mobilize opposed political parties and people of differing ideologies, or even those alike, is likely an omen of the unavoidable end. However, in our current day, we still have the opportunity to prevent the death of our habitable planet. Architecture frequently has a story, some social driver that informs the design in an attempt (in my limited experience, it seems) to improve its inhabitants' lives and sell the project. Cynically and truthfully, in many architecture practices, it is a profession of balancing the books and selling our ideas. As much as we wish every building would have some proposal that addresses socially just problems or pushes us towards a more climate-friendly urban scape, it still comes down to what we can afford to build. More often than not, climate design gets value engineered out first. So, changing our approach to convincing others that climate change is real and active should include changing our delivery method for climate design ideas. We should change it from a purely analytical method to a mixed-emotional approach.

In a recent conversation with a partner architect of a large firm that has been working in the field for over 30 years (name and company not identified here), I asked how they try to sell climate-responsive design to clients. They said it was important to illustrate cost savings on energy and explain that the materials associated with climate design are also of higher quality, and as such, they are more durable to degradation. They also said the conversation has moved away from primarily the acquisition of LEED points towards a conversation of material and energy costs. This response followed the analytical narrative I expected to receive – a practical narrative yes, but without the emotion I hope to bring to this discussion.

Currently, we use software like ClimateStudio, Ladybug, or Climate Consultant to illustrate the usefulness of energy savings, urban heat reduction, daylighting potential, etc. This is likely the way to convince the developer who is only interested in return on investments, but direct daylighting graphics and heat maps lose the spirit of the argument. In addition, someone who does not understand the meaning of the data gathered from these programs (like Lux, SHGC, R/U-Value, or illuminance) may not be convinced by analytical graphics. We design environments for humans, and one of those environments is the Earth. In making the inside more comfortable through sustainable methods, we are improving our constituents' lives and the lives of our global society. We want our children's children to have the same opportunities we have, and to not have to think about the death of our ecosystem. However, this may be closer than our children's generation; we, the current, may have to face this reality. Unfortunately, the difficulty goes beyond just convincing clients to spend the appropriate funds on a design that helps; it also is dependent on other cultural changes like moving towards less hardscape in urban areas, changing our attitudes towards plastic packaging, reducing waste in our food industry, using less refined energy sources than electricity (EnergyLiteracy.com), or tackling several of the Climate Stabilization Wedges (CMI). However, proposing any of these on the political scene is difficult as industries directly profiting from inaction on these fronts lobby for stagnant policy.

I can’t entirely blame “the corporations” for climate irresponsibility as they, too, are people just trying to make a living (highly debatable for the obscenely rich), but some responsibility needs to be taken without policy change. This falls into the idea that the average person cannot engage in the political process until their basic needs, like physical health and safety, are met (Mencius 1A7). So, to an extent, if we are constantly in a battle for resources, we are unable to address global issues effectively. Thus, to expect a collective society to recognize The Monster and act without fear as a motivator is unlikely to occur without creating a utopia, so what should we do? This is another reason why a fantastical monster of the apocalypse, as opposed to ourselves, is a potentially calming end. We can relinquish our struggles for basic needs and escape responsibility for the end.

Extremists and radicals are two terms that often get attributed to climate activists but have negative connotations wielded by both sides of an argument to degrade the opposition. It is a game of in-group and out-group arguments. It, in a way, rationalizes the arguments for our brains and defines a tangible enemy because we can’t literally argue with climate change. It gives us a sense of control to say that “my group” is right, and yours is wrong, even if nothing changes. It creates a monster (the out-group) to shed responsibility to. However, this is troublesome for the long, slow death that is caused by climate change because the real monster is not human and will not feed our need for conflict. Extreme values and actions further polarize, or as Marshal says in one of my favorite words, “galvanizes” those already in opposition to climate change. For example, soup protests in France (and elsewhere), where cans of soup are opened and thrown on famous works of art in an attempt to spread awareness for climate change and other environmental issues, make those who control vast amounts of funds, art collectors, toxic to the cause. As someone who finds themselves deeply concerned about the future of our planet and will advocate for climate responsibility in every circumstance I can, I still find these demonstrations difficult to get behind. But then again, how do we get people to listen?

Now, to bring this to a type of art close to my heart, I wish to discuss the all-too-real future of cyberpunk. It is often characterized by dark and overcrowded cities, bustling with mechanical equipment and loosely futuristic technology—but the reality of these situations is not so far from what already exists. Below, I show art, then a picture of a real built place, comparing the fantastical scene to what we can reference in reality.

Concept art for Ghost In The Shell 2 

Nondescript Oil Refinery. (There are numerous similar typologies)

Bladerunner 2049.

Dubai in a sandstorm.

When considering The Monster, our inability to comprehend distant, complicated disaster, cyberpunk worlds are what our imaginations seem to kick up for the in-between stage if the slow burn continues. We continue struggling for basic needs and are subservient to the greater powers, which, through greed, have sucked the planet's resources dry. In the game “Cyberpunk 2077” or the films “Oblivion,” “Bladerunner 2049” and “The Matrix” the characters struggle for a sense of individuality, or autonomy. In Cyberpunk 2077, it’s coming to terms with losing your mind to a synthesized one. In The Matrix, what we think is reality is programmed, and the truth is much more sinister than the appearances around us. They also illustrate what may happen if we don't change the path we are on. They are desolate worlds, often categorized by barren landscapes beyond the boundaries of the built city, corporations controlling access to wellbeing, and the erasure of the individual into the system. Parts of this fantasy seem attractive, stylized to appease the need to offload responsibility, but the stories that are paired with cyberpunk worlds are often solitary and isolating.

One of my favorite artists Darius Puia often depicts a single character in vast landscape. I feel this art captures a bit of what I feel when thinking about a lonely cyberpunk world.

Honestly, part of me fetishizes the cyberpunk city. I enjoy the dense mechanical world they describe, but it seems irresponsible to make that my future in architecture. However, in some ways, our modern cities and our want to densify is already creating landscapes that will soon be indiscernible from this artwork.

Addressing The Monster, ourselves, and our mind's tendencies could let us take climate change more seriously. Hopefully, through an approach that not only illustrates the energy and material savings of climate-focused design but also the emotional and cultural toll these issues create, we can avoid solitary cyberpunk worlds, polarizing political denial, and, ultimately – extinction. If architecture is a practice of people, where we prioritize the human experience and our thriving, climate should be top of the priority list. This is not to say climate has not been, or that it currently is, but maybe the approach should be more emotional. Illustrate the isolating harsh realities that could be, indulge our imaginations to find potential future issues, but most importantly – don’t let The Monster lie undisturbed.