The author focuses on the theme of memory. hooks distinguishes between “nostalgia” and “remembering that serves to illuminate and transform the present.” She sees in this difference of access to the past a way to become an active participant in it, to be self-critical through it, and through this introspection, this reconsideration of “choices and locations” to “tell stories.” These stories become then a transformative force of their own, derived from certain concrete contexts but growing into some truths that are to be brought into the discourse on, in this case, decolonisation, of language, of heritage, and of space.

I think this concept of memory as an active tool for both internal and external impact is essential. It is a way to be active both socially and politically, as hooks suggests, but also in context of the urban landscape. While a minor point in the greater discourse the author conducts on marginalisation, I was struck by her division of “nostalgia” and “remembering,” where the former is passive and the latter is active. I wonder how do these concepts transform into the way we perceive and interact with not only language, but also the physical space around us? How do they affect the way we perceive cities? How do they translate into the way we live in the spaces around us? How do we make sure to remember and not be nostalgic?

The central discussion of hooks’s essay is on marginality and seeing them as a space of activity and possibility. The author maintains that the periphery is a place of transformation through the voice and creativity of its “inhabitants.” The margin is metaphorical while also retaining its spatial denotation, it draws a direct link between the physical and the page-bound. hooks advocates for intersectional stories of oppression, for the production of new knowledge in this neglected space.

Here I understand hooks to present a dynamic landscape of change, a margin which will “write itself” in its own unique voice and spill onto the text of society. It is, finally, a hopeful image, one to motivate change. This change is happening in the political and social spheres naturally, but also in the urban and where it is not it could and should be. It is about the radical opening of discourse in words and spaces. In the city this means a shift from the centre to the periphery of the city, often neglected in past planning practices. But how does one practically translate “radical openness” into urban space? Is it about participatory planning? Can the thought of colonising space be fully escaped in urban planning? Could it be about reflection and memory?

Her approach highlights that being recognized as “the Other” often happens through language — resulting in what she calls a “broken voice.” In order to be heard and taken seriously, one is often expected to switch to their language, entering a societal system that demands conformity and leaves little room for authenticity.

I believe it is important that everyone speaks from their own perspective. But at the same time, should it be allowed — for example — for a white person to talk about how a Black person feels, or vice versa? This risks becoming mere assumption and could reinforce stereotypes.

Yet, this leads to a paradox: doesn't restricting who can speak about whom also create more segregation? For example, can I, as a white woman, truly say how another white woman feels? Probably not — it would only ever be an assumption.

Isn’t it actually a greater success when someone defined as “the Other” finds success on their own terms?

And shouldn’t everyone strive to be their truest self — even if their language, behavior, or identity marks them as “Other”? Because if more people did so, diversity could finally be normalized, instead of being something that society constantly pressures into assimilation.

----

Urban questions:

- What role does radical openness play in urban development today, even outside marginalized contexts?
- How can participatory approaches be applied in cities struggling with gentrification?
- Are there examples where preservation and social transformation have been successfully combined?

The use of the word “space” refers to a context, a reality, which can be separate from the material version of it. Yet like this material counterpart, it also consists of what I call the Barbie binary: a barbie is only a barbie as long as it is played with. A god exists only through its believers. The fathoming is responsible for the existence.

And same here: the inhabiter and the habitat. A space exists by those who inhabit it, and more importantly, exists through the inhabiting.

This is what this text aims to achieve: to produce change for the better by making us fathom the author’s experience, and thus not change the space itself, but our behavior. Not the space itself, but how we inhabit it, and make the space.

Space through non-material building of relationships, contexts and realities.

The issue is that just like non-minorities don’t fathom minorities’ experiences, the reality of this author is a relative one. And through their struggle, we become the minority in their space. And thus the fight goes on.

The text is written from a first-person perspective, very emotional, highlights the author's struggle as "the other," someone living in a marginalized space. The author expresses an urgent need to break the silence and articulate the pain caused by these divisions

With elegance and resilience, the author invites to a mutual overcoming of these imaginary boundaries. So far, interactions within these spaces tend to be one-sided, and those who enter are often viewed merely as temporary participants, required to return to “their” and in a way, designated places.

The text powerfully illustrates how language shapes these spatial dynamics, demonstrating that terms like “the other” and “their space” contribute to the ongoing division. This segregation arises not only from the physical development of spaces but already starts with the language we use.

In that sense, the author critiques the prejudices of the realities and claims the urgent necessity to understand diverse realities and perspectives. It is crucial to, first educate oneself, understand it and engage with it, by experiencing it, before discussing openly about it. Speaking about these dynamics is creating already a space, a space for dialogue, while not doing it, silencing, serves to neglect and unaddresse places.

I’ll like to reflect on how could we improve spaces only by the use of language.

When we give voice to memory, particularly to painful or oppressive histories, we pass on more than stories—we pass on emotions, questions, and the will to resist. As Hooks writes, “One is always at risk.” There is no longer a guaranteed sense of safety or home for those living at the margins. But by continuing to speak and remember, histories will not be erased.

How can architecture participate in this act of remembrance, especially in post-apartheid or post-colonial contexts and give voice to the marginalized?

Hooks also makes it clear that public space isn’t neutral, it’s shaped by race and gender. The way cities are designed, the way certain neighborhoods are policed, and even the way workplaces are structured all reinforce exclusion. I started thinking about the spaces I move through every day. Who feels comfortable there, and who doesn’t? For whom are these spaces actually built for?

Hooks observes that some people occupy central positions, while others exist rather on the margin, a dynamic that is not only social but also spatial and evident in urban planning. The margins are usually home to those that are affected by oppression. However, what is particularly interesting is that Hooks does not see marginalization only as a disadvantage. Instead, she views it as an opportunity to create a space of resistance and develop alternative forms of knowledge.

Applied to urban planning, this would mean shifting the focus away from city centers and paying more attention to the peripheries, to areas that are often being neglected. This approach could contribute to marginalized groups becoming more actively involved in the urban fabric. However,  some questions remain: Who are the ones to shift focus and how can this be done without allowing the voices of the “colonizers” to once again overpower those of the disadvantaged? How can this process be initiated without triggering new forms of displacement?

This raises an important question: How can urban design reflect this linguistic resistance? Can cities be spaces that amplify the narratives of those at the margins, rather than silencing them through homogenous planning and rigid hierarchies? Could urban landscapes serve as physical texts, inscribed with diverse stories and histories that resist erasure and celebrate plurality?

Should urban design embrace marginality as a starting point for innovation and resistance rather than treating it as something to be erased?

"Marginality is not just a sign of exclusion or deprivation, it is a position of radical possibility, a space of resistance."

In my opinion, Architecture is itself a language as well, one that shapes power relations, opens or closes spaces. Every building tells a story, but who is the author? Who decides which places remain and which disappear?

"The politics of localisation calls us to identify the spaces in which we begin the process of reinterpretation."

Just as Hooks understands language as a battle, architecture could in my opinion also be understood as a battlefield.

Cities are manifestations of power , of centres and edges, of inclusion and exclusion. But if every form of expression, whether language or space, is primarily read as a battle ,

is there still room for joint design?

Communication is fragile.

A word, a gesture, even breathing too loudly or a smell can be perceived as a provocation.

But is it always deliberate? Do we punish those who deliberately hurt or those who are unaware of the effect of their words or actions?

If every word is seen as potential aggression, then those who remain silent for fear of misunderstanding will become quieter and quieter , while those who harbour hatred will become louder and louder.

If no one speaks except those who want to provoke, then in the end only they will determine the discourse.

"Language is also a place of struggle."

But does it always have to be? If every conversation is seen as a potential declaration of war, if every building is read as a symbol of oppression , how can a common future be created?

"Our fight is also a fight of memory against forgetting."

But if memory only serves as a weapon and not as a bridge, if every dialogue only means danger , what remains to unite us?

And if we fall silent in fear of misunderstanding, who do we leave the talking to?

As she explains; marginality is much more than a place of deprivation, it is in fact a place of resistance, of critical thinking, and the place where people who experience discrimination begin the creative process of reimagining spaces.

In the end, she explains how and why she uses the words she does: Struggle, marginality, resistance are words that have a history, that evoke liberation and strength. By using them, we are reaffirming, renew and a remind of their political heritage. Therefore we repeat with her:

Struggle, marginality and resistance.

Struggle, marginality and resistance.

Struggle, marginality and resistance.

This made me reflect on how marginality is also a political issue. The common space is not neutral: it reflects inequalities, privileges and powers. hooks shows how, for many women, for example, even the home can be a space full of oppression.

In architecture, we often try to integrate those who live on the margins, but we rarely start by listening. Perhaps we should design with these people, recognising the value of their experiences, instead of intervening from the outside with pre-packaged solutions, so that we can really enhance those places that we often take for granted as neutral.

At this point, I ask myself: how can architecture recognise and enhance the experiences that arise on the margins without turning them into something else or emptying them of their political significance?

Hooks speaks about the silenced and how they are shut and robbed of the possibility to speak up and how they fear those who speak about them instead of with them.

I reflected on how often we as planers or people in position with more power decide over other people and especially minority groups without knowing their real needs and without going to their space, without talking with them and experience their life, their struggles and needs. Often decisions are made out of habit and mainly based on financial questions or statistical and technical data. How can we implement collaborative planning and participatory design strategies? At what stage in the design process can we integrate talks, discussions, interviews and workshops with local people to give them a voice? Until what point can we still integrate those ideas and inputs in the design, or how could we open up the process and give it more room to be a cyclical-, rather than linear design flow (where in later stages you can’t change or influence decisions that were made in the feasibility analysis)?

Additionally, how political can we be in our practice and how selective can we be with the projects we are willing to work on? Where can we say NO to projects and ideas of clients that we don’t approve on and how can we speak up for those who don’t have a voice that is heard as much as our own? And how do we make sure to clearly listen to the needs of the silenced and to not just project our own ideas of them?

If the margin is a space of resistance and power, how can we, as individuals or a society, truly listen to marginalized voices without silencing, co-opting, or rewriting their stories?

At the same time, it highlights the need for a sensitive societal approach to adequately accommodate those at the margins, as well as the voices of resistance and suffering. Truly listening to and understanding these voices requires particular care to prevent further marginalization.

Furthermore, the text cautions that planning and designing these marginal spaces must be handled with great delicacy, ensuring that their protective and symbolic functions remain intact - even when the goal is to amplify suppressed voices. Ultimately, it reveals that transformations in power structures are often deeply rooted in colonial histories, making it a significant challenge to redress this imbalance in favor of those who were colonized.

Sometimes, I wonder whether, in certain situations, the best solution might be to simply allow space without planning at all.

As for the urban issue at stake, the essay can be interpreted as addressing the broader societal structures that perpetuate inequality, including urban environments. In cities, marginalized communities often face spatial segregation, limited access to resources, and systemic exclusion. Hooks' concept of the margin invites us to rethink these urban dynamics, advocating for inclusive spaces where diverse voices can thrive and contribute to a more equitable society.

I then wonder how we could rethink our spaces with the notion of the "margin" in mind? Do architecture or urban exemples exit that would fulfil this notion?

And how can a privileged person consciously critically scrutinise or expose themselves in the face of such mechanisms?

Thinking about architecture, we often want to design for the public (meaning everyone) creating neutral space but we rarely communicate and often assume what people want. Through interaction new perspectives arise and lead to sustainable solutions for society.

How can we embrace and recognize this marginality and give them a voice in decision making?

Which elements in our everyday lives create such divisive moments, even if they were not originally intended as such?

There is much to learn on both sides and both sides can be places of resistance and struggle, even if it is more visible on the non-dominant one.

What advantages does one world offer over the other? Does the decision in favor of the non-dominant world bring new possibilities in living together, of radical openness, new possibilities and creativity?

Hook highlights the discrepancy of different languages, as one is expected to speak the language of the dominated, to silence the language of the marginalized. However, one can find chances within the space of pain that Hook discusses. Spaces of marginalization offer opportunities for resistance, on politicization of memories versus nostalgia. Marginalization offers opportunities of transformation, collectiveness, growth, and of innovation of the “other”.

“We greet you as liberation. This ‘we’ is that ‘us’ in the margins, that ‘we’ who inhabit marginal spaces that is not a site of domination, but a site of resistance”.

When we draw back Hook’s topics on the marginalised space to urban design, it poses the question: How valid are our projections on how urbanism should look like? Surely, it is a thin line that we tread as architects, as each design we propose are projections of our ideas of an ideal.

Traditionally, architects always believe to “solve a problem” by proposing a solution. However, counterintuitively, should we instead be taking marginality as a starting point and possibly amplifying it, instead of “solving this problem”?

If architecture is inherently political, then the design process must acknowledge its role in shaping power dynamics. Engaging with marginalized spaces requires more than just inclusion- it demands a shift in architectural education and practice toward more participatory and critically engaged approaches. Yet, most architectural training still prioritizes top- down design methods over an understanding of spatial inequality as a lived reality. This leads to a second question: in what ways can architectural education challenge traditional spatial hierarchies and better equip students to engage with the margin as a site of resistance and empowerment, rather than merely as a space to be "developed" or "integrated" into dominant urban narratives?

Is it possible to rethink our role as architects and planners, by thinking of ourselfs as part of the whole and not just master planners? Architectural education is truly missing its relevance when it comes to the common citizen and its not trying to be part of their understanding.

as concepts of language, speech, voice and oppression, marginalization, resistance are constantly reoccurring.

it is interesting that the text does not really reflect on speechlessness or voicelessness.

the conclusion for me is that everything has a voice, a language and is able to speak

architecture can also be seen as a language, that communicates

but here i am asking myself if it would be possible to create a voiceless architecture

an architecture for everyone, speechless - not telling stories

as it is exactly as the text argues, words can be used as tools by the oppressor and the oppressed

so wouldn’t it be better to have a speechless architecture?

is this then still architecture?

how would it look?

and what would it solve?

The author emphasizes that the margin is not only a place of suffering and oppression, but also a space of resistance, radical possibility, and creative power. She encourages us to enter this margin, as it offers a different perspective on the world and a different way of speaking and acting. Marginality, she argues, is not a state of despair, but a conscious place that inspires resistance and the creation of new worlds. I would, however, be critical of the last statement; the margin may be a conscious place, but not always a voluntary one.

The author speaks of the "politicization of remembering" and the "struggle of memory against forgetting." How can memory be used as an active process to fight against the forms of oppression you have described?

The author states that home is not only a place, but also an experience (which is transformed through decolonization and radicalization). How can we redefine home in a transformative and resilient sense, especially in a globalized world?

A key question arises: does fostering inclusion require the creation of separate spaces for specific marginalised groups to provide them with a sense of belonging? Or does this approach inadvertently reinforce divisions? Instead, how can spaces be created that embrace inclusion at multiple levels, ensuring diversity within marginalised communities? Ultimately, is true inclusion possible without some degree of exclusion?

Included in the notion of resistance are corresponding language and spaces. For hooks, language and spaces possess equally as much power to actively struggle and change ways of thinking. In regards to language, in addition to a language of oppression, hooks also criticizes self-proclaimed progressive thinkers who talk about an “other” and thus also silence the occupants of marginality. Instead of condemning all ways of non-marginal individuals might connect with oppressed, hooks invites them to enter their space of marginality.

In architecture, particularly theory of architecture, a language about spaces, how can architects enter that space of marginality? As well as in other areas of life, architectural language still often talks about the “other”, therefore silencing the margin. That necessarily translates to the spaces that are produced and resultingly are equally oppressive. How can architects offer spaces that can foster a place of resistance and give voices to the struggling?

What's particularly interesting is that the text doesn't delve into the idea of speechlessness or voicelessness. For me, the conclusion seems to be that everything—whether it's a person, an object, or even a concept—has a voice, a language, and can speak in its own way.

Architecture, in this sense, could also be seen as a form of language—a medium that communicates. But this leads me to wonder: is it possible to create an architecture that is "voiceless"? An architecture that doesn't tell stories or carry specific messages, one that speaks without using words?

The text suggests that language can be manipulated by both the oppressor and the oppressed, so might it be preferable to create a form of architecture that remains speechless? If so, would it still be considered architecture? What would such a "voiceless" architecture look like, and what problems could it potentially address?

In the urban margins of the world (favelas, ghettos, forgotten peripheries) there are ways of inhabiting and resisting that never make it into masterplans, but that perhaps hold a deeper truth. “Home is no longer just one place. It is locations,” says hooks, revealing how space is also memory, identity, trauma, and healing.

hooks does not just ask us to observe the margin, but to consciously inhabit it: “I make the choice to dwell in the margin. To speak from there.” What would happen if urban design also began to speak from there? If the margin became the new starting point, the place from which to radically rethink cities?

To the text itself:

There is a softness to the text, a clear and strong and soft way of speaking plainly. I enjoy this.

Again, I feel like it is sometimes to "soft". There are places I feel like the quotations add a real effect to the words and position the text nicely, there are other place where I feel like the text is simply "weakened" by them.

How can spaces be (re-)designed as places that give voice to those who have been silenced? How can non-marginalized groups altruistically help the marginalized to find a voice and to what extent is collaboration wanted and possible? How can physical spaces be acts of rememberance, but still embody a new narrative?

I understood this space as a social and open space, not an architectural one. However, these questions about marginalization are intrinsically linked to architecture. Urban distinctions are always very clear; I know perfectly well which areas of my city are disadvantaged and which are not. I've often seen architectural attempts to create more inclusive places that would create equal relationships between people. But most of the time, these spaces are designed by people who are oppressive and who have no idea about other ways of living. And often this results in spaces that are only used by the already advantaged. This raises the question of who should create or donate these spaces? Could these spaces be created through collaboration? What architectural elements would make it possible to create spaces that could accommodate all these questions? Should traditional aesthetic or functional standards be changed?

Her perspective made me reflect on my current working environment. The spatial separation between employee and supervisor, with supervisors occupying their own enclosed office, creates a hierarchy and marginality from decision making that is subtly reinforced. It's a small but clear example of how power structures are embedded in space.

I also thought of left-wing activists in Zurich who occupy buildings such as the former post office in Wipkingen. Their decision to live outside the dominant norms seems to be both a critique of the system and a search for autonomy. This made me wonder: is the choice to live on the margins ever truly a choice of freedom, or is it always shaped by prior dissatisfaction or exclusion? Perhaps it's both and Hooks shows that even when not fully chosen, the margin can become a space of radical openness and transformation.

In Switzerland, where cities are highly regulated and space is carefully structured, it is difficult to imagine “margins” in the way hooks describes them. Are there truly spaces of radical openness within a system that is so controlled? Informal and self-organized spaces exist, but they are often temporary, either absorbed into the mainstream or erased. This raises the question: Can architecture actively create spaces that resist dominant power structures, or do all designed spaces inevitably become part of the system they seek to challenge?

Her work makes me reflect on the limits of inclusion in architecture. We talk about participatory design and accessibility, but how often do we genuinely give space for voices that challenge the system rather than adapting them to fit within it? Perhaps the real question is not just how to include marginalized perspectives, but whether we are willing to let them transform the way we think about space altogether.

How can architecture incorporate practices of listening? How can transformations of urban space preserve memories that are deeply rooted in place?

Also, marginalized spaces are deeply shaped by class, cultural background, and the power dynamics of privileged spaces. Social and cultural background shape how individuals experience both marginal and privileged spaces, with exclusion often occurring through less visible or unspoken norms and means. So i ask myself how marginal perspectives can change our perception of space as architects?

Hooks argues that marginality offers opportunities for alternative knowledge and resistance. This suggests shifting focus from city centers to neglected peripheries—while ensuring marginalized voices lead rather than being spoken for.

Architecture, like language, can be a site of struggle. If every space is seen as a symbol of oppression, how can we still design collectively? How do we foster dialogue instead of division?

Hooks challenges us to consider who speaks for marginalized groups and how planners can integrate community voices beyond symbolic inclusion. Given the complexity of oppression and privilege, is it possible to find a shared struggle that unites diverse marginalized communities?

Because the sender/reader is situated in a position of marginalization, her engagement with language, and with the forms produced by the writer, is one of critical analysis. On one hand, the given language is perceived as oppressive and dominating.

As a reader, she has spent her entire life within a script that was not written for her, a script that has shaped and carved her existence, but not in her favor. Since her family has accepted this narrative, she has developed the skill of reading the script honestly, from the perspective of marginalization. She knows its boundaries, oppressions, and possibilities by heart.

Through this understanding, she empowers herself to become a sender. Not a writer, but a sender. She attempts to send non-conforming messages back to the receiver/writer. Naturally, this does not please a receiver who has lived within a language that perfectly reflects his reality. Why change your way of speaking if you’ve mastered the language and benefited from all its perks?

Moreover, responding to the sender and accepting her struggle demands effort, effort to become part of the opposition, to engage in fatiguing work, discussions, protests, and so on. And beyond that, if you acknowledge her problem as valid, you must also begin to recognize all the other problems humanity faces. So instead, it’s easier to stay in your comfort zone, secure your power, and continue benefiting from your familiar style of writing.

The essence, as I understand it, is to find the margin in which the receiver/writer does not completely shut down, and where the sender/reader can exert even a small influence on the language. This allows it to shift slowly, in the right direction. Step by step.

However, can marginality always function as a productive space of resistance, or are there circumstances where the weight of oppression is so overwhelming that actively utilizing this position becomes impossible? And how can marginalized groups ensure that their language and narratives are not diluted or appropriated by dominant structures?

For me central message of the text is that marginalized voices and spaces should not only be seen as victims of oppression but also as sources of resistance and cultural revival. The marginalized position, while often associated with pain and exclusion, is portrayed as a form of resilience that offers the possibility to challenge dominant discourses and create alternative aesthetics. The author discusses how language itself is a battleground, where the meaning of words and the right to express oneself play a role in resistance.

Overall, the text urges us to look at our own "location" and that of others from a critical, resistant perspective, and to fight against forms of colonization and cultural appropriation. It stresses the importance of seeing "marginality" not as something to overcome, but as a space that allows for the development of new ways of thinking and acting.

This idea can be taken further in the discussion about urbanity and architecture: How does collective memory shape the design of cities? How can marginalised spaces not only be preserved, but also strengthened as places of participation? If we understand marginality as a place of resistance and creativity, the question arises as to how this openness can be translated into concrete urban practices. Is it possible to break up the rigid centres and edges of the city through participatory planning? And how can we ensure that remembrance does not become a mere romanticisation of the past, but actually creates new narratives?

As a white cis gay man from the countryside with parents from the Emmnethal, I ask myself to what extent I use language as a means of resistance against social and political oppression or am I the oppressor myself? And how unconsciously or consciously does language lead to oppression in our everyday lives at ETH?

In this text the margin is not only a place of victimization but is also a site of possibilities; being a part of the margin allows for a different perspective on power structures.

How can memory serve not just as a tool of resistance, but as a means of reshaping the future?

In this sense it is important for us as architects to be aware that the terms, typologies, and other denominations that we operate with, have often been coined or formulated by privileged groups. One such example that comes to mind is LeCorbusier´s “Modulor”; the idealised human that should serve as an orientation for dimensioning. This model was conceived from a very particular perspective that does not represent several groups and minorities and really only depicts the male perspective.

What are techniques that we can learn to constantly be altert to recognise and question hegemonic biases in the built environment and in the architectural practice as a whole?

Lucius Burkhardt and his method of Spazierwissenschaften (Strollology), but also techniques from the Situationists, seem to be a possible point of departure…

In this text the author offers an ambiguous perspective on marginality by describing it not just as a place of segregation but also as a space of possibility for “counter-hegemonic discourse”. She describes marginality - at the periphery of the center dominated by the hegemonic language and culture - as a place where the “capacity to resists the dominating” is nourished. Somewhere at the edge, but still part of a bigger hole and connected to the center.

In our profession we have a substantial responsibility and impact in shaping the built environment. How can we strike the balance where we can offer something like “safe-spaces” where minorities can find productive places for a non-normative discourse, without secluding and “ghettoising” these groups and is this balance even possible? When is a tipping point reached and how can we avoid this? What are examples that could illustrate this balance?

While marginality has become a more prominent topic in the recent years throughout the disciplines, I wonder how different individuals and groups with varying locations within the spaces of the margin can find a common language which in return allows to formulate collective spaces of resistance and eventually allows for decision finding for spatial (architectural, urban, etc.) interventions.

To what extent does built space - both in its physical design and in its symbolic meaning - influence the ability of marginalised groups to raise their voices and be heard? How can we as architects consciously design and conceive the built space in such a way that it no longer perpetuates the marginalisation of certain groups or suppresses their voices, but rather creates them?

Transposing these considerations to a context closer to "ours" is extremely complex. By "ours," I mean that which is not marginal, that which creates the margin and understands it as such. Not as an opportunity, but as a danger. And if "other" minds are colonized, what are ours, the colonizers'? They are blind. And I wonder if, for "us," a margin can serve as a useful opportunity to de-cloud our minds. I fear that even considering a margin, which de facto would mean going there, would only allow for a slight perception of what is foreign, other. One must become the other in order to understand it, and thus question ourselves. As a visitor, the perception of reality is only partial.

After reading this text a few questions raised up in my mind. 

Is there a way we could engage with the language and frameworks inherited from hegemonic traditions to create spaces that challenge exclusionary norms and obviously not reinforce them? Accordingly, how could we operate avoiding to reinforce existing hierarchies unintentionally? Would there be a possibility to encourage inclusion and counter-hegemonic discourse being aware of not creating without intent forms of segregation?

I was wondering if Bell Hooks also thought about whether those who dominate even care to listen to the radical voice,

whether they want to engage with it,

and whether they are aware of their position of dominance in the first place.

Language and architecture share this fragility: a word misheard, a threshold too narrow, a bench designed to deter sleep each can wound or welcome. When every gesture is scrutinized for violence, silence becomes the safer choice. Those who fear misstep retreat; those who seek disruption dominate. If only the provocative speak, provocation becomes the only dialect. Yet hooks reminds us that memory, when active rather than nostalgic, can be a tool for transformation. To remember a city is to interrogate its wounds and possibilities to ask how we might inhabit space without replicating its violences.

The margin’s power lies in its refusal to be static. But how does "radical openness" materialize in streets and structures? Participatory design is one answer, yet even the language we use "revitalization," "the other," "periphery" shapes space before a single brick is laid. To decolonize architecture is to democratize not just its creation, but its daily inhabitation. A building is inert until lived in; a neighborhood abstract until walked through. The challenge is to forge spaces where friction doesn’t fracture, where memory bridges rather than divides.

hooks’ call to "break silence" is urgent, but speech alone isn’t enough. If cities are to be collectively rewritten, we need tongues that question as fiercely as they proclaim, and ears that listen as deeply as they defend. The margin’s promise isn’t isolation it’s the insistence that here, too, is a world waiting to be built.

Marginalized spaces are not just imposed limitations but can become intentional positions of critique and transformation. The author questions the way language creates belonging and exclusion. It highlights how dominant discourses shape who gets to speak and be also heard.

If marginal spaces offer radical possibilities, how can we make sure that they remain sites of empowerment rather than spaces co-opted by dominant power structures?

The necessity of understanding one's location in relation to both the center and the margins is crucial and challenges the dominant narratives often imposed by society.

We should do a critical examination of how (and why) we speak about difference and the responsibility that comes with it. We should acknowledge our positionality and actively participate in dismantling oppressive structure.

What role does public space play in preserving the histories and identities of marginalized communities within rapidly transforming cities? How can marginalized communities reclaim and redefine urban spaces as sites of radical openness and resistance? How can marginalized communities participate in shaping the built environment rather than being passive subjects of top-down urban planning?

Too often, we define parts of a city as "marginal" or "on the edge." But doing so sets them apart, as if they are less important or in need of fixing. Instead, these so-called marginal spaces can be places of creativity, resilience, and new ideas. We need to rethink the language we use and see these areas not as leftovers, but as vital parts of the whole.

Nature gives us a great example. In forests or wetlands, there's no perfect order—everything grows in relation to everything else. It's messy, unpredictable, and full of life. This "perfect chaos" is what makes nature thrive. Can our cities do the same?

What if schools, housing, and public spaces were designed to reflect the real mix of people and needs they serve?

Not just adding diversity as an afterthought, but letting it shape the structure from the beginning.

Could we design cities that grow like ecosystems, adapting to change and making room for difference?

Let's ask: Who gets to define what a space is for? What would a park look like if it was shaped by everyone who uses it? How can we stop seeing diversity as something extra, and start seeing it as the foundation?

When we move away from rigid planning and open up to difference, we don't just include more people: we make stronger, more vibrant places. Spaces shaped by many voices can become places where everyone belongs. Maybe the edge was the starting point all along.

One of the key ideas is that space is not just something we inhabit; it is also something we create through interactions, language, and perception. The way we describe places and people reinforces boundaries, shaping social hierarchies. The text argues for breaking these divisions by recognizing and engaging with different lived realities rather than maintaining distance. This raises an interesting point: can spaces be transformed simply through shifts in language and perspective?

From an architectural standpoint, this discussion challenges the role of designers. Should architects work from the margins, embracing alternative ways of thinking and designing, or should they try to bridge the divide between central and peripheral spaces? How can spatial practices actively challenge exclusion rather than just reproducing existing social structures?

Could and should the perspective from within marginality be taught as a tool for urban design, shaping how we imagine and build cities?

In both cases, some incredible design responses, in the context of architecture, can emerge. Later on, I can imagine other types of interesting phenomenas such as the turn from the moments where marginalized counter culture becomes mainstream. These fluctuations then become a kind of infinite chase.

I also believe we should put into perspective the action of reclaiming marginality as a space of empowerment. Can it really be achieved ? Can marginality actually escape the structure that defined it as marginal in the first place ? Is it even the goal ?

The "radical openness" hooks speaks of refers to the willingness to question and dismantle dominant systems by creating spaces for freedom, inclusivity, and critical reflection. She defines marginality as "a central location for the production of counter-hegemonic discourse," not just through words but through the way one lives and exists in the world.

What stands out to me is how hooks presents marginality as a position shaped by many aspects of identity—language, gender, sexuality, race, class, and social or geographical context. As a result, it’s a deeply personal experience but one simultaneously shared by many "oppressed, exploited, and colonized people." Because it is so intrinsic to one’s identity, (for her) it’s not a marginality one would want to relinquish in the pursuit of moving toward the center. Rather, it becomes a space one holds onto, even clings to, because it strengthens one's capacity to resist.

However, hooks doesn’t suggest that just because someone is marginalized, they automatically exist in that space of radical openness . This is why I appreciate the word "choosing" in the essay’s title. Embracing marginality as a space of radical openness is an active, intentional and lifesaving decision—a transition from pain, silence, a "broken voice“, and surrendering to an oppressive system (a passivity) into one of refusal, resistance and possibilty (agency).

I believe this shift can only truly happen when being in community, when seeing our interrelatedness, which becomes clear when hooks talks about late-night conversations with friends and uses "we" . The collective aspect of this journey is essential to making that transition from the margins into a space of radical openness.

For me, this concept translates into collective practices and community spaces. It's the realization that one's struggles are not isolated but shared, creating a sense of collectivism—whether in the form of a cooperative, a project like Yalla, or self-building initiatives. These efforts expand people's capacity for action. The margins, then, become a space that can hold multiplicity. It’s about creating a space for community, even under difficult material conditions, and demonstrating that it is the networks of people, not just the physical spaces, that truly form communities, neighborhoods, and urban life.

I believe this discourse is highly relevant for architecture and planning, as most practitioners are still situated in the center. There will always be a center, which inherently creates a margin. The critical question for me is: how can those working from the center learn from and support the activities of those operating from the margins without appropriating, profiting from, or exploiting their efforts?

How can urban spaces and architecture integrate the act of remembrance and resistance, particularly in post-colonial or post-apartheid contexts, to give voice to marginalized communities?

In what ways can language, despite its limitations, be used to empower marginalized voices in both the political and physical spaces of the city?

Can a dialogue only begin with an awareness of one's own positions and those of others? It also seems important that we do not cling to our own positions, as otherwise we very quickly end up with the wording and positioning of the‘Other’.

Bell hooks writes ‘It is not just important what we speak about, but how and why we speak.’

I think the difficult thing about language is that, on the one hand, it can and should create a space for openness and inclusivity, but at the same time it can also quickly lead to misunderstandings or offence.

Open language is new to the majority of the population, so it is important that it also allows room for further development.

For me, the question of open language is an extremely complex issue, mistakes can happen, but if the discourse were to be stopped as a result, it would be even worse.

What makes open discourse even more difficult is the fact that language is power. This can be seen in the past, but also in the current news, with the example of the list of words that will disappear within the Trump administration. Most of the words have been increasingly introduced in recent years to enable a more open discourse. They name problems and injustice in our society today, which for me is the first step in overcoming the problem of the ‘Other’. We need words in our language such as climate crisis, discrimination, inequality, injustice, marginalised, multicultural, oppressive, privilege (to name just a few) in order to speak. Naming problems in concrete terms is a first step towards productive discourse.

I think bell hook's text is an extremely important contribution, especially in relation to current developments and changes. The complex problem of open language will remain, but today it is more important than ever that we engage in discourse, name things and are aware of our position.

Even in Swiss history, we find examples of a failure to understand different cultures, often reduced to stereotypes due to ignorance and a tendency to generalize colonized realities. This has fueled discrimination and misunderstanding.

A very crucial aspect that I found really interesting is the issue of language, that reappears in this text under a different lens: for colonies, language is a constant struggle, a reminder of the colonial past (or present). However, it can be reappropriated and radicalized to become a tool of resistance. Decolonizing language means making it one's own, shaping it according to new narratives.

How can urban planning and policy be restructured to truly harness and integrate the innovative potentials of marginalized communities, rather than further marginalizing them through processes like gentrification and homogenization?

The text by Bell Hooks starts by describing language as a place of struggle, analyzing it as a tool, that we should only use by reflecting your own positions and background from which we speak. „Our words are not without meaning, they are an action, a resistance.“

Analyzing the term of „The Other“ or „otherness“, she describes „to be in the margin is to be part of the whole but outside the main body.“

Whilst relating exclusion, inequal power relations and dependencies, she defines marginality as a space of resistance and radical openness.

Moving between the main body and the margin allows new perspectives on power structures and the possibility to „imagine alternatives, new worlds.“

I´m wondering, how and what can those that are positioned in the „center“ learn from the margins and those who operate between?

She writes about the margin as a space of possibility and not just exclusion. It is where those pushed aside can speak, resist and create. She connects this idea to her own experience in university. I tried to understand where exactly she locates this margin. Is it in alternative forms of education that break traditional hierarchies? Or in the segregated black communities she describes?

At first, the text was hard to understand (and still is). The language is abstract and often uses big words without much explanation.

From an urban design perspective, it raised questions. What role do designers have in the creation of "spaces of radical openness"?

The text is filled with pain, memory, and trauma. It is emotional and personal. It does not speak from theory alone.

She describes the margin as a place “at risk,” not a safe space. Radical openness is not about comfort. It is about staying in that hard place instead of escaping to the center. The text has a poetic quality that carries emotion and is why it stayed with me more then a more "usual" academic text.

According to Bell Hooks, this way of opening up is necessary in order to challenge the social hierarchies, gender norms, race relations and systems of oppression that structure society.

Bell hooks also addresses the question of language, and the role of words as a space of resistance to claim and denounce repression. Marginalised people, although often invisible to the dominant structures, can use their words to assert their ideas, write their history and building a memory against oblivion.

For Bell hooks, choosing and considering the margins as a space for social struggle is a way of freely appropriating space, history and memory, and thus resisting repression. So far from being a place of suffering, the margins become a hotbed of infinite possibilities for those who seize them.

How could architecture play a role in this need of memory in a post colonial and apartheid context and how could it support the fight of minorities?

However, the text became truly fascinating when it shifted from "I" to "we"—to how it was growing up in a marginalized environment and the consequences this has for everyday life. I can certainly imagine that the lack of prospects may have led to resignation but also created an opportunity to think and write more freely.

I also found the reference to "what it means to be taught in a culture of domination by those who dominate" very thought-provoking. From a Western perspective, we are often unaware of how much culture we suppress and fail to hear, and how much cultural richness is lost in the process. Sometimes, I even feel that one of the few positive aspects of climate change is that Western arrogance— including the desire to dominate the world through technology and economic growth—has taken a significant hit. I have the impression that we are now more open—though, of course, still far from open enough—to different ways of thinking and other cultures, as climate change demands a certain humility.

Arab and North African techniques for cooling cities are suddenly being valued (which could certainly also spark a debate about cultural appropriation), and thinkers from other cultures, such as the Nigerian philosopher Bayo Akomolafe, are being invited onto Swiss television’s Sternstunde Philosophie.

This course also repeatedly highlights my own ignorance—how little I actually know about other cultures and ways of thinking. Opening up more and more to these perspectives, and doing so on an equal footing, is something I deeply appreciate and value. Thank you.

Gender Space Architecture extends this discourse into the realm of urban and spatial design, critiquing the way marginalized spaces are often viewed as temporary, incomplete, or needing a change into dominant urban forms. Instead of treating these spaces as deficiencies, we might reimagine them as critical sites of spatial and social production, places where alternative ways of living, designing, and engaging with space emerge.

However, this raises challenges: How can architects and urban planners actively incorporate radical openness into design without reinforcing existing power imbalances or appropriating marginalized identities in the process?

What lies on the edge between center and margin? What might a desired future look like? Could it consist of diverse and equal communities shaped by a shared history? Or a dynamic mix of people from different spheres sharing a common place they call home? How can culture and identity from other places be preserved and lived? Could intercultural exchange spark the formation of a new collective culture?

Language moves. It carries echoes, sedimented meanings, traces of what has been spoken, forgotten, erased. Meaning is never fixed. It recedes, defers, dissolves. In this instability, there is resistance.

Perhaps radical openness is never safe. It is risk. It is presence as disruption. But in that rupture, a new language might surface – one that does not define, but makes space. One that does not close, but keeps open possibilities.

The direct product of the tension between power, reality, and forgetting is pain—a pain that seeps from the margins towards the centre. This centralised configuration mirrors the dominance of a singular power structure in society. The pain here is not easily reconciled and demands resistance. But in the face of overarching social power, how much strength does an individual truly possess? And more importantly, how should one act?

Towards the end of the essay, the author seems to offer a concrete answer: space. It states:

“Spaces can be real and imagined. Spaces can tell stories and unfold histories. Spaces can be interrupted, appropriated, and transformed through artistic and literary practice.”

This is a tangible proposition. Yet social power often exists in a disembodied form. So, is it truly feasible to counteract intangible power through tangible space?

„To be the in the margin is to be part of the whole but outside the main body. […] Across those tracks was a world we could work in as maids, as janitors, as prostitutes, as long as it was in a service capacity. We could enter that world but we could not live there. We had always to return to the margin, to cross the tracks to shacks and abandoned houses on the edge of town.“

She argues that this marginality is not perceived as places of deprivation but as the opposite, as places of radical possibility and resistance to which they didn’t want to leave but to cling to, „because it nourishes one’s capacity to resist. It offers to one the possibility of radical perspective from which to see and create, to imagine alternatives, new worlds.“

I wonder in what way marginalised groups would shape those new worlds and urban spaces?

The oppressing language hooks talks about could be translated on the language we as architects use as well. Architecture, historically seen, has been a profession that was dominated by an elite. But not only the words that we are used to talk about in architecture but also the language of a space can be count into this description and the structures of not only urban, but also small scale planing that were imposed on. In this regard I ask myself how we can also make the work more accessible and understandable to non-architects on one hand, but also how we can integrate the people we actually build for into this process, and how would this challenges and changes the whole design process in itself, as well as our urban planning strategies?

Is there a way to break from the hegemonic rules of language?

There is a strong emphasis on the idea that marginalized groups should not try to fit into the dominant culture. Instead, they should build their identity within their own margin, a place of radical openness beyond the oppressors' control.

Hooks stresses the importance for marginalized individuals to write their own narratives, not allowing dominant groups to define their stories. This raises a challenging question:

how can oppressors participate or genuinely understand without imposing their own language?

Is it even possible for them to enter the margin simply to learn, or does entering always involve oppression?

Another striking point is her emphasis on who gets to speak and be heard. She critiques how dominant power structures often dictate whose voices matter, whose experiences shape cities, whose histories are erased, and whose needs are prioritized.

I was asking myself: How can Bell Hooks’ idea of the margin as a space of radical openness be applied in a way that doesn’t just ‘include’ marginalized voices, but actually centers their knowledge and lived experiences in shaping cities?

The authors’ emphasis on local agency and situated knowledge is super important. Too often, preservation projects risk becoming top-down and alienating when they don’t reflect the values or struggles of the people actually living there.

One thing that stood out is how fluid and layered “heritage” becomes in this context—it’s not just about buildings, but about memories, stories, and survival. That complicates the usual notion of preservation as "freezing" time or space.

How can global institutions like UNESCO adapt to context-specific forms of heritage that don’t fit neatly into Western aesthetic criteria? Also considering how rebuilding/ nation-building efforts might look after the current conflict.

It's a question I ask myself. Where the recognition or "discovery" of spaces of marginality by the opressor results in an urge of action. The action is most often camouflaged as an act of inclusion to the so-called "center". Ultimately this act of inclusion erases the radical possibilities that otherness holds.

The alternative of choosing not to interfere poses its own challenges. The risk of exclusion, otherness, marginalization and seperation. But as bell hooks also notes, the space of marginalization is not only one of deprivation.

Not interfering as an action.

Bell Hooks’ exploration of margin and center reveals a systemic failure—one that upholds barriers to accessibility and maintains rigid social hierarchies. To be positioned at the margin is not a choice, nor does the system allow for movement toward the center. Instead, the margin is imposed, reinforced by language that defines certain people as “Other,” as outside the dominant body.

Her way of resistance are spaces of radical openness. They are not safe spaces, because one is always at risk. They are there to form a community, a community of resistance.

She also talks about the feeling of alienation. „Home is nowhere…It is locations“.

I’m thinking about how this border between margin and centre can be broken up, how everybody can be feel at the centre?

It starts with the language, the distinction between ours and others, is already creating a border.

As urban designers, we must critically examine our role in reinforcing or dismantling these borders. Are our design choices upholding exclusionary structures? Who are we designing for, and who is being left out? Public spaces, zoning laws, and architectural decisions can either perpetuate the margin or serve as tools for radical inclusion.

Perhaps the challenge is to design spaces that are fluid, participatory, and open to transformation—spaces where those at the margins are not merely accommodated, but empowered to redefine their place in the city on their own terms.

“We greet you as liberation. This ‘we’ is that ‘us’ in the margins… a site of resistance.”

Applying hooks’ ideas to urban design raises a critical question: How valid are our projections of what urbanism should be? Architects traditionally seek to “solve problems,” but perhaps, instead of erasing marginality, we should embrace and amplify it—redefining it as a source of strength rather than something to be fixed.

This also makes me wonder: Are the mainstream aesthetics we’ve been taught to embrace and admire likewise dominated by those in power, causing us to overlook the subjectivity of marginalized communities?

But therein lies the problem: even when marginalized voices are to be made visible, this often happens within existing structures, with institutional rules, cultural frameworks and Western ways of thinking. Is this really participation or simply a new form of control masked as inclusion?

If we immediately redesign, name or “make accessible” spaces on the margins, is there any room left at all for what originally grew there?

Perhaps it would be more radical and honest to simply do nothing in certain cases. Not to plan, not to preserve, not to interpret. Just to leave space.

As such an alternative space, can there be formed a new centrality in the margins, which would make the term 'margin' obsolete? How could such a new centrality be connected with already established centralities, while still maintaining its criticalness? How could they exist next to each other, without one form dictating to the other how it has to function?

This perspective opens up a new view of the connection between space, power and identity. In architectural discourse, which often sees the center as a place of order and meaning, hooks calls for a radical rethink. For her, the margin becomes an active, open space in which alternative forms of life, knowledge production and communities can emerge.

This chosen marginality is not a retreat, but a conscious political decision. It means not assimilating, but creating new possibilities from a critical distance. Especially in times of increasing social division, hooks' concept offers an important impulse: to rethink spaces - including social spaces - by not only seeing their margins, but taking them seriously as places of change.

The center of the body and its margin, in a way, always existed. It is a contrast that emerges as soon as a group of people establishes some common goals, common values, common narrative, common language, common story. The center is the court, the king’s palace, the national flag, the temple, the top – where things are aligned. And what does not align is excluded. From there, we can clearly see that it is not an open space and not a safe space. It is only safe for those who are aligned with the king.

On the opposite end, there is the space of oppression, of inversion, of invention, of radical openness. In Hooks' words: "This space of radical openness is a margin – a profound edge." It is the edge of the city, the outskirts of society, the carnival, the resistance, the other, that which is declared as not aligning with the king.

"From margin to center" - To move to the center in a way where you are not adapting yourself—the margin—to the power hegemony of the center, but adapting the center to change its aim, its way of judging, its way of dealing with the margin. It is about working towards re-aligning the corrupt center to not exclude unjustly the margin. To not unnecessarily marginalize that which is unjustly suffering and paying with pain for the comfort of the king.

“Decolonizing your mind” may seem almost esoteric, but the paradigm change, in a way, is something that moves slowly at the deepest levels and has to be discussed at the highest level. It’s about talking to the king, the head, the public, and making it aware and accountable for the suffering at the center—caused by the unity of the city, of law and order, of the rigid power structures and societal narratives.

“To be in the margin is to be part of the whole but outside the main body.”

Can the question of the margin be understood not as a binary opposition, but as a subsidiary question of love and justice?

Can we think of the margin in terms of re-alignment rather than inversion?

waterfield@arch.ethz.ch

The question as always for me is one of strategy. How radical does the margin need to be in order to draw the centre towards it. Reading bell hooks is always a reading of someone who has learned how to play within the structure of the university. To what extent is the marginality employed towards the centre as a marker of legitimacy. For me its a question of the multilayered aspects of the centre. Because towards the global the only thing that work is power and domination. But towards the edges of the centre there is an opportunity to draw away parts of centre. Related to urban design, how does the marginal architect act? How do you make things happen, like a minnow nibbling at the edges of the centre. How do you ratchet these projects all the way to the very middle of space.

Different types of margins are to be found everywhere, and they'd constitute as many opportunities to develop counter-narratives, to challenge the established and rethink practices - starting with the making of space.

The ideas presented have the great advantage of giving back dignity to the people we all seem to want to help.

An important insight from Bell Hooks' text is the transformative power of marginality as a consciously chosen site of resistance. Hooks describes the margins of society not only as spaces of exclusion, but as ‘radical openness’ a position that enables dominant power structures to be questioned and alternative perspectives to be developed.

Marginality is not suffered passively, but actively, which can be used as a strategic standpoint: ‘It is not a marginality one wishes to lose, but rather of a site one stays in, clings to even, because it nourishes one's capacity to resist.’ This attitude contradicts the common idea that marginalised people must inevitably strive towards the centre. Instead, the margin becomes a place of self-assertion, where memory, language and collective experience serve as tools of liberation.

Hooks' emphasis on language as a “site of struggle” emphasises this: Choosing which voice, idiom or tradition to speak in becomes a political gesture. By using Black Southern English alongside academic language, she consciously breaks with the expectation to conform to the norms of the dominant culture.

Based on this realisation, spaces - whether linguistic, architectural or social - should be rethought, not as predetermined structures, but as dynamic fields that can be constantly renegotiated through resistance and remembrance. The question is not how marginalised people can reach the centre, but how the centre itself can be transformed through the perspectives of the margins.

For Hooks language is an important part of the margin and an factor of segregation and inclusion.

She tries to find a language where she can life out opposition as well as radical perspective shaped by marginality.

I wonder what language different margins speak to each other when their reality might be fundamental different? is the margin one thing or a fragmented cluster of realities?