revitalizing the homes
This project is a response to the layered complexities of Broadwater Farm Estate—a place deeply shaped by social tension, historical trauma, and systemic neglect, but also by cultural resilience, community pride, and lived memory. My design process was rooted in firsthand engagement: I conducted site visits, walked the estate, and spoke directly with residents, including long-time community members and newly assigned council tenants. These conversations revealed both the deep sense of belonging many residents feel and the increasing pressure from external forces—gentrification, outdated infrastructure, and fractured social dynamics—that threaten the estate’s future.
Broadwater Farm’s history of gang violence, institutional racism, and police brutality—including the 1985 uprising—has left a lasting imprint on its identity. These are not just past events, but lived experiences that continue to inform residents’ relationships with space, authority, and one another. In designing for this site, I was acutely aware of the need to avoid top-down interventions that erase community identity or exacerbate displacement. Instead, I pursued a model of design that listens, adapts, and empowers.
One key insight came from interviews with residents and the estate’s spokesperson, who emphasized the breakdown in trust between long-time tenants and newly relocated residents. Many new occupants feel disconnected from the estate’s history, while legacy residents feel that their home is being gradually taken from them. I chose to address this not through separation, but integration. My housing scheme intentionally mixes household sizes and types across the site, breaking up homogeneity to foster more diverse and spontaneous encounters. This isn’t just about housing variety—it’s a spatial strategy for building empathy and mutual recognition.
The physical condition of the estate also demanded attention. Many of the existing buildings are deteriorating, with aging appliances that pose safety risks. At the same time, the estate faces environmental vulnerabilities, particularly the risk of flooding due to poor ground-level drainage. In response, I elevated residential units above ground level—not to alienate, but to reprogram the ground plane. Rather than inserting shops or private amenities that might accelerate gentrification, I created a porous, activated layer of community-focused infrastructure: adaptable pavilions, workshop zones, green corridors, and collective gathering areas that residents can use and shape themselves.
Prefabricated modular units form the backbone of the housing design. These customizable cubicles offer residents the ability to adapt their homes over time, accommodating changing needs without the rigid permanence of traditional construction. This approach challenges the idea that social housing must be uniform or impersonal; instead, it affirms that every resident deserves agency and dignity in how they inhabit space.
Unused ground-level parking zones and fragmented green patches were reclaimed and reimagined—not as beautification, but as productive, connective spaces. Walkways link homes to communal spaces in ways that encourage circulation and visibility, while still providing moments of privacy and retreat. The central pavilion acts as a social anchor—flexible in purpose and open in structure, it invites the community to come together on their own terms, whether through workshops, meals, performances, or celebrations.
Every move in this design reflects a conscious effort to prioritize spatial equity, environmental resilience, and social cohesion. This is not a masterplan imposed from above—it’s a scaffold for community authorship. A new layer to the estate, built with the people who call it home.
Broadwater Farm’s history of gang violence, institutional racism, and police brutality—including the 1985 uprising—has left a lasting imprint on its identity. These are not just past events, but lived experiences that continue to inform residents’ relationships with space, authority, and one another. In designing for this site, I was acutely aware of the need to avoid top-down interventions that erase community identity or exacerbate displacement. Instead, I pursued a model of design that listens, adapts, and empowers.
One key insight came from interviews with residents and the estate’s spokesperson, who emphasized the breakdown in trust between long-time tenants and newly relocated residents. Many new occupants feel disconnected from the estate’s history, while legacy residents feel that their home is being gradually taken from them. I chose to address this not through separation, but integration. My housing scheme intentionally mixes household sizes and types across the site, breaking up homogeneity to foster more diverse and spontaneous encounters. This isn’t just about housing variety—it’s a spatial strategy for building empathy and mutual recognition.
The physical condition of the estate also demanded attention. Many of the existing buildings are deteriorating, with aging appliances that pose safety risks. At the same time, the estate faces environmental vulnerabilities, particularly the risk of flooding due to poor ground-level drainage. In response, I elevated residential units above ground level—not to alienate, but to reprogram the ground plane. Rather than inserting shops or private amenities that might accelerate gentrification, I created a porous, activated layer of community-focused infrastructure: adaptable pavilions, workshop zones, green corridors, and collective gathering areas that residents can use and shape themselves.
Prefabricated modular units form the backbone of the housing design. These customizable cubicles offer residents the ability to adapt their homes over time, accommodating changing needs without the rigid permanence of traditional construction. This approach challenges the idea that social housing must be uniform or impersonal; instead, it affirms that every resident deserves agency and dignity in how they inhabit space.
Unused ground-level parking zones and fragmented green patches were reclaimed and reimagined—not as beautification, but as productive, connective spaces. Walkways link homes to communal spaces in ways that encourage circulation and visibility, while still providing moments of privacy and retreat. The central pavilion acts as a social anchor—flexible in purpose and open in structure, it invites the community to come together on their own terms, whether through workshops, meals, performances, or celebrations.
Every move in this design reflects a conscious effort to prioritize spatial equity, environmental resilience, and social cohesion. This is not a masterplan imposed from above—it’s a scaffold for community authorship. A new layer to the estate, built with the people who call it home.