Picture a frustrated boy standing over a broken toy. He’s old enough to know that curse words exist and that they could be relevant to his situation, but neither old enough to know the words nor rebellious enough to use them. Instead, he stares down at his empty hands and names the awful feeling: “All the bad words.”
That little boy was my brother and the identity of the toy is lost to history, but that phrase has perpetuated with my family. It has become a coping mechanism for situations that are so frustrating, devastating, or overwhelming that they defy standard description.
I have invoked “all the bad words” countless times in 2020, a year that has tested society and its people on so many heartbreaking fronts. One of those times was in mid-September, when the National Hurricane Center announced that it had run through its predetermined list of names for 2020 storms. For only the second time in recorded history (the first was in 2005), it will have to use the Greek alphabet to identify the remaining storms of the year. Hurricane season lasts through November.
Upon learning this, my brain filled not with all the bad words, but with all the Greek letters. The fact that this year has seen more storms than in almost every year past indicates that the consequences of climate change are getting measurably worse, and quickly.
Another devastating fact about 2020? Already, nine named storms have made landfall in the U.S. during the Atlantic hurricane season, tying a record held since 1916. These storms have killed nearly 150 people, caused billions of dollars in damage, and destroyed thousands of buildings. That damage affects vast tracts of land, but disproportionately affects communities of color. Aid to rebuild favors white communities—as shown recently in studies by NPR, Bloomberg, and others after Hurricane Harvey devastated swaths of Texas in 2017.
As I write this, the remnants of Tropical Storm Beta are dissipating after it spiraled into the Gulf Coast and caused widespread flooding in Texas and Louisiana. Before Beta, there were Sally, Laura, Isaias, and others. Climate change’s cruel blend of feast and famine means devastating storms and flooding in some regions, devastating fires and drought in others, and very few temperate spaces in between. Our planet is out of balance.
But still glimmers of hope remain.
Take a project like the Marine Education Center at the Gulf Coast Research Laboratory in Ocean Springs, Miss. (page 86), designed by Lake|Flato Architects and Unabridged Architecture. One of this year’s AIA COTE Top Ten award winners, it replaces a building lost to Hurricane Katrina. Exemplifying a resilient approach to site ecology, design, and materials, it has proven unflappable in the face of winds and storm surge alike.
Architects have the power to make communities resilient, equitable, and sustainable. They also have the power to help slow the advancement of climate change before it’s too late to reverse the damage.
More than 800 firms have signed AIA’s 2030 Commitment. That’s a great start, but more firms are needed to turn the tide of carbon consumption and greenhouse gas emissions from the built environment; more need to join the call to design more sustainable, healthy, and equitable buildings and communities. We don’t want to find out what naming convention comes after the Greek alphabet is exhausted. Our industry can do it if we work together. The only question is, can we do it in time?
Editor's Note: The latest named hurricane in the 2020 Atlantic Hurricane Season is Hurricane Iota. It makes 2020 the most active hurricane season on record.
