Like in so many places across the US, summer of 2021 was announced by the symphonic celebration of cicadas that, for seventeen long years, were patiently colluding within the earth’s caverns before proclaiming their virtuosity in our parks and green spaces. The cicadas that have made so much noise, literally with their raucous reaching up to 100 decibels, and figuratively as they managed to capture a sensational buzz across various news media, are part of the largest generation of periodic cicadas known as Brood X. The next time we will see these winged torpedoes will be in 2038. By then, the world will look very different.
In fact, we will have passed our deadline to meet carbon neutrality established as a primordial goal of the 2030 Challenge, an initiative to address climate change that was catapulted into the extremities of real estate by the bold thought leaders of architecture. In nine years from now, we will have come to terms with either the success or failure in meeting this challenge. Most importantly, however, and regardless of the outcome of mayday, we will also need to evaluate what happens after 2030, because the work will certainly continue. If we are successful, then our charge will likely be to build on that success. If not, then our focus towards carbon neutrality will be just as ardent, and we must all move forward with the same united tenacity and grit behind our original visions as professionals in the built environment.
The future of real estate and the built environment is intricately tied into a sort of systems theory where environmental stewardship is anchored into the continuum of our livelihoods. Our reality is our interconnectedness to the environment. Most recently, we were reminded of this by witnessing unprecedented flooding in the Northeast. As a result of Hurricane Ida’s deluge that took it from the southern to northeastern US, the NYC National Weather Service issued its first flash flood warnings in its recorded history for their affected vicinities, including for New York City proper.
To many, these flash floods led to flashbacks of the natural phenomena that increasingly threaten what appears to be every enclave in our great American cities. In 2017, Hurricane Harvey, presumably kindred of Ida, thrashed the megalopolis of Houston and left it with a stark reminder of nature’s invincibility, as if to assert who’s in charge. The bell rang, and it was our Mother Nature. Although real estate investors continue to eye Houston because of its market diversification, ties to Latin-American commerce, and talented workforce, in the aftermath of Harvey, the conversations quickly went from a city that was the darling of the South for flashy real estate development where construction cranes seemed to change the skyline by the minute, to the very real concerns of building in the company of climate events. With Harvey, the temperature changed from build-baby-build to what now?
With Harvey, the temperature changed from build-baby-build to what now?
Harvey unloaded about 33 trillion gallons of water in totality as it gallivanted across the South, 19 trillion of which fell in the Houston area alone, and folks in the business of real estate almost had no choice but to press pause on the music of building. We shifted from counting cranes to counting risk. And while opinions rushed in from every direction, some louder than others, it became evident that regionality offers no iron dome to protect against the impacts of climate and disastrous events. We’ve since been forced to not only address where we build but how we build. Anywhere. These conversations should not stop with end-users who ultimately inhabit the spaces we create but also continue with those who are seemingly far removed, like investors who may live oceans away, but that have the heavy pockets to influence and demand more robust design approaches. With each, increasingly more volatile climate event, we must strategically approach the manifestation of development.
Indeed, the future of real estate is in resilient design. And the idea of resilience is not only related to addressing climate change or our charge to proactively engage in initiatives like the 2030 Challenge. It is also in the ability to infuse design into structures that will withstand and persevere. Whether we are addressing frequent wildfires in California or flash flooding, which was once inconceivable in areas like New York City, the skeletons and every critical component of our buildings must be curated for resilience.
An adage also familiar in the face of climate change is that things will get worse before they get better. NASA’s Earth Observatory publication acknowledges that global warming would not suddenly stop if we indeed stabilized greenhouse gas emissions. In fact, the data suggests that warming trends will continue decades after stabilization, and in the case of more aggressive gaseous emissions like carbon dioxide, stabilization may require the patience of many more generations that will supersede us. Therefore, it is apparent that our commitment is not to ourselves but to those who do not yet exist.
This is where the pedagogy of resilient design applies. The conversation about global warming must telescope past the neutralization of carbon emissions from buildings or their efficiency in energy consumption. We also must design for a future that constitutes rethinking the way we see our buildings, past how they operate, and into their longevity. We must imagine our buildings to be ageless beings that morph into something else years from now. These are the buildings that will be molded to the use required by our future relatives who will read a new iteration of this article under a more victorious lens (hopefully). The basic premise is that one of the best ways we may contribute to stabilizing greenhouse gas emissions is to not build at all, or build very little, in an effort to reduce our carbon footprint by minimizing the energy and exhaustion of resources required to build anew.
With each, increasingly more volatile climate event, we must strategically approach the manifestation of development.
What does this mean? This means that we must think even in terms of micro-thoughts. What materials are we using? How durable and forgiving are they? What if my building gets hit by a large ravenous cloud of fire or swamped by an ocean of disparaging water? Can my building withstand threat and exposure?
We’ve learned from the most recent flooding event in New York City that our cities are not necessarily protected from catastrophic events simply by virtue of geography. In design 101, as many architecture minds may appreciate, folks are not always taught to think in terms of catastrophe; there is already plenty of drama that permeates the late nights of studio, where the new leaders of architecture are being groomed for our workforce. Now, we almost have to add another layer of drama to shield our developments from catastrophe, and an eye for pessimism may be just what we need. Of course, our mandate is to then transform this pessimism into resilient design, and in doing so, make way for the continuum of financial, social, and environmental factors that establish the triple bottom line emanating in sustainable design.
A great example of this type of design is 181 Fremont Tower, a mixed-use steel statue that shouts over San Francisco’s undulating urban center. Dubbed as the most resilient building in the western US, a June 2016 article in Structure Magazine points to precisely the mantra of design for arriving at buildings that can not only survive catastrophic and climatic events but that can be re-occupied almost immediately thereafter, or with very little disturbance to daily operations. Equipped with the micro-thinking of design strategies that determine the selection of only the most robust materials and designed to withstand the prophecy of catastrophic events, as a relative newcomer, this building offers a glimpse of what our future should be.
And it all makes sense, really. Designing for resilience means we no longer need to sleep with one eye open. Our end users can continue inflicting their genius to generate productivity and revenue in whatever that they do in their offices high above the clouds. Consequently, our owners and developers can continue to collect their rent with the same bravado as any other day. This is how we take the idea of resilience one step further, past the physical and into the impact on our communities. The communities that oftentimes have existed in spaces where we’ve introduced, or are planning to introduce, our new towers, malls, entertainment venues, and every version of what we call the built environment. It is only appropriate that our introductions of infrastructure have a net positive impact on communities, so that they, too, may take advantage of the comfortable grasp of continuum.
Designing for resilience means we no longer need to sleep with one eye open.
As it appears, the tantrum of climate events can be mitigated through design and our communities can keep on keeping on, as one famous musician once said in his tangled-up lyrics. In the aftermath, this means we can scratch off “rebuild” from our to-do list. Perhaps some minor repairs in the context of what could have been, but there certainly is respite in not starting from scratch. Avoid what perhaps could have been another big, giant carbon footprint. The infusion of longevity afforded by resilient design means that our buildings can be repurposed to grow with the demands of our evolving communities. As required, so long as we design with purpose, like strategically selecting materials that allow this evolution. Today an office tower, tomorrow a hospital.
The umbrage of fall will soon be apparent in the trees, and the cicadas are marching back towards the earth to wait for 2038. Between now and then, it is likely we will face more vestiges of climate and catastrophic events. And we will have to answer not only whether we met our 2030 challenge, but whether our communities persevered through our efforts in resilient design and whether our efforts were bold enough to address climate change. How we build, with what we build, and if we build at all are questions that have never been more critical in our implementation of resilience. Yes, continuum. For the sake of financial, social, and environmental achievements, even for cicadas.
Alex Morales, Assoc. AIA, EDAC, LEED Green Assoc.
Alex is a design professional whose work and collaboration across the AEC industry span several years. Exploration, curiosity, and due diligence have been essential in his commitment to perpetually improve as a designer. Prior to his roles in construction project management, his career began in ...
3 Comments
We need to be successful to meet this climate change challenge for the future generations.
Selda, thanks for taking the time to comment and read. I agree, we collectively need to figure out a way to go forward. One that makes sense for development and also keeps our commitment to resilience front and center.
Climate change isn't even the main event. Running out of fossil fuels is.
We have to come up with a good plan in the next 5-10 years to tackle both supply and demand -- gonna need a change in building design, management and urban design. Think we can do it if we refocus tech and media on buildings and transit. Which is gonna be hard since the academic-media complex is all woke all the time.
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