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Municipal decisions shape a city’s soul. Smart cities are built on empathy; they preserve order through regulation and strong communication with communities, offering supportive alternatives and applying subtle, data-driven interventions. Therefore, what is happening in Jleeb al-Shuyoukh these days is of great importance and calls for attention.

Over the past two weeks, a group of government institutions has launched a campaign in Jleeb al-Shuyoukh, a densely populated area known for sheltering low-income workers and for its high number of construction violations and other encroachments. As reported by newspapers, the campaign targeted more than 1,000 buildings, resulting in the evacuation of large numbers of residents and difficult conditions for vulnerable segments of society.

Officials see the deteriorating condition of the area as the result of decades of neglect and unregulated growth, with landlords dividing single-family homes into high-density housing. This has led to negative effects on services and infrastructure and presents risks to security and safety. Thus, the time has come to find quick solutions to this corrupt phenomenon.

Although the official authorities’ diagnosis is correct, an intervention of this magnitude requires more practical planning that examines the problem in depth and from all sides. Many cities around the world have faced similar, perhaps even more frequent, problems and have succeeded in solving them by matching intervention to context.

In Kuwait, we have precise tools to address the subject with professionalism, sensitivity, and humanity. We should have looked at the big picture and considered how the urban area could accommodate low-wage housing in a humane and practical way. Prudent planning favors improvements over demolition and prioritizes preserving the structure and social networks, while taking into account for the requirements of security, safety, and engineering efficiency.

Despite all that we see, the Jleeb area has succeeded in attracting workers, housing them, and providing a central location in the heart of Kuwait, offering affordable housing for the simple worker and access to various areas in the north and south of Kuwait. It also provided residents with a relatively acceptable environment, serving as a social incubator for communities, with restaurants, playgrounds, mosques, markets, shops, and both official and informal services. Therefore, it has the elements that have enabled it to survive and operate for decades.

But when we do not find an alternative to human relocation, it would have been better to discover viable alternatives that take into account the requirements of the state and society and do not neglect the priorities and needs of the worker. Hence, we should seek to develop systems that integrate corporate responsibility for workers’ housing, along with work and residence permits. Develop policies that encourage investment, or spending when investment is not feasible, in affordable housing for workers. In addition, involve the community as a whole in making such decisions. Scientific tools, supported by reliable information, are also needed to monitor ongoing compliance with building regulations and security and safety requirements.

Finally, we call for wisdom and compassion, because urban planning is centered on human beings. The imposition of the law does not imply policies of abstract erasure, and illegal or dense housing does not justify sudden evictions, which expose individuals and sometimes families to harsh conditions. Often, this worker is only a victim of system breakdowns or the pressures of circumstances. The sight of workers scouring the roads and surrounding areas, carrying what they could or sleeping on roofs in the heat of summer, is an indication of a moral failure in a country that has always presented itself as a country of humanity and goodness!

Cities are built on compassion; smart municipalities study the steps, know how to implement soft interventions, provide alternatives, and listen to residents, while also developing and enforcing laws and regulations through transparent procedures and accountable measures. We must realize that abiding by the law is rooted in trust, while fear leads to exporting problems or creating new ones.

In terms of architectural taste, I may not like the architectural style of the Palace of Justice in Kuwait City. But it is undeniable that it has become an architectural landmark that carries weight in the collective memory and shapes the spatial identity of Kuwait City. Here I bring to mind the Italian architect Aldo Rossi (1931-1997) and his idea of an “urban artifact”.

 Rossi wrote: “Architecture in the city means two different things: first, the city as a massive man-made object, a complex work of engineering that grows with time; second, limited but essential aspects of the city, are the urban artifacts.”

Rossi introduces the concept of an “urban artifact”, which includes buildings and spaces that survive over time not for a functional advantage, but because they concentrate collective meaning and become indispensable monuments, such as mosques, markets, and public squares, elements of resistance, which survive demographic and economic change and even physical destruction because they are centers of collective identity.  It allows society to remember who it is and where it came from. Rossi’s concept of a “site” that focuses collective memory has a particular resonance in the Gulf; the historic souks in Kuwait, the old yards (Baraha) in Bahrain, and the towers of Qatari coastal villages are sites where the community’s identity is physically symbolized. Its destruction during   an era of oil-age urbanization, in Rossi’s terms, represented the destruction of collective memory and the dismantling of the infrastructure of identity.

The Palace of Justice in Kuwait is a delicate test case for us. Designed by Scottish architect Sir Basil Spence, it was opened in 1986 as part of the state’s policy in the 1960s and 1970s to establish a Kuwaiti-themed architectural modernity! Due to its size, location, and historical value, Kuwaitis interacted with it in different circumstances, adorned it with the national currency, and received decades of the state’s legal memory, becoming the center of a collective identity that went beyond its practical function.

However, the Ministry of Justice recently announced the decision to demolish it, a decision that goes beyond being an administrative decision, as it represents a deliberate dismantling of one of the few spatial anchors that link the modern judicial institution to its founding history. More seriously, the decision comes in the absence of a technical opinion that the building is liable to fall, and it also violates Article 12 of the Constitution, which obliges the state to preserve heritage, and Article 17, which protects public funds, as it is estimated that the demolition of a building with a current value of approximately fifty million Kuwaiti dinars constitutes a direct waste of public estate.

From the perspective of urban development, the demolition of the Palace of Justice enshrines a “culture of demolition”, which reduces the treatment of aging buildings to their replacement rather than periodic maintenance, even though the cost of maintenance is much lower than the cost of demolition and reconstruction, and despite the fact that the replacement empties the site of its historical layers.

On the other hand, if the Ministry of Justice believes that the building is no longer practical or useful for its current operations, then it can be put up for investment, and the private sector should study its rehabilitation for other uses, so that it can become a hotel, a market, a bank headquarters, or even a museum or a public library!

The demolition decision comes in the context of a series of demolitions that inevitably apply to other modernist buildings of the same era, from the Kuwait Airport designed by Kenzo Tango to the Central Bank building designed by Arne Jakobsen, all of which are urban artifacts that are subject to the same fate unless an explicit national policy is adopted to protect modern architectural heritage.

On the twenty-first day of the US-Israeli war on Iran, with Iran now targeting GCC countries in retaliation, we are drawn into the center of a regional conflict. Yet, life here continues with unsettling normalcy. Sirens sound, news circulates, but the streets stay busy, and people maintain their routines. We are reminded how fragile welfare is.

In the last 60 years, the GCC populations have expanded fortyfold, and countries have built modern cities with extraordinary ambition. These cities are equipped with state-of-the-art infrastructure, abundant energy, and cityscapes that rival any on earth. Still, behind this prosperity lies profound vulnerability. Desalination plants remain the sole source of water for millions, even as the threat of sabotage hangs over critical infrastructure. The lesson is becoming impossible to ignore: a city should only grow as large as its water reserves can sustain !

International opposition to the war is rising, and deep Pan-Arab sentiment now aligns with anyone opposing the Israeli regime. This created tension with some expats and could pose a challenge to local governments.  Other highly qualified Expats begin to quietly leave. Cities should reassess their technical and infrastructural dependencies; The war exposes that immigrants are gifts, but immigration as a demographic strategy creates vulnerability !

Interestingly, the long-criticized low-density urbanization in GCC cities now appears to be an unexpected advantage. Sprawling cities with sparse populations mean that missiles and drones face different calculations of destruction than they would in more densely packed cities. High density proves beneficial, but not during wartime !

Meanwhile, while driving on the First Ring Road recently, I came across a painful scene: the damaged headquarters of the Public Institution for Social Security, which had been hit by a missile fragment. The view of the burned tower offers a sharp contrast to the ambitions of skyscrapers in a region known for its world-renowned landmarks and high-rise competition. In wartime, the tower is no longer a landmark, but a target. Working or living in them is considered more dangerous, and they pose a challenge for emergency teams. In wartime, towers turned out to be a useless burden !

Technology has also revealed its limits. Adapted apps, payment platforms, and digital conveniences have always formed a layer built upon stability, not the foundation itself. When conflict began, this distinction stood out unmistakably.

The war underscores the importance of the human and the local. In times of crisis, it is clear that people matter more than platforms. Immediately, we recognized the value of neighbors—those who share sirens and a stairwell. The neighborhood, humanity’s oldest settlement unit, stands as something technology cannot replicate. War reminds us to know and value our neighbors !

Additionally, the war has shifted our understanding of home, making accessibility and centrality essential for survival. A well-located home now holds value for its protection, access, and resilience, not for its aspirations.

Lastly, war strips cities down to their essentials and forces us to confront what we have long taken for granted. Amenities like Water, shelter, community, and proximity are not mere conveniences but the architecture of survival. This moment of reckoning is not unique in history, but it arrives with particular importance for cities built on the assumption of permanent stability. Maybe the deepest lesson of this war is not strategic or political, but fundamentally human: that the measure of a city was never its skyline, but its resilience, and that resilience was never found in its buildings and infrastructures, but in the people who live between them.

“Utopia is on the horizon. When I draw nearer by two steps, it retreats two steps. If I proceed ten steps forward, it swiftly slips ten steps ahead. No matter how far I go, I can never reach it. What, then, is the purpose of utopia? It is to cause us to advance.”

              – Eduardo Galeano

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Sometimes, turning to radical ideas can be helpful. These ideas challenge what is familiar, encourage new ways of thinking, and offer solutions we might not have considered. Even if they seem impractical, bold ideas can still make a positive difference.

To complete the topic of productive cities, I thought it necessary to present the ideas of the urban thinker Dr. Jamil Akbar, who has made significant contributions to urbanism and seeks to offer a new vision derived from Islamic culture that challenges the prevailing situation. It deals beyond the urban form to the methods of politics and the general administration of the state and the people. Dr. Jamil Abdulqader Akbar is one of those who put forward big ideas, and he works honestly and diligently to spread and defend them. He was a professor of architecture and planning at King Faisal University and the author of the book “Architecture of the Earth in Islam” and the great book “Cutting the Truth”.

Dr. Jameel Akbar sees productivity and work as more than just employment and earning a salary. He connects them closely to property, freedom, and urban development. In his view, work is the only valid way to gain rights, and it is the main force behind the urban energy that is missing in many modern cities.

Dr. Jameel highlights the old legal principle: “Whoever revives a dead land, it is his.” Here, labor becomes the true way a person earns the right to own property, not just through money or government support. In the past, people gained ownership by doing real work like building fences, digging wells, or farming. This was direct and productive. Today, this has changed to borrowing from family, waiting for housing, or speculating, so the connection between people and land is now temporary and based on benefit, not hard work and creation.

Akbar believes that real action is shown by a person’s ability to change their surroundings. When someone opens a window, adds a room, or cleans a shared yard with neighbors, they are working. Modern planning has replaced this kind of work with bureaucracy. Instead of using their energy to build and improve, people now spend it on getting permits and dealing with paperwork, which Akbar sees as unproductive and wasteful.

In his book “Cutting the Truth,” Dr. Jameel goes further in his criticism of how labor is seen in modern states, especially welfare or rentier states. He argues that much government work has become fake work. He points out that government offices are filled with employees, like supervisors and planners, whose main job is to stop people from working or using their property. He believes this wastes national resources and blocks real production.

Dr. Jameel says that society becomes productive when people remove barriers and too many rules, allowing them to work and run small businesses freely and responsibly. He suggests using a “No harm, no foul” rule instead of a system where everything is banned unless you have a permit.

Dr. Akbar calls for responsible freedom. He believes people should be free to manage their surroundings, land, and businesses, as long as they do not harm others. When strict laws stop people from doing this, they stop being producers and become consumers who rely on the state to act for them.

Dr. Jameel thinks that modern planning systems, which come from the West, have taken away people’s ability to shape their own environments. In the past, residents helped decide how their buildings looked, often working with neighbors, so they were active in creating their cities. Now, people mostly buy ready-made homes like villas and apartments, designed by the state or developers, with strict rules about things like building heights and distances. This change has led to people feeling disconnected and less involved.

One of Dr. Jameel’s key ideas is that the more control people have, the more responsibility they take. When the state or city takes away residents’ control over public spaces like streets and parks, it also takes away their sense of responsibility. People stop caring about keeping these areas clean or maintained because they see them as the state’s job. This means the state has to spend more on maintenance and security, while in the past, residents handled these tasks themselves at little cost.

Dr. Jameel connects the loss of personal responsibility to the rise of consumerism. When central authorities control everything, people start to compete over things like fancy homes and cars instead of working to improve their communities. Cities then become collections of isolated consumers who depend on air conditioning and cars, rather than using natural or community-based solutions.

Dr. Jameel points out that urban problems are not just about economics, but also about human rights and regulations. He says we cannot improve productivity, use resources wisely, or even keep cities running unless people regain control over their local environments. This way, people can once again become caretakers of the land, not just consumers.

Some people think Dr. Jameel’s ideas are unrealistic or too idealistic, and others may see them as fitting only a certain traditional or scientific view. However, their real value lies in their inspiration from Islamic culture and in offering smart, thought-provoking examples. These ideas challenge the usual ways of thinking, encourage reflection, and might help bring about change, even if only in small ways.