The Neighborhood as a Shield Against Extreme Heat
Erik Klinenberg is an American sociologist best known for a recent book, Palaces for the People. However, that is not the work through which I first encountered him and, although it is a very good book, I find his first major investigation even stronger: his doctoral thesis. Published (as far as I know, only in English) as Heat Wave: A Social Autopsy of Disaster in Chicago (2002), it analysed the major heat wave that struck Chicago in July 1995 and caused around 739 deaths in a single week.
The question guiding his research did not address how or why heat kills, but rather why mortality was distributed so unevenly across the city of Chicago. In particular, something that caught his attention was that mortality did not correspond neatly to the usual inequality along the wealth/poverty axis: in neighbourhoods equally poor and with similar demographic characteristics, mortality differed dramatically.
What Klinenberg carried out was what he called a “social autopsy” of the disaster: he reconstructed the social, urban and institutional conditions — through fieldwork, interviews, visits — that had contributed to the episode of extreme heat becoming a tragedy of such magnitude. The central finding was that many of the victims were older people who died alone in their homes, but age itself was not the explanatory factor. The common thread? All of them were disconnected from family, neighbours, community organisations and public services. It wasn’t that one neighbourhood had more elderly residents than another; it was that in one neighbourhood they were more alone.
His research showed that poverty alone did not explain the differences in mortality. Neighbourhoods that had undergone intense processes of abandonment — loss of local shops, population, institutions and street life, essentially what happens in any process of gentrification or touristification once the tourism boom ends — left older people more isolated and made it harder for anyone to detect a situation of risk. By contrast, in neighbourhoods (equally poor, with similar sociodemographic profiles) where social fabric still existed — street‑level commerce, associations, churches, public spaces where people could linger and recognise one another — residents had more opportunities to survive the heat.
This is a theory that interests me particularly and that I have tried to develop in some of my recent research: the social infrastructure of neighbourhoods can act as a protective infrastructure against disasters. And this is tied to urban configuration: the way cities are built, housing legislation (whether homes can or cannot be used for tourism and to what extent; whether ground‑floor commercial units can be converted into housing) matters for issues that seem distant, such as the survival of older populations during extreme temperatures.
We tend to think of other things (important ones, of course): drinking water, lowering blinds, avoiding going out during the hottest hours of the day, keeping the home cool. These are necessary recommendations, but we need to realise that not everyone can follow them.
Not all homes can stay cool. Not all people can avoid going out. Not all households can afford the energy cost of a fan, a portable air‑cooler (as a child, my neighbours had one and it seemed to me the pinnacle of freshness) or an air conditioner (if they even have one). Family, neighbourly and community networks are key, because they allow risk situations to be detected that might otherwise go unnoticed — a person may not recognise the early signs of dehydration or confusion associated with heat stroke, or may not want to “bother” anyone. The problem is that not everyone has close family networks, or these may not be in a position to help (what happens when the person who needs care is the one who usually provides it?). The result can be fatal.
That is why I want to reflect — in the midst of this suffocating heat, which motivates me to insist on the risks of heat waves — on the social dimension of protection. Heat waves are not only a temperature problem; they are also an expression of residential, urban and social inequalities. And while some of these are harder to tackle, others are not. Improving the energy efficiency of a building benefits its residents; addressing the climate adaptation of a neighbourhood benefits everyone who uses it. Both are necessary, but I believe the latter is not receiving the attention it deserves.
The presence of vegetation and shade reduces the temperature of public spaces and allows daily journeys with less exposure to that crushing summer heat. Shaded benches offer places to rest. Water fountains (which have disappeared from so many neighbourhoods) facilitate hydration. Local shops and nearby facilities reduce travel distances — and can serve as temporary refuges. Accessible public transport is crucial, especially if it helps reduce time spent travelling under the sun. It is true that we should avoid going out during the hottest hours, but we must think of those who are obliged to travel at those times because, for example, they need to provide care. Not everyone can avoid the worst hours of the day: we need infrastructures capable of protecting those unavoidable journeys. We should also think of people with reduced mobility, chronic illnesses or greater physical fragility. Or those who need to escape stifling, poorly insulated homes.
The existence of climate‑controlled public spaces also matters — what we now call “climate shelters”. Libraries, cultural centres, senior centres, sports facilities, museums and other public amenities can offer protection during the hottest hours. But they need to exist, of course. It is striking that museums close on August afternoons, precisely when they could serve as excellent climate shelters. Someone once told me that pharmacies are climate shelters, but not all are prepared to receive people who may need them.
We must also rely on health and social services, but we know they do not always have the capacity to reach where they are needed.
What I propose is that the response to heat waves must be coordinated, with public institutions that have information about the most vulnerable populations (due to physical and health conditions, economic circumstances or housing conditions), but also with strengthened social and community networks capable of detecting needs. And, undoubtedly, for these networks to form and endure, we need public spaces that welcome them, urban configurations that allow people to interact, to know one another, to help one another. We need cities and neighbourhoods better prepared for heat, with shade, green and blue spaces, drinking fountains. Spaces that allow us to escape the heat even when our homes do not.
