Strange Design Edition 1

STRANGE R DESIGN ER

Deconstructing Hospitality: Frameworks for Care in the Built Environment

Our hyper-individualized Western society seems unable to see and embrace the revolutionary potential of care. Though we are berated with loud, singular solutions to complex problems, this speaks more to the individualist propaganda of mass media than the success of any one answer. Yet care is just as radical as protest or revolution, if not more so. Care requires continued investment to counteract the extreme imbalances in a system, to work against inertia. Care can also bring order to entropy: tending to a wound, patching a hole, or dusting a countertop; but it also disrupts the prescriptive: striking against unfair labor conditions, de-installing hostile infrastructure, or hosting pop-ups in a restricted zone. In both cases, care meets human and material needs. Yet, in our contemporary moment, neoliberal policies have defined and relegated the responsibility of care to service industries (think hospitals or missiondriven non-profits), or weaponized narratives of care to obfuscate more devious agendas

The true restorative power of care, conversely, comes from a perceptive gaze that identifies conditions of extreme imbalance, and the autonomy to respond sensitively yet urgently.

In this paper, I will focus on one variant of care and its spatial manifestations. Hospitality, or the ethics of negotiating with the stranger, is foundational to cultural and political systems across the globe. From a simple dinner party to enforcing national borders, our conceptions of who or what constitutes the Other - and how fluid that conception remains - are central to the identi-

fication of culture. As a student of architecture, I am particularly interested in how hospitality manifests at the scale of our communities and the built environment. While the theories presented here can apply to a range of scales from the individual to the globe2, the strength of care at the community level is a powerful avenue for change. By working at the local and the immediate, care in the built environment preserves the humanistic and materialistic conditions missed by care deployed through policy.

Hospitality Philosophy

French philosopher Jacques Derrida, who expanded upon arguments from Kant and Levinas in his book ‘Of Hospitality’, was critical in bringing the language and ethics of hospitality to a Western philosophical audience. Topics such as parasitic guests, open borders, and the presence of hostility within hospitality (which he eloquently dubbed hosti-pitality) nuance the realization of these ethics. Speaking from his own experience growing up Jewish in Algeria, Derrida applies his philosophies to critique the xenophobic and anti-semitic European immigration policies of the late 20th century3. For Derrida, the ethics that govern the way one would treat a stranger in their own home also define nationalist policies and immigration rhetoric. This is due to the existence of what he terms unconditional, absolute, or pure hospitality4. Derrida reasons that the various rules and conditions we use to negotiate hospitality imply that there must be a hypothetical state of unconditional hospitality. Imagine a holistic relinquishing of all control to any stranger who comes knocking, and likewise

a complete trusting of any host with no identification or credentials. This is not a sustainable or even realistic practice. Rather than use this framework to moralize conditional cases of hospitality, the value of this hypothetical state is in realizing the constructs barring true unconditionality, whether they are social, political, economic, physical, or otherwise. These limiting conditions can show us the starting point and direction for radical systemic change.

Yet the answer is not as simple as removing the identified barriers to unconditional hospitality. Hostility and hospitality, as twinned social conditions, are mutually interdependent. Host, guest, hostage, enemy, and stranger all derive

from the Latin root hostis, which reveals the way these seemingly opposite concepts have underlying similarities5. Derrida was invested in deconstructing these binaries, as he was troubled by the way “one term enjoyed (or was claimed by those in power to enjoy) a special authority or privilege”6. This is clear in the way Western tradition privileges host above guest, derived from the connotation of the host as having capital and privilege. Were the positionality of the guest as elevated as that of the host, Western conceptualization of hospitality and culture might appear quite differently. Take Couchsurfing.com, a completely free platform that connects travelers with a host’s accommodations, created by a few rent-burdened Americans and Europeans7. In a society where services are only appreciated through financial value does this alternative gift-based economy seem radical. Not only does the fracturing of linguistic distinctions between host and guest reinforce false binaries, but it also results in profound spatial consequences in the manifestation of social or political borders. However, a more cohesive understanding of the built environment through the lens of hospitality is appropriate to grasp the ways in which capital-

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“Hostility and hospitality, as twinned social conditions, are mutually interdependent”

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ism and imperialism complicate our sense of belonging.

Crimes of Hospitality

Though hospitality philosophy alone can define simple power dynamics, it is limited in conditions that result from postcolonial realities and divergent neoliberal identities. Derrida writes of a French federal law that came into practice in the late 1990s called ‘crimes of hospitality’, wherein those who offered assistance to illegal immigrants could be fined or jailed8. Confused and disgusted by this phrase - let alone the law itself - he reflects on the perversion of hospitality from welcoming the stranger into reinforcing the host’s superiority. Citizens who hosted the asylum seekers and shared their resources were subsequently ‘Othered’ in their own country. These imbalanced socio-political conditions are more common than not in Western contexts. For example, how would urban space undergoing gentrification be read through a hospitality framework? Are the new, high income residents the ‘guests’ in established neighborhoods?

Since virtually any spatial situation can be analyzed through a hospitality framework, we, as community members and change agents, must narrow our focus so we can precisely apply the restorative work of care.

Therefore, there are two overarching conditions that I position as systemic ‘crimes of hospitality’ and worthy of urgent attention. The first is assimilation, which develops when a guest’s identity is subsumed into its host or extracted for profitability. This condition necessitates a host with significantly more power than the guest. The second condition is colonization, where a guest overtakes a host and assumes control of their resources. This condition is the result of a guest with significantly more power than its host. bell hooks’ notions of centers and margins most accurately define these contradictory power dynamics. To be in a central position or a position of power is to have access to means of control and standardization, while to be in the margins is to be defined against the center and occupy the extraneous positions. This is not a moral judgment but an actionable framework. hooks herself states “these margins have been both sites of repression and sites of resistance

[...] we are more silent when it comes to speaking of the margin as a site of resistance”9. With this in mind, gentrifying spaces can more accurately be read as guests closer to the center colonizing their marginalized hosts. In the case of assimilation, a host who is centrally positioned has the ability to manipulate the margins according to their agenda, and therefore the guests who occupy it.

Spatializing Hospitality

To transition from a sociological to spatial understanding of hospitality and hostility, I refer to Deleuze and Guattari’s ideas of smooth and striated space. Again, caution is required to avoid both moralistic and solutionist arguments. In continuing to deconstruct binaries, this diagrammatic framework should be used only as a tool for measuring material realities in which these extremities overlap. Smooth space is the condition of absolute autonomy: a directionless,

non-hierarchical, and unpredictable realm that resists standardization. I position smooth space as a manifestation of Derrida’s unconditional hospitality, where host and guest share all resources in full, and as a result undermine the distinction between them. On the other hand, Striated space represents sedentary development, territorialization, and borders10. Because Derrida does not explicitly offer a foil to unconditional hospitality, I posit ‘hostile isolationism’ as a state where every actor is intentionally self-sufficient. Hostile isolationism, therefore, would be the social condition of absolute striated space. These conditions are important to serve as both signifiers and tools to identify and address moments of inequity. For instance, a heavily striated space will restrict individual autonomy and creativity, therefore requiring a smoothing process for liberation. Alternatively, an overly smooth space may not allow for accessible or equitable navigation, in which case it is necessary to striate.

These systems of spatial politics are constantly in flux, therefore care (and the tools to enact care) become crucial to direct and guide the movement between extremes. Unconditional hospitality and smooth space sound utopic, yet if we orient always in this direction we will miss the moments where striation and hostility are necessary in the pursuit of justice. Sanctuary for the persecuted is impossible in a space where everyone is able to traverse equally.

“Sanctuary for the persecuted is impossible in a space where everyone is able to traverse equally”

Care and Radical Action

As Stuart Hall writes, “Theory is a detour on the road to something more important”11. We now have three frameworks for deconstructing neoliberal hospitality and constructing a healthier, resilient, and critical framework for care. One, the duality of hostility and hospitality, which refers to negotiating with the stranger and establishing a sense of belonging. Two, centers and margins, which identify how that sense of belonging can be influenced through differing relations to power. Three, smooth and striated space, which represent the spatial impact of center and margin activity. By reading the built environment through these lenses, spaces with shifting and overlapping influences can piece by piece be deconstructed and subsequently restored to a healthy, equitable balance. For example, Derrida’s ‘crimes of hospitality’, in which the French government would punish those who assisted illegal asylum seekers, can be understood as simply a continuation of historic ways to force assimilation. Take the phenomenon of the Underground Railroad in the antebellum United States, a subversive implementation of radical hospitality in which fugitive slaves would align with abolitionist allies to collectively work towards liberation. If caught, both face punishment. In these instances, the allied host and fugitive guest have the same goal of smoothing an overly striated environment, using their central position to assist those further toward the margins. Without this critical interrogation, moment by moment, house by house, person by person, the Underground Railroad would not succeed. Though the Underground Railroad existed within the same material landscape as the young country, it pro-

vided a subversive and countervailing option to the dominant social and political condition.

In the context of colonization, we can again turn to gentrification as both an allegory and a force to resist. Gentrification as a concept is subject to constantly shifting definitions and identity politics, but in most cases it means the “change in the population of landusers such that the new users are of a higher socio-economic status than the previous users, together with an associated change in the built environment through a reinvestment in fixed capital”12. This translates effectively to a centrally-positioned guest actively overpowering a marginalized host and deepening the associated spatial striations. Care in this instance would require simultaneous hospitality for marginalized hosts and subverting of regulatory and prescriptive land use patterns. One without the other fails to properly address the entire issue. For instance, simply increasing the percentage of low income units in a new development might be hospitable to a few displaced individuals, but the new development itself still reinforces the striations of ‘fixed capital investment’ and cannot be truly

considered acting with care. Alternatively, organizations like community land trusts are more successful because they undermine the traditional striated patterns of development while specifically targeting those at risk of displacement13

Conclusion

It is important to reiterate that these concepts are not necessarily new or radical, though they may seem so to the West. Andrew Shryock, a professor and cultural anthropologist, notes that while hospitality discourse in European and American social and political theory grew more mainstream from mid-1990 onward, communities such as the Bedouins of Jordan find it strange that hospitality is even political in the first place14. As a nomadic culture, the negotiations of hospitality are inherently fundamental to the sustainability of the Bedouin lifestyle. It is no coincidence, then, that as the architecture of the West increasingly serves as financial investment rather than as shelter, the ethics of hospitality grow foreign. Through the frameworks presented here, we can resist individualistic and capitalist patterns that undermine the radical nature of care, and furthermore construct a resilient and regenerative culture of care that is critical to our survival15

Endnotes

1 The, Care Collective, The Care, et al. The Care Manifesto The Politics of Interdependence, Verso Books, 2020

2 See Nour Halabi, Radical Hospitality (2023)

3 O’Gorman, Kevin. “Jacques Derrida’s Philosophy of Hospitality.” Hospitality Review 8 (January 1, 2006): pp. 50–57

4 Derrida, Jacques, and Anne Dufourmantelle. Of Hospitality. Translated by Rachel Bowlby. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000. p25

5 Mishan, Ligaya, Kyoko Hamada, and Victoria Petro-Conroy. “When Did Hospitality Get So Hostile?” The New York Times, February 10, 2023, sec. T Magazine.

6 Clark, David. “Jacques Derrida, Of Hospitality,” n.d. pp. 3

7 “About | Couchsurfing.” Accessed April 7, 2023.

8 Clark, David. “Jacques Derrida, Of Hospitality,” n.d. pp. 16

9 Hooks, Bell. “Choosing the Margin as a Space of Radical Openness.”

Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media, no. 36 (1989): pp. 21

10 Lysen, Flora, and Patricia Pisters. “Introduction: The Smooth and the Striated.” Deleuze Studies 6, no. 1 (2012): 1–5.

11 Hall, Stuart. “Old and New Identities, Old and New Ethnicities.”

Theories of Race and Racism (2020): pp. 64

12 Clark E (20102005) The Order and Simplicity of Gentrification–A Political Challenge. In: Lees L, Slater T, Wyly E

13 The Michigan Chronicle. “How Neighborhoods Are Using Community Land Trusts to Slow Gentrification,” October 20, 2022.

14 Shryock, Andrew. “Thinking about Hospitality, with Derrida, Kant, and the Balga Bedouin.” Anthropos 103, no. 2 (2008): 405–21.

15 See Kearney and Fitzpatrick (2021)

The parable of Many gardeners

A historian sits down in a park to eat lunch. In the warm sun, slightly humid from the evaporating dew, she enjoys an apple. When she is finished she drops the apple core on the ground and begins to walk away. In passing, she notices the seeds embedded in the core, and wonders if the homogenous grass of the park will accept such an unlikely visitor.

The next day the historian again goes to the park for lunch, and again drops her apple on the ground. She looks to see if the seeds have taken root. Yet birds peck at the seed, kids chase the birds, the groundskeeper mows the park, and there is no trace to be found. The historian does not give up, for she knows the truth of this park. She knows that the elegant paths and green grass mask not only the marks of an old apple orchard, but a graveyard and a slave market. She believes that a transformation of the park will make visible the unjust truths of the land, and meet the needs of the people.

The historian meets a gardener, and the gardener brings not only apple seeds, but native grasses and wildflower seeds to sow in locations where the historian directs them. Yet birds peck at the seeds, kids chase the birds, the groundskeeper mows the park, and there is still no trace to be found.

The gardener installs feeders around the park, to guide the birds to healthier and more favorable seeds. The next day, when the gardener sows

the native grasses and wildflower seeds, the birds do not eat the seeds. Yet the kids run anyway, and the groundskeeper mows the park, and there is no trace to be found.

The historian talks to the kids, and asks them why they play in the park. One of the kids, busy running, replies that her father is a groundskeeper, so she must stay nearby. The historian asks the child if she would prefer playing in a beautiful playground with meadows of native grasses instead of a flat park, to which she en thusiastically replied yes. The historian tells the child to share this vision with her father.

The gardener again sows the seeds, and the kids play, but this time no birds peck and no grounds keepers mow. The manicured and static space becomes a dynamic and healthy ecosystem. Playground equipment moves from spot to spot, never shading the ground for too long. Butter flies and bees hum around the low lying grasses.

As the plants grow taller and the grasses more colorful, the transformation catches the atten tion of the local press. An activist, inspired by the story, finds the historian and the gardener and offers to transform this project into a movement. The activist tells the story to larger media agencies and constructs physical markers around the area. Through research, labor, and organization, the small coalition multiplies into a global movement for uncovering truth and maintaining the commons.

There is a realm of many different neighborhoods, and the center of this realm stands a huge tower. One particular neighborhood sits at the foot of the tower, with a street lain between the two. This neighborhood, unlike the tower, is small but vibrant, full of places to live and play. There is no room for living nor playing in the tower.

The neighborhood is a strong community that takes care of itself. Though its residents disagree at times, the neighborhood is healthy because it is their home and they manage it well. Cafes, libraries, and parks give the neighborhood its special character. The tower, on the other hand, fills itself with workers from different neighborhoods in far away places who do not much like to work together. But the tower does not need its workers to collaborate very well – it needs only to maintain its commanding influence on the realm.

When the workers in the tower get hungry, they cross the street into the neighborhood to eat at the cafes. When they are exhausted, they visit the libraries, or the parks. The neighborhood welcomes the workers as guests, and the workers appreciate the character of the neighborhood, though they return to their own far away homes to sleep.

The tower makes decisions about how the district should be run, and because the neighborhood is part of the district, it must follow them. Usually, the neighborhood is happy with the decisions.

Sometimes, the decisions go against how the neighborhood wants to run. When the neighborhood wants to grow and sell its own flowers, the tower says no. When the neighborhood wants to manage its own security, the tower says no. The workers come to the neighborhood as they normally do, and though the neighborhood explains its wants and needs to them, the workers do not listen.

The neighborhood gets upset, and it begins to make a plan. This time, when the workers cross the street to eat and relax, the neighborhood turns them away. The workers return to the tower, hungry and confused, but the tower doesn’t care. This happens for many days. The workers, only sleeping and working, become more and more unhappy. The neighborhood, content to run on its own, waits for the tower to notice. But the tower never notices, for its attention is on the rest of the city.

The workers, having no desire to come into the tower if they cannot eat or relax in the neighborhood, stop coming. The tower, now without people to complete its tasks, realizes its predicament and asks the neighborhood to allow its workers access. But the neighborhood resists, and tells the tower to relinquish its control. The tower, furious that a small neighborhood has undermined its power, relents. The workers are allowed back to eat and relax, but the tower no longer has control over the neighborhood. For the street which the workers once easily crossed has become the border of the tower’s rule.

The parable of the traveler

A traveler arrives in a new city. He is excited to visit this city, because he has heard tales about how strange yet wonderful a place it is. Where he is from, the buildings are repetitive in size and color; the streets are straight and unyielding; and the plants are homogenous. His home is identical to many other homes across the land. There are good reasons to love where he is from, but he knows his home is missing a certain creativity.

When the traveler begins to explore the new city he immediately gets lost in the strange urban fabric. The twisting streets are unfamiliar to him, and he has no map to tell him where to go. The buildings have an unusual logic. The smallest houses are made of marble, while the largest structures are draped in fabric. Occasionally, the roads themselves transition from pavement to meadow with no particular rhyme or reason. The traveler feels out of place, yet his intuition tells him to keep exploring.

The longer the traveler stays, the more he learns the motions of the city. There is a reason it looks the way it does. When families grow, people move, and institutions fracture, the city responds accordingly. It is not a city that makes travel efficient, but rather makes change itself efficient. The traveler marvels at the constant destruction and construction that blends seamlessly into the daily lives of the citizens. The traveler longs to have a life here, and be known by the city.

On his first night the traveler stays in a large building of many individual units. The manager of the building shows the traveler an open unit, one designed so that any guest can easily customize it according to their preference. The traveler feels comfortable with the control of his small space amidst the strange complexities of the city, and he fashions his unit exactly like his home.

Every day he knocks at the door of a different building. Though each time he does not know the host, he understands the relationships that the city values. When the hosts offer various accommodations or resources, the traveler responds with gifts of his own. He starts recounting memories of his home, stories of regularly arranged buildings, linear streets, and efficient transit, which amuse and interest the citizens of this city.

The city adapts to the presence of the traveler. When the traveler encounters moments of confounding inefficiency, the city constructs linear passages and bridges. The traveler grows more confident in his ability to navigate the city, and the city grows more navigable in return.

Eventually, it is time for the traveler to return home. He is happy he can move across his city in a matter of minutes, but the lifelessness of the beige buildings and gray streets make him feel uncomfortable. He wonders, as he returns to his normal routine, with whom he can recount the tales of his travels?

There is a church that owns an old house. For years, the house has stood empty, with only the occasional meeting or youth group activity taking place. But the church did not mind, because the investment value of the house increases with time. The longer they wait, they say, the greater value they can sell it for, and with those funds they can help the poor.

However, one of the congregants questioned this idea. She saw how people went without homes every day, and it seemed cruel to let this house remain empty. In secret, she invited people to sleep inside for no cost. She asked instead that they offer whatever they can to keep the house hospitable for future people in need.

The first person to sleep in the house was a painter, and they used their resources to paint the walls of the building in many vibrant colors.

The second person to sleep in the house was a storyteller, and they used their skills to spread the word of this building to more people.

The third person to sleep in the house was a carpenter, and they used their tools to build more rooms onto the house so it could host more people. Everyone who needed a place to stay was welcomed by the house, and offered whatever they could to keep the house functioning. Yet it was now more than a house - its character reflected the diverse needs and skills of its visitors.

News of what was happening in this collective spread, and the pastor of the church went to see the house for himself. When he arrived at the front door, he found an appraiser had the same idea, and was engaged in tense discussion with the congregant. The pastor, knowing the congregant, negotiated entry for both of them. Nothing could have prepared them for what to expect. The murals on the inside stretched from floor to ceiling, covering the historic wallpaper. Any partition wall on the ground floor had been completely removed to make space for community activities. Spolia pilfered from construction sites served as furniture. There was something screwed, welded, tacked, hammered or nailed to every square inch. Upstairs, the rooms were a lovingly jumbled mess, in some cases protruding beyond the exterior walls.

The appraiser was in disbelief and knew immediately that the building was now worthless. The pastor was similarly shocked at what had happened to the old house, though something about its commitment to service gave him pause. The pastor began to wonder at the kind of community that could create a space like this.

The congregant, seeing both of their reactions, felt her heart drop when the appraiser swiftly turned away and walked off. But something glimmering in the eye of the pastor betrayed his stern face, and she felt confident in the collective house’s future.

“The historian does not give up, for she has researched the park. She knows that the elegant paths and green grass mask not only the marks of an old apple orchard, but a graveyard and a slave market. She believes that a transformation of the park will make visible the unjust truths of the land, and meet the needs of the people.” Parable of the Gardener

“There is a church that owns an old house. For years, the house has stood empty, with only the occasional meeting or youth group activity taking place. But the church did not mind, because the investment value of the house increases with time. The longer they wait, they say, the greater value they can sell it for, and with those funds they can help the poor.”

Parable of the House

WASHINGTON, D.C. DOWNTOWN DISTRICT

A: St. John’s Episcopal Church

Built in 1817 and one of the oldest buildings in Downtown DC, the Greek Revival building has a dedicated Presidential Pew. The church became a media sensation during Summer 2020 when then-President Trump cleared protestors to allow for a photo op in front of the church’s sign.

The church owns the nextdoor Ashburton House constructed in 1835, and currently uses it as a parish house and event space.

B: Black Lives Matter Plaza

This piece of public art was originally created by the Department of Public Works and Mayor Muriel Bowser in response to hostility towards protestors during Summer 2020. The local BLM chapter added the phrase DEFUND THE POLICE, which remained for about three months.

Approximately a year after the protests, the street was re-opened to cars and the pedestrian section was narrowed to eight feet in the center of the road, protected by bollards.

C: Lafayette Park

The seven-acre park adjacent to the White House has held many identities, including but not limited to, a racetrack, graveyard, zoo, slave market, and protest staging grounds.

“There is a realm of many different neighborhoods. At the center of this realm stands a huge tower with many floors. The floors are made for working, and there is no room for living and playing in the tower.” Parable of the Tower

D: The White House

Built in 1792, the President’s House is the symbolic center of executive power in the United States. From Thomas Jefferson to Grover Cleveland, the house and grounds were freely accessed by the public.

E: The Washington Monument

On December 6, 1884, workers place a nine-inch aluminum pyramid instribed with “Laus Deo”, meaning praise to God, atop a tower of white marble, completing the construction of an impressive monument to the city’s namesake and the nation’s first president, George Washington. (History.com)

F: The Federal District Border

Currently, Washington DC’s 700,000+ residents have no representation in Congress due to the presence of the federal district and lack of statehood. The proposed state map divides the 2-mile federal district from the rest of the city, creating a separate National Capital Service Area and Washington Douglass Commonwealth (DC).

1. SPATIALIZE POWER DYNAMICS

Understanding how power operates in space is crucial, and there are a myriad ways these dynamics manifest that depend on your specific context. The political, social, and economic systems around us are constantly in fluid motion, and it requires a particular dexterity to come to terms with how we fit into the systems that are larger than ourselves. This is the first step, because any action we take after this must be considered from the standpoint of affecting the system. We cannot separate power from space, and we cannot separate space from power.

DESIGN FOR THE STRANGER 2.

The commodities we interact with daily have qualitative and quantitative value. The quantitative value, or exchange-value, refers to the relative weight that these commodities carry in exchange for another commodity. Alternatively, the qualitative or use-value refers to the material and/or narrative ways that these commodities satisfy a want or need. It is necessary that we design and operate with use-value in mind, in order to adequately address humanist, material concerns and elevate guests to the same status as hosts.

prioritize use value FORM UNUSUAL COALITIONS

3. 4.

Who exists beyond the bounds of your typical circle of engagement? We must be as capable partnering with a consulting firm as an activist group. The more creative our coalitions become, the wider our comprehension of societal fabric. Community engagement is more than just showing up, it involves long term investment and deep care for a context. This level of engagement requires unusual partnership, as our world undergoes unusual situations. Through a broader collaborative effort, needs that may have previously been unknown might be found and addressed.

The stranger is an unknown other, an external force that resists the labels of friend or enemy. The stranger is unexpected, arriving at an unknowable time and staying far past their welcome. The stranger brings change, which we relish, and we change the stranger. The prescriptive nature of the built environment, sedentary and didactic, reinforces our harmful conceptions of who our friends are and who the stranger might be. Instead, if we were to design with the full assumption that we have no idea what might happen, we might truly end up designing for the stranger.

STRANGER DESIGNER STRANGE DESIGN

How do we build radical hospitality?

Strange Design is a speculative participatory movement of designers, activists, architects, travelers, gardeners, carpenters, artists, and YOU, provoking a shift in the cultural imagi-

nation towards the unusual and unexpected. Through the intersection of storytelling, philosophy, and maga/zines, the strange and the stranger is repositioned as the most valuable ‘stakeholder’ in our contemporary landscape. Instead of ‘stranger danger’ - a phrase born from the 1960’s expansion of carceral state power and a “corporatized national media cul-

ture that thrives on crisis” - we posit ‘stranger designer’ as an initial step towards blurring divisive boundaries and deconstructing individualism. Strange Design critically wields the ethics of both hospitality and hostility where appropriate to create spaces of sanctuary.

Stranger Danger: Family Values, Childhood, and the American Carceral State by Paul M. Renfro

Where will Strange Design go next?