“Cooperation is not just an act of coexistence—it is the silent engine of great transformations.”

We live in a world where politics often seems detached from emotions and human connections. Policies are formulated in cold, calculated environments, where human realities are sometimes treated as numbers and statistics. However, Love and Politics (original title: Amor y política:  La imprescindible sensibilidad de la politica) by Montserrat Moreno Marimón and Genoveva Sastre Villarrasa reminds us that feelings, care, and empathy are not weaknesses but essential components for building just and sustainable societies.

Why should we talk about love in politics? The authors present us with a challenge: to question the traditional political model that separates “rationality” from “emotion.” For decades, we have been conditioned to believe that public matters must be handled without “sentimentality.” However, as the book points out, this notion ignores an essential truth: humans are emotional beings. Denying the role of emotions in political life often leads to apathy, injustice, and a disconnection between public institutions and the people they are meant to serve.

The book argues that love and cooperation are not private matters—they are collective tools for transformation. According to the authors, “cooperation is the essential property of life.” From the simplest life forms to the most complex human organizations, cooperation has always been the driving force of survival and progress. This biological and social truth directly challenges the competitive, individualistic narratives that dominate contemporary political systems.

At the heart of their argument is the idea that good governance requires emotional sensitivity. The authors assert that without a deep understanding of one’s own emotions and those of others, the exercise of power becomes detached, and in many cases, unjust. Leaders who ignore the emotional realities of their communities risk creating policies that fail to address real needs. Empathy, then, becomes a cornerstone of just leadership. “We cannot expect anyone to govern adequately,” the authors write, “if they lack emotional sensitivity, because that insensitivity translates into decisions that increase suffering.”

This idea has profound implications for participatory governance. A political system that embraces cooperation rather than competition fosters stronger community bonds and more inclusive decision-making processes. The book calls for spaces of dialogue where diverse perspectives can be heard and valued. By contrast, when dialogue is absent or superficial, mistrust and division grow.

Another powerful critique the authors make is against the myth of romantic love as an isolated, idealized construct. They argue that our culture often confines love to the private sphere, portraying it as something reserved for family and intimate partners. This narrative can be limiting. The book invites us to expand our understanding of love as a collective practice rooted in mutual care, solidarity, and a commitment to the common good. “Political love” is not sentimentalism—it is an active force that fosters trust, resilience, and justice within communities. Imagine public policies shaped by love in its broadest sense: policies that prioritize care, housing, education, and well-being over profit or power dynamics.

A key element of this discussion is the role of gender and the patriarchal structures that have historically dismissed care and emotions as “feminine” and, therefore, less important. Patriarchy not only dictates the exclusion of emotions from political discourse but also reinforces hierarchies that diminish women and anyone associated with nurturing roles. The authors emphasize that embracing emotions in politics is not simply about “humanizing” public life; it is about dismantling a system that equates strength with dominance and care with weakness. A gender perspective allows us to see how emotional intelligence can be a form of resistance, challenging narratives that have kept many voices at the margins of power. By recognizing that care, empathy, and cooperation are strengths, we can begin to reshape political culture in a way that promotes inclusion and equality.

The authors also explore the dangers of emotional repression in politics. When emotions are excluded from political discourse, the result is often the perpetuation of patriarchal norms that dismiss compassion and care as “weaknesses.” This suppression of emotional intelligence not only affects leaders’ capacity to make fair decisions but also alienates citizens who feel unseen and unheard. The book argues that recognizing emotions is not only necessary for personal well-being but also for the health of democratic institutions.

One of the most inspiring aspects of Love and Politics is its vision of collective transformation. The authors remind us that societal change is possible when we embrace cooperation as a form of strength. They point to historical movements driven by solidarity and shared vision—movements that challenged oppressive systems not with brute force but with creativity, empathy, and perseverance.

Ultimately, Love and Politics invites us to rethink our approach to power, public spaces, and human relationships. How do we handle conflicts in our shared spaces? Are we fostering open dialogue or imposing our views? Are we nurturing a political culture where everyone feels included and valued, or are we reinforcing systems of exclusion and control?

This book is not just an essay—it is a manifesto for a more human and creative approach to politics. True transformation begins when we understand that power is not an individual possession but a collective construction. If we want a more just society, we need leaders and communities that embody sensitivity, ethics, and cooperation in their actions.

Reading Love and Politics leaves us with a fundamental question: What if the greatest revolutionary act is to care?

In a time marked by social fragmentation and uncertainty, this book feels like an urgent call to rebuild the political from a place of connection, humanity, and hope. It challenges us to lead with empathy, to foster cooperation instead of competition, and to imagine politics as an expression of love in action.

* References: 

Amor y política: la imprescindible sensibilidad de la política. Montserrat Moreno i Marimón, Genoveva Sastre Vilarrasa. Icaria, 2015. ISBN 978-84-9888-669-6.

This article is based on a talk presented at an event focused on memory, identity, and community. The presentation explored how neighborhoods are not just physical spaces but living narratives shaped by the people who inhabit them.

Neighborhoods function as palimpsests—spaces where each generation leaves a layer, a trace, a memory. But what exactly is a palimpsest? It refers to a document that has been rewritten multiple times, where traces of previous writings remain visible beneath the new. Similarly, neighborhoods are like living manuscripts, built from overlapping stories of the past and the present.

The narrative of a neighborhood comes to life through its people—their diversity, histories, and shared memories that transform places into meaningful settings for everyday life.

Memories That Define Spaces

A place’s significance often extends beyond its physical attributes. It may be a bustling plaza, a small corner store with decades of history, or a quiet street walked countless times. These spaces evoke sensory memories—such as the smell of fresh bread, the sound of children playing, or the distant chime of church bells.

These places become repositories of collective memory. They carry stories, emotions, and experiences that shape the community’s identity. At the same time, the built environment also leaves an imprint on its residents. Architectural details like ornate façades, iron lampposts, or century-old trees are fragments of a neighborhood’s material memory. When these elements disappear, entire chapters of the community’s story are lost.

Visible and Invisible Memory

A neighborhood’s identity is built from shared experiences. It is a collective story woven from small yet powerful moments: the first local festival attended, childhood games played under a familiar tree, or evening conversations held on a doorstep.

There are two types of memory that define a community:

• Visible memory consists of physical elements that are easily recognizable—historic buildings, streets named after influential figures, and monuments that have witnessed generations come and go.
• Invisible memory is more subtle but equally significant. It is found in the greetings exchanged at local shops, the music heard during neighborhood celebrations, and the aroma of traditional dishes prepared during community events.

The collective identity of a neighborhood can be likened to a quilt, where each resident contributes a unique piece—full of colors, textures, and stories. Over time, this quilt grows, keeping the community united and wrapped in shared memory.

Neighborhoods as Living Heritage

Heritage is not limited to physical structures but includes intangible elements that shape daily life. Just as a traditional recipe may be adapted with new ingredients while maintaining its essence, the identity of a neighborhood evolves while preserving its core values.

Revitalized spaces—such as renovated plazas or former industrial sites transformed into cultural centers or parks—demonstrate how the built environment can change while maintaining its connection to the past. When these transformations are approached with respect and community involvement, they become bridges between memory and modernity.

The Role of Community in Collective Memory

Creating a collective identity is a collaborative process. No neighborhood is born with a set identity—it is shaped over time by the people who live there and their shared experiences. Community events, public celebrations, and efforts to improve public spaces all weave threads into the neighborhood’s narrative.

However, the preservation and transformation of these spaces are not solely the responsibility of architects and urban planners. Community members play a central role in deciding what should be preserved, what should be reimagined, and how places should be used. This participatory process strengthens social ties and reinforces the collective memory of the community.

Several questions can guide this reflection:

• Which places in the neighborhood are considered irreplaceable?
• What spaces still have untapped potential to tell new stories if revitalized or restored?
• What narratives should be passed down to future generations?

Every decision—whether individual or collective—contributes to the future memory of the neighborhood.

Strengthening Community Roots Through Memory

A neighborhood can be viewed as a living manuscript where past generations have written their stories, and current residents continue to add new chapters.

The resilience of a community depends on the strength of its roots—its collective memory. Deep and well-tended roots create a foundation for vibrant, inclusive neighborhoods. When spaces are protected, traditions are celebrated, and social connections are nurtured, these actions affirm the community’s sense of belonging and identity.

Collective memory and identity, much like the roots of a tree, may not always be visible, but they sustain everything above. The stronger and more nurtured these roots are, the more resilient the community becomes.

Preserving and shaping the narrative of a neighborhood is not just an exercise in heritage conservation—it is an investment in the social fabric of the present and a gift to future generations.

* References 

• Amin Maalouf (2001), In the Name of Identity: Violence and the Need to Belong, Arcade Publishing
• Photo: Konstantina Chrysostomou

The cities of the future are not just about skyscrapers, technological innovation, or green initiatives. They are about people—the diverse, complex, and ever-evolving tapestry of individuals who will inhabit them. As social architects and urbanists, our role is not merely to plan and build but to deeply understand for whom we are designing. This understanding shapes every decision we make, compelling us to ask: How do we create spaces that resonate with the lived experiences of all?

A New Urban Demographic

The demographic landscape of cities is shifting rapidly. Migration, aging populations, and changing family structures are reshaping urban communities. The United Nations estimates that by 2050, nearly 68% of the world’s population will live in urban areas, many driven there by climate change, conflict, and economic opportunity. Francesca Tur Serra, speaking at a recent forum, captured this dynamic, stating: “We are entering a world of intercultural, non-normative, health-seeking, and augmented urban inhabitants.” These changes demand cities that are flexible, inclusive, and adaptable.

Migrants, for instance, bring rich cultural diversity but also highlight the urgent need for spaces that foster social cohesion. Projects like Kitchen Square in Stockholm, where a public square became an outdoor kitchen for shared meals, exemplify how design can bridge cultural divides. The goal is clear: “How can we cultivate a society where difference is seen as an opportunity to enrich each other?” asked Tur Serra.

Rethinking the Norm

Traditional family structures and work patterns are evolving. Increasingly, cities host single-person households, childless couples, and individuals seeking multigenerational or communal living arrangements. This necessitates new housing models—compact apartments, co-living spaces, and adaptable neighborhoods that accommodate various lifestyles.

Workplaces, too, are transforming. Remote work, flexible schedules, and digital nomadism redefine how we design urban spaces. Former office buildings can become community hubs, childcare centers, or affordable housing. “Cities must evolve to meet these non-normative realities,” Tur Serra remarked, urging us to think beyond the conventional.

Health as a Design Priority

The future city dweller seeks holistic well-being—physical, mental, and social. Loneliness, a growing concern, demands creative urban interventions. Initiatives like Chat Benches, where strangers can connect, or designing parks for tai chi and communal exercise, exemplify how public spaces can combat isolation.

Moreover, aging populations challenge us to rethink accessibility and purpose. Shared programs where seniors care for children or manage community spaces create intergenerational connections and offer a renewed sense of purpose.

Balancing Technology and Tradition

Technology, though omnipresent, must serve as an enabler rather than a dictator. Cities equipped with accessible, invisible tech can enhance daily life—think AI-powered infrastructure or shared tools. But as Tur Serra noted, “We also need spaces free from technology, where people can reconnect with tradition and each other.”

The Finnish example of a phone-free island illustrates this balance. Urban spaces should offer both hyper-connected zones and “disconnect zones” where human interaction takes precedence.

Designing with Ethics and Optimism

“People are not just inhabitants of cities; they are changemakers,” said Berta Segura Agulló. This insight highlights the ethical responsibility urbanists bear. We must engage communities in decision-making, recognizing their lived expertise. Incorporating diverse voices ensures cities are not only functional but also equitable and inspiring.

Optimism is key. “Cities need optimism,” said Tur Serra. By designing with a forward-thinking mindset, we can address present challenges while embracing the opportunities that lie ahead.

For Whom Do We Design?

Ultimately, we design for everyone—the migrant, the single parent, the aging retiree, and the tech-savvy nomad. Our work is not about imposing solutions but facilitating lives, fostering connections, and nurturing a sense of belonging. As we move forward, let us remember the words of urbanist Jane Jacobs: “Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.”

In shaping the cities of tomorrow, we must listen, adapt, and lead with both humility and hope. The urban future depends not just on what we build but on how we include, empower, and inspire the people who will live there.