Less than 20 years after its completion, the physical decay of the buildings, soaring crime rates, and growing social tensions had forced the local authorities to seriously consider demolishing the entire estate and replacing it with something more sustainable. As of today, the process is far from being completed. The quality of the original project was virtually nonexistent. Poor construction materials led to toxic infiltrations and a dramatic rise in infant mortality and cancer rates; an urban layout based on a misguided modernist relationship between buildings and shared spaces, with more than 15 kilometres of elevated pedestrian walkways, turned the estate into a kind of ghetto, completely disconnected from its surroundings.

As we were being shown the most degraded aspects of a place made surreal by deprivation and neglect, a young mother with a child of four — maybe five — stepped out of one of the apartments and walked past our group. The child stopped and looked at us, puzzled. He couldn’t understand why we were there and asked his mother. Fully aware of the reasons that had brought us to that place, she couldn’t answer. With tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat, she adjusted his woollen hat, fastened the last button of his coat, and gently led him away.

In that very moment, the look in that mother’s eyes — the humiliation and powerlessness it conveyed — made me understand in an instant what years of study had failed to teach me: the immense responsibility we carry as designers.

What kind of citizen can an urban environment like that possibly produce? What responsibilities should architects and planners be held accountable for – and where do we draw the line?