The Symmetry of Oppression : Unequal Spaces in Urban Design

The city of Dystropolis was cloaked in an eerie mist as Will Hunter wandered its empty streets. As an architecture student from Iowa State University, he’d studied cities that seemed to echo humanity’s triumphs and tragedies. But nothing prepared him for the stark dichotomy of Dystropolis—a city where the very fabric of its design seemed to whisper secrets of oppression and Unequal spaces .

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The gleaming towers of wealth stood in arrogant defiance against crumbling housing blocks, their luminous facades reflecting privilege and power. Unequal spaces like these were the unspoken language of the city’s soul. “Architecture holds the power to transform,” Will had often read in his textbooks, but here it seemed to do the opposite—entrenching divisions that cut deeper than any visible boundary.

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“Over here,” a voice called out of the shadows. It was Dr. Malik, a renowned sociologist. He beckoned Will toward an invisible line, dividing affluence from despair. “Welcome to Dystropolis, where design is destiny,” he said, his tone a mix of cynicism and urgency.

The Architecture of Exclusion

Dr. Malik gestured to a towering high-rise encased in glass. “These buildings are fortresses of isolation,” he explained. “Private elevators for the elite, gated communities with security tighter than a vault—these aren’t just design features. They’re barriers, psychological and physical, that ensure the poor stay out.”

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Will’s thoughts drifted to Mike Davis’ “City of Quartz,” a book that dissected urban inequality in Los Angeles. Davis wrote how architecture could be wielded as a tool of exclusion, with anti-homeless spikes, restricted access, and surveillance cloaked as public safety measures. Dystropolis, it seemed, was a city born from those very blueprints.

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As they moved toward the impoverished districts, the air grew heavier. Sidewalks crumbled beneath their feet, and neglected playgrounds stood as haunting relics of abandoned promises. “Neglect breeds despair,” Dr. Malik said grimly.

Unequal Spaces Manifest

Will paused before a wall etched with graffiti—a poignant cry from the marginalized. “This isn’t just an economic divide,” Malik continued. “It’s a legacy of policies like redlining. Decades ago, maps were drawn, ensuring certain neighborhoods were denied loans and development opportunities.”

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The wall seemed alive, vibrating with anger and pain. Will touched it and felt a surge of energy. Suddenly, the ground beneath him quaked, and the wall split open, revealing a hidden passage.

A Dream Within Unequal Spaces

Will found himself in an underground chamber—a library of forbidden knowledge. The walls were lined with books, from Jane Jacobs’ “The Death and Life of Great American Cities” to Davis’ “City of Quartz.” Each volume whispered stories of cities built to divide.

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In the center of the room stood a holographic map of Dystropolis. The affluent districts glowed in gold, while the neglected ones flickered dimly. “This is the blueprint of inequality,” Malik’s voice echoed, though the sociologist was nowhere to be seen.

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The map shifted, revealing designs that offered hope—public spaces where communities could gather, mixed-income housing that erased boundaries, and streets designed for people, not cars.