Bridging the divided city

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil’s second largest city, is scheduled to stage two of the world’s largest sporting events. The city is modernising in anticipation, employing sophisticated management technologies and unusual transportation mechanisms. Unavoidably, given the immense expenditure and quixotic nature of some of the infrastructure projects, questions have arisen: at what cost, and for whose benefit? We spotlight ten projects that might just offer answers

By Julie Ruvolo

In 2014 Brazil will host the FIFA World Cup, followed, two years later, by the Summer Olympics in the prosperous Atlantic port city of Rio de Janeiro. It will become only the third country, following Mexico and the United States, to host these two mega-events back-to-back. As the clock ticks down on these events, Rio is fast-tracking urban projects aimed at reversing decades of policy-driven division—between rich and poor, formal and informal, state and sub-power—that have earned the “marvellous city” (Cidade Maravilhosa), as it is affectionately known, the dubious nickname of “divided city” (Cidade Partida).

The latter epithet derives from the title of a non-fiction book by journalist Zuenir Ventura. Published in 1994, Ventura’s award-winning piece of reportage drew on his experiences living amongst Rio’s impoverished North Zone residents for ten months. It described a state of social apartheid that Rio’s municipal governors are only now concertedly addressing. Using billions of dollars in public money and some of the most advanced urban management technologies on the planet, Rio is currently the site of a vast “integration experiment” that aims to reconnect the city, in particular its many disenfranchised citizens.

Ten highly visible integration projects—ranging from a panoramic elevator in Ipanema Beach and state-subsidized 3D movie theatre in Rio’s largest favela to the use of smart technologies to monitor urban life in real time—demonstrate what this city of spectacle wants to showcase, and also what it wants to hide. These projects serve as reference points for a timely discussion on the extent to which Rio’s political leaders are effecting real change. Is all the heightened focus on urban integration simply about appearances as the city prepares for its imminent arrival in the global spotlight?

The latter epithet derives from the title of a non-fiction book by journalist Zuenir Ventura. Published in 1994, Ventura’s award-winning piece of reportage drew on his experiences living amongst Rio’s impoverished North Zone residents for ten months. It described a state of social apartheid that Rio’s municipal governors are only now concertedly addressing. Using billions of dollars in public money and some of the most advanced urban management technologies on the planet, Rio is currently the site of a vast “integration experiment” that aims to reconnect the city, in particular its many disenfranchised citizens.

Ten highly visible integration projects—ranging from a panoramic elevator in Ipanema Beach and state-subsidized 3D movie theatre in Rio’s largest favela to the use of smart technologies to monitor urban life in real time—demonstrate what this city of spectacle wants to showcase, and also what it wants to hide. These projects serve as reference points for a timely discussion on the extent to which Rio’s political leaders are effecting real change. Is all the heightened focus on urban integration simply about appearances as the city prepares for its imminent arrival in the global spotlight?

Using billions of dollars in public money and some of the most advanced urban management technologies on the planet, Rio is currently the site of a vast integration experiment

The most visible integration project is Rio’s Pacification Program. Known by the acronym UPP, the initiative aims to retake favelas that are currently under control of drug traffickers or militias (factions of off-duty and former policemen). Pacified favelas receive newly trained UPP police units who work “from the perspective of attending [to] the citizen—no longer combating the enemy, but instead protecting society,” as security ministry official Juliana Barroso told the Christian Science Monitor. This is no small task: Rio police kill one civilian for every 22 they imprison; on average, three people die at the hands the police every day. Jose Beltrame, Rio’s well-respected public security secretary, heads up the multi-year state initiative that has retaken 30 of Rio’s favelas since 2008, mostly in the North Zone, with plans to pacify close to 100 more by 2016. (The famed City of God favela, in the city’s West Zone, was the second to be pacified).

Almost one-third of Rio’s six million inhabitants live in favelas. Drug traffickers control about 40% of Rio’s 1,000 favelas, with an equal amount controlled by militia forces; the remainder are free of extrajudicial control. Beltrame told Epoca Magazine last year that militias, who researchers say are in the ascendency, worry him more than traffickers. Despite all this, UPP has left militia-controlled favelas largely untouched. Only one pacified favela was previously under militia control; the rest have been retaken from traffickers. Militias are a particular problem in Rio’s West Zone, the fastest-growing part of the city and destination for thousands of families facing removal as the city implements its Olympic infrastructure projects.

Complexo de Alemão, in the city’s North Zone, is Rio’s largest favela. It underwent pacification in 2010 in a multi-phase operation that took two years and involved thousands of elite police forces and federal troops. “Before the UPP we lived in uncertainty,” said David Amen, a co-founder of civil society organisation Raizes em Movimento (Roots in Movement). The organisation is based in the Ramos neighbourhood of Alemão and organises cultural events like photography classes and workshops for small business entrepreneurs. “We didn’t know: Is this a shooting? Is this an invasion? Are the police coming in? I’d have no idea what was going to happen each day.”

Despite solid progress and international praise, Beltrame told Epoca that his pacification programme “hasn’t won the game yet”. He stated: “The biggest complaints today in pacified communities are about construction projects, sewage, schools and health centres.” Beltrame has said it would be reckless to promise that pacification will end the drug trade—he supports discussion around legalising marijuana. “I’m not going to promise that everything’s going to be okay,” he said. “But I think that Rio effectively has the chance to turn a page, because we’re reaching the neuralgic point of integrating the favela and the asphalt.”

Rio’s Complexo do Alemão—or German Complex as it is nicknamed by locals—made local and international headlines in 2012 for two seemingly unrelated reasons: the start of a high-profile and ongoing pacification operation, and the inauguration of a state-of-the-art air gondola. A headline in O Globo, a prominent Brazilian newspaper based in Rio, elegantly summarized the contradiction: “Pacified, the German Complex Will Now Have Sightseeing Tours.” News reports would have you believe that the fate of Alemão hinges on the state’s success (or failure) to keep the drug traffickers from retaking control. According to David Amen, a resident of Alemão, “the trafficker is not the only villain in our story, and drug trafficking is not the only problem in our favelas”.

Alemão is statistically the poorest neighbourhood in Rio: the average per capita income is in the lowest percentile in Rio; it has the largest percentage of residents (29.2%) living below the poverty line; and one-third of residents earn less than half the minimum wage (about $150 p/month). A third of Alemão’s residents have no legal title to their homes, and motorised access to homes on steep hills is also a widespread problem. Basic sanitation and trash collection are absent in large parts of the complex. Primary health is also an issue: in 2009 a local Doctors Without Borders emergency clinic closed its doors, leaving Alemão’s almost 200,000 residents without ready access to an emergency room.

In the face of pressing community needs, the city recently dedicated over $400-million to infrastructure upgrades and social assistance programmes in Alemão. A large proportion of this federal money was however spent on an elevated cable car system, or air gondola. “The number one priority in Alemão is sanitation,” said Alan Brum, co-founder and director of local non-profit Raizes em Movimento, at a public hearing last April. “Imagine a cable car. Just in terms of federal and state money, $362-million has already spent, and we still don’t have basic sanitation for all of Alemão’s residents.” Representatives from the federally funded Growth Acceleration Programme (PAC) promised to complete projects focused on basic sanitation, habitation improvements, street widening and traffic signals, but so far only the cable car has been built to completion.

Who says the gondola is integrating?

Inaugurated in 2011, the Medellin-inspired cable car system stretches 2.9km across six stations in Alemão and is free to residents. Despite capacity for 30,000 riders per day, many of the gondolas were empty on a recent Friday afternoon when I sat in my own dedicated car to photograph the system. A legal services centre at one of the stations, inaugurated by President Dilma Rousseff in 2012, has yet to open for business. Local residents told me the cable car (or teleférico) is “for tourists.” David Amen, of Raizes em Movimento, referred to it as a “Trojan Horse.”

“First of all, the PAC programme starts off with the wrong name,” said Amen. “It’s not a project that encompasses Alemão, which is comprised of a minimum of 14 official communities, sub-communities included among them. The cable car reaches only five of them. There are communities in Alemão that aren’t going to see a gram of cement: places with open sewage, places where there are mud shacks, families living without basic sanitation. We have trash collection once a day, but we don’t have a specific point to put the trash—don’t simply blame the residents for the trash, there’s no other place to put it.” Alemão has no recycling programme in place.

Amen wonders if the gondola’s construction has left the community more divided. “Nobody in Alemão was consulted on the project. It was planned and approved before the population had any idea what was going to happen,” he remarked. “How are you going to spend that kind of money on social projects in Alemão without talking to the residents and letting them be heard? What kind of project of growth acceleration is this that doesn’t provide growth?”

Alemão’s estimated 200,000 residents share five soccer fields, three grade schools, and—as of last year—one movie theatre. It is the first 3D-enabled cinema in a favela anywhere in Brazil, and possibly the first such improvement in a slum context globally. At least this is the view of Sérgio Sá Leitão, who presides over RioFilme, the for-profit arm of a mayoral initiative that aims to consolidate Rio as the epicentre of movie production and distribution in Latin America, as well as give more cariocas—the Portuguese term for native inhabitants of Rio—access to the cinema.

While it is not unusual for cities to allocate money to stimulate production (by funding local films) or distribution (RioFilme funds the city’s annual film festival), Sá decided to experiment with stimulating consumption by building a pilot movie theatre in the middle of Alemão. “There are three big barriers keeping Rio’s poor from going to the movies,” he explained. “First is the price of the ticket, second is accessibility—allot of movie theatres are located in shopping centres and places that are difficult to get to without a car—and third is the issue of information.” The new theatre, known as CineCarioca Nova Brasilia, is located inside Alemão. “We have a promotion and marketing strategy that uses the community’s own media—community radio, flyers, posters—so people know what films are playing,” explained Sá. Tickets cost $2, including popular 3D films.

While building a 3D cinema might seem like a unnecessary use of public money in a community faced with basic sanitation needs, Sá presented some impressive stats as a counterargument. The 93-seat theater sold 74,000 tickets in its first year of operation. Four out of every five individuals attending screenings said they had never seen a movie on the big screen before. But, added Sá, there is an intangible value as well: “The coolest thing is the impact this [project] has had on the imaginations of the kids going to the movies for the first time and accessing a world they didn’t know. This magical experience of illusion, of fantasies, reflection, emotion, interaction, is now available to people who have never had it. That has to widen their horizons. In terms of social experience, it’s a revolution.”

Sá is cautious about overstating the case for the cinema. “What comes of that, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe new filmmakers who are inspired to use cinema as a means of expression. I do know that people take film experiences with them for the rest of their lives.”

In a nondescript but heavily secured building near the mayor’s office, the comings and goings of Rio’s citizens are now being monitored on the largest surveillance screen in Latin America. The screen broadcasts 80 different data layers, visualizing close to 200,000 points on a massive map of Rio to officials from 70 municipal departments, as well as members of the press, who have 24-hour access to this 21st century panopticon, known simply as the Control Room. The centrepiece of Rio’s governance by technology, the project was relatively cheap to implement, costing a mere $14-million to build. A team of five engineers constructed the entire data system in four months, with help from the IBM Smarter City Operations team. An IBM executive was quoted The New York Times as describing the system as the most integrated municipal data system he had seen anywhere in the world.

The largest surveillance screen in Latin America monitors 80 layers of municipal data and 500 live camera feeds from a building most residents don’t know even exists

“We had really diverse technological systems, at different levels, in different languages, and we had to speak all of those languages and transform them into a single operational response,” said Dario Bizzo Marques, the technology systems coordinator at the centre. “Now we can see exactly what each organ of the city has in terms of available resources, all at the same time, and make decisions based on that data.”

Marques demonstrated the often-prosaic use of the system. He recalled an incident earlier this year when a sign fell onto a road and blocked traffic. “We saw it happen, we knew there was a municipal guard at the next corner,” explained Marques. They pulled up the guard’s photo and name from a database before contacting him. “We managed to bypass all the interdepartmental, bureaucratic process and got in direct touch with the guard. He went over to the road and removed the obstruction. Sometimes something little can cause big problems. Technology gives you a faster response.”

The engineering team’s next project promises to change the nature of that response altogether. “When there’s an incident, we’re going to be able to alert every municipal resource on a particular part of the map at the same time, and have them all talking on the same frequency regardless what device they’ve got—whether they’re on the radio, or a cellphone, or getting a text message,” enthusiastically offered Marques. “And they’re all going to be able to talk to each other.”

Rio’s use of smart technology represents an unprecedented experiment in municipal transparency. Despite the system’s latent Orwellian undertones—of a top-down surveillance—Marques is unapologetic in his support of the initiative. “If something happens in the city, there’s nothing to hide,” he stated. “The press is here in real time. I think this kind of transparency is totally necessary.”

Since March 2011, Rio residents aiming to connect with one of the city’s disparate municipal departments, be it the light company or zoo, have been able to dial a single number: 1746. Like New Yorkers, who dial 311, Rio’s residents can use this four-digit number to report everything from illegal parking to e-commerce fraud. The call centre servicing the incoming telephone traffic received over 4.8 million calls in its first year and a half of operation, averaging 250,000 calls per month. The centre is also accessible via a 1746 smartphone application or online queries.

One in five users of this new service were looking for information, while half that number called to log a complaint or suggestion. The overwhelming majority however called to request specific municipal services. Rubbish removal is the most popular service request across the city by a factor of three, followed in distant second by public lighting, then irregular parking, urban cleaning and treatment of trees.

In a bid for data-driven transparency, the 1746 website offers quarterly, infographic-rich reports detailing the most popular requests by zone (the North Zone logs the most calls) and neighbourhood (Copacabana ranks third). It even displays resolution rates per request type. Clearing obstructed manholes was a top five request across all of the city’s zones for September of last year, with a 98% resolution rate, one of the highest of any type of service request. Mundane in isolation, the aggregate data constructs a public pulse of the city’s needs and its ability to attend to them.

At a press conference in November, transportation officials unveiled construction maps for Line 4, an expansion of Rio’s three-decade-old metro system—it began operating in 1979—that will extend through the ritzy southern neighbourhoods of Ipanema and Leblon Beach, down the coast to Barra, the site of the 2016 Olympics. The Line 4 extension to Rio’s mass-transit underground railway network will be a welcome relief to commuters who must use a congested one-lane road that offers neither pedestrian nor pedal bike access.

This road currently snakes along the coast past Vidigal, a favela community of 10,000, and Rocinha, perhaps Rio’s most famous favela, passing through São Conrado, one of Rio’s most exclusive neighbourhoods, before heading to Barra, a sprawling, shopping-complex-and-luxury-condo suburb that snootily considers itself part of the South Zone but is in fact part of Rio’s West Zone. These communities are all stops on the future Line 4 metro, with the exception of Vidigal (officials said its geological structure is too hard to drill).

A multi-slide presentation detailing high-tech excavation machinery and phased traffic re-routing maps for the construction of the metro station in Leblon Beach included statements by the secretary of transportation and the president of CET-RIO, the transit administration, plus a surprise appearance by Eduardo Paes, Rio’s charismatic mayor, who popped in for a photo op. When the floor opened to the press, local reporters had only one question: Would construction on the Leblon stop interfere with locals’ ability to drive by the largest floating Christmas tree on the planet in the adjacent lagoon?

Rio inaugurated the first of its four Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) lines in June of 2012. Operated by Embarq and financed with the help of Bloomberg Philanthropies, the $4-billion project is the single biggest investment in transportation infrastructure in the city’s history. Transport secretary Carlos Roberto Osório said it is also the biggest investment in Rio’s sprawling, poor West Zone. “One of the main objectives of the Paes administration is to equalise the investments in all of the regions of the city,” he stated. “The West Zone, in geographic terms, is the biggest region in Rio. And it has had the fastest population growth for the last few years. There is big pressure to improve the quality of services with a series of physical investments in the area.”

Brazil built its first BRT line in the city of Curitiba, in 1974, although the first plans for this type of system go back to the 1930s America. “Which begs the question of why we are using a 1970s technology to solve problems for 2030,” commented geologist Chris Gaffney, a professor of urban planning and architecture in Rio. Gaffney’s research focuses on the city’s transportation projects for the upcoming mega-events.

He has investigated the BRT in relation to Rio2016’s global marketing framework—he is scathing in his criticism.  “It’s the wrong system, the wrong project,” he said. “It’s being done undemocratically, removing thousands of people, and it won’t serve as a long-term transport solution.” Over 80% of the 150km of planned BRT lines, each with two dedicated bus lanes and a minimum of four lanes for cars, cut through dense urban regions of the city. To fully implement the project, tens of thousands of residents will have to be displaced. While removals are part of any large-scale urban transport project, Rio has been criticised by human rights groups for the manner in which the evictions are being conducted, a process that has been documented in detail by local community news site RioOnWatch.org.

It’s like branding, it’s difficult to measure. It’s something people know [but] understanding is something different

Gaffney described the Transoeste, which links the city’s West Zone to Barra, as the only useful one of the four planned BRT lines. While western residents have seen significant time sliced off their commutes, Gaffney points out that pedestrian and bike access to the Transoeste line is limited. Stations with capacity to receive 5000 passengers an hour have only one ticket booth at each entrance and no public restrooms. “In the last 15km of the Transoeste, it is not even a BRT, but just another bus on city streets as the exclusive lane disappears,” he stated. “BRT is also not mass transportation—its capacity cannot be expanded. And as we have seen with the Transoeste, it is already running at full capacity.” Six people have also died as a result of accidents. “The crosswalks are poorly placed, there are not enough bike racks, and lacing the BRT in the middle of 12 lanes of traffic is bound to kill even more,” said Gaffney.

Still in the planning phase, Rio’s other three lines all start in the north and terminate in Barra, the western site of the Olympic City. But they all stop a full 60km short of the sprawling West Zone’s outer borders. The largest of them, the Transcarioca, is expected to reduce traffic time from the international airport to the Olympic City by 60%. With a projected daily capacity of 400,000, it will serve as the main artery for the 2016 games, but Gaffney doubts its long-term utility for West Zone residents. “The west is only being linked to Barra, which is unfortunately not where the jobs are yet.”

Another new addition to Rio’s massive public transport system is an architecturally designed elevator system in Cantagalo, a favela community with sweeping views of the sea. The elevator, which is enclosed and elevated high above the ground in places, was inaugurated in 2010. Work on the elevator, which links Cantagalo to Ipanema Beach, home to some of the priciest real estate in Rio, was prefaced by police pacification in 2009. The initiative purportedly cost $125 million and owes its existence, at least in part, to the efforts of Aspásia Camargo, a sociologist and state deputy for Rio’s Green Party.

Camargo said she fought to have the elevator integrated with the metro station. It was a logical move, but came at a cost the city didn’t initially want to take on. “I had no idea when I asked for this that they would build something that was so sumptuous, so fantastic,” she said. “The design, the exaggeration—I think there are problems with the project. With the money they spent on the elevator, they could have built a street connecting the Pavão favela next door to the elevator and given the community more dignity. They could have made a food court, something to stimulate small businesses. They could have done something about the trash collection situation in Cantagalo, which is out of control.”

The elevator has two towers, which some locals have named “Bin” and “Laden”. The latter tower, which connects to the tallest part of Cantagalo, never actually opened. “Nothing gets finished here,” sighed Camargo. She blamed her colleagues in office, likening them to a criminal gang: “The biggest gang in Rio is the politicians. They are bandidos, dangerous bandidos.”

The new elevator system has made Cantagalo a locus for gentrification and property inflation. Cantagalo residents have replaced a long, steep ascent by stairs or windy road with a free ride that takes 30 seconds—although during rush hour there are long queues to board the elevator, a testament to the scheme’s popularity. Ipanema residents below, Camargo among them, have seen the most undervalued block in the neighbourhood, once notorious for the smell of crack smoke and home to a waste collection centre, transformed by the elevator’s fluorescent night-lights and tiled mosaic murals in homage to the birthplace of bossa nova.

Urban bike sharing initiatives across the globe are known by their distinctive colour-coordinated branding. In China it is red, in Paris grey, and in Rio the flavour is unabashedly orange. Rio’s pilot bike share programme launched last year as a public-private partnership with urban transport company Serttel and sponsoring bank ITAU, whose logo lends the shock orange colour. At present there are 580 bikes located at 58 stations across Rio’s tourist-heavy downtown and southern zones, with plans to introduce a further 3000-5000 bicycles in Rio’s West and North zones by the end of 2013.

“BikeRio isn’t just about cycling for pleasure or sport or tourism,” said transportation secretary Carlos Roberto Osório. “Of course it’s nice to ride a bike, but what’s cool is when you can use a bike as the last leg of your trip. If you arrive by bus or metro, you can take a bike the rest of the way.” Rio has the most bike lanes of any city in Brazil (270km) with plans to expand this figure to 450km bikeable roads by 2016.

Providência is the oldest favela in Rio, part of the port area known as “Little Africa” where over a million slaves were sold in the 1800s. Originally settled by returning soldiers in 1897, Providência’s population grew with the intake of freed slaves over the next few decades—slavery was officially abolished in 1888. This area is where some of Rio’s first commercial samba songs were composed, and where Afro-Brazilian traditions like capoeira and candomblé took root.

Rio’s first favela should be a protected cultural heritage site. When the city was awarded UNESCO World Heritage status last year, it celebrated with 24 tons of fireworks. Rio has been quick to adopt the heritage status as a party theme but has been markedly slower in considering its oldest favela as part of that heritage. The current municipal government has a tourism project in mind for Providência. They broke ground in 2012 on the construction of a luxury cable car system connecting Providência to the central train station, the multi-billion dollar port renovation project and the City of Samba. The price tag: $65-million, part of a $4-billion public project to urbanize Rio’s favelas.

“It’s a privilege for Providência’s residents,” stated Ricardo Victor, an engineer for the Municipal Housing Secretary, in an official Rio2016 video. “They’re going to gain a lot: valuation of the area, of their houses, and above all, transportation.” Not so for the 872 residences—or 30% of the favela’s population—slated for eviction. The eviction rate climbs to 70% at the upper reaches of the community, where a decorative funicular tram is slated to climb alongside a historic staircase that leads to one of the oldest churches in Rio and a sweeping, 360-degree views of the city.

Seventeen relatives of the Leite family live in a three-story house overlooking the work-in-progress cable car station and Rio’s Guanabara Bay in the distance. They can hear construction 24 hours a day, seven days a week, conditions that would be unthinkable in Rio’s wealthier neighbourhoods. (A recent O Globo article assured residents of Ipanema and Leblon Beach: “Plazas Under Construction for Metro Line 4 Will Receive Provisory Recreation Areas,” and included a photo of relocated swing sets and slides). But in Providência, noise pollution is the least of the Leite family’s worries. They are fighting eviction.

Bené is one of 12 siblings born and raised in the residence that has housed five generations since his father arrived in Providência in 1942. “We’ve been living here for almost 70 years,” he explained. “My dad came here during the era of the war. He bought the land, built a little hut and started his family. Nowadays our land has value, we have legal title, we have a three-storey house, and we’ve been paying property taxes since 1952. What the city wants to give us is well below the valuation of our property; we can’t buy anything in Providência with it. The time we’ve lived here and our history doesn’t have a monetary value.”

“It’s integration between tourists and the city, not citizens and the city,” offered Roberto Marinho, Bené’s nephew. “If it was the integration of Providência’s residents with the city, we wouldn’t necessarily see so many evictions, which they are labelling ‘compulsory’. They show up pressuring you, saying you’re going to leave the easy way or the hard way, tell you they’re going to put you somewhere else, give you a new house, and that’s not what happens.”

Marinho said his family isn’t opposed to moving to make way for the funicular tram, if they can move to another house in Providência. “Our whole life is here,” he stated. “School is here, work is downtown, our church is here, our hospital, our friends—everything is here. We want a house in our own neighbourhood. We’re fighting, not to delay things or stop them from happening, but for the common habitation rights of any citizen. The issue is that they want to make improvements to living standards without consulting the inhabitants, without their participation or opinion. The city doesn’t live here 24 hours a day. They don’t know our needs. Maybe for them a funicular tram is a good thing. But how do you think this house was constructed? They brought all the materials up the staircase.”

In words that echo David Amen’s sentiments about the cable car in Alemão, Marinho added: “At no moment was this project for the people who live here. If we’re going to benefit, it’s because we’re in the middle of the way. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t benefit from it. It’s for tourists more than anyone else. There’s no need at all for this cable car. Maybe in the German Complex.”

There is one certainty about Rio’s urban transformation: progress won’t be cheap. The Financial Times reported that Brazil is investing $33-billion in infrastructure for the World Cup, with billions more earmarked for the Olympics. If history is a reliable precedent, this is only the beginning of the spending. Rio’s 2007 Pan American Games came in ten times over budget. Even the state’s advertising and publicity budget is doubling year over year—it was $60-million for 2011. Locals affected by Rio’s integration projects—from David Amen in Alemão to the Leite family in Providência—agree that real urban integration is a participatory process that connects more than mere end-points on a map; it should connect the state to its citizens.

 

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