Design as Liberation: making belonging the default condition
The plaza, before the day begins
Metal grates rattle as vendors nod hello. A bus exhales. The elder taps their cane along the seam where old paving meets new, feeling for the story our work wants to tell: you are expected here. A child tosses a rubber ball that bounces off the new bench, slightly higher than standard, so standing up is easier for tired knees. Someone has already left a paper cup on its arm. Life has arrived to test our intentions.
Design as liberation does not start with a grand plan. It starts in these small, ordinary rehearsals of public life: Can I pause? Can I see myself? Can I stay? We call it liberation, because the answers to these questions are often rationed – by speed, by budgets, by who is imagined as a user.
What drawings won’t show
The drawings showed trees, but not the way mid-day summer heat can make a street feel like an argument. They showed a ramp, but not the quiet relief on a parent’s face when the stroller rolls without the back-wheel lift. They showed a fountain icon, not the way water brings mental and physical relief. Liberation is the part you feel in your shoulders, not just the part you read in a spec.
Our process
These design decisions come from sitting in circle, from listening: shade where noon hurts, places to sit every so many paces, light that guides without watching, words in the languages spoken at home. These are not extras; they are the ground on which dignity stands. Where a site holds memories of exclusion, we meet them, name them out loud, and invite those most impacted to lead the change.
What emerges
Weeks later, the plaza will write its own report. A market pops up in the shade. A choir rehearses on Tuesday nights. The bench with the cup earns a nickname, and eventually, a tiny brass plaque chipped in by the community. None of this is neutral. It is the result of choices made with people, not for them.
Why we call it liberation
Because time returns to the people who were always running. Because risk is not concentrated on the same shoulders. Because belonging becomes a default, not a favour. Liberation is a material condition: more rest, more reach, more routes home. Liberation is also a cultural condition: the steady knowledge that this place sees you. Come when the day is ordinary. Watch for who pauses without hesitating, who lingers without scanning for permission. Notice the reparations braided into shade, seating, thresholds. This is the quiet work of design.
Ready to design with, not around? Let’s chat.
Editorial Note: The scenes above are composite, near‑future vignettes drawn from community conversations, lived experience, and our practice principles. They are not descriptions of Lemon Papaya projects (yet). They illustrate the kinds of choices we co‑create with partners.