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A project built on people, places, and presence
Our work brought together 12 cities across the world—from Berlin and Oslo to Havana, Lomé, and Guangzhou. Each place became a Living Lab: a real-world space where citizens, researchers, municipalities, and entrepreneurs co-created urban food solutions. We planned workshops, field visits, co-design sessions—moments where people could meet, argue, plant, and imagine together. And for a while, it worked beautifully. There was energy. Curiosity. A sense that something new was emerging.
Then the world stopped
In early March 2020, we were still meeting in person. By mid-March, everything changed. Suddenly: Workshops were cancelled, Gardens stood empty, Teams were forced online What had been designed as a deeply embodied, local, and social process became digital overnight. And not everyone could make that transition equally. Some teams lacked stable internet. Some participants were unfamiliar with digital tools. Some simply disappeared—overwhelmed, exhausted, or disconnected. As we later describe in the paper, the pandemic “interrupted the co-creation process in all teams” and, in some cases, made it feel like “the whole thing fell asleep”.
Between motivation and fatigue
What we experienced was not just a logistical challenge—it was deeply human. There were moments of fear and uncertainty, loss of motivation, emotional strain and isolation at the same time, teams tried to adapt: outdoor walks replaced workshops when possible small local meetings happened in brief “windows” of reopening digital meetings became spaces of both connection and frustration and across regions, realities diverged. In northern Europe, restrictions sometimes eased earlier, allowing cautious reconnection. In other regions, lockdowns remained strict, deepening disconnection.
The North–South ping-pong
One of the most unexpected dynamics we encountered was what we began to call a North–South ping-pong. Because our project was so deeply rooted in outdoor, seasonal, and place-based activities, the pandemic did not affect all cities at the same time—or in the same way. When summer arrived in northern Europe, cities like Berlin, Oslo, or Rotterdam briefly reopened. Gardens filled again with people, and co-creation resumed—carefully, but visibly.
But just as momentum returned there, partners in Montevideo were often entering stricter phases of restriction, or facing climatic and infrastructural constraints that made safe gathering difficult.
Then, months later, the rhythm flipped. The North moved back indoors—into winter, into screens—while parts of the South reopened. The result was a kind of global misalignment. The network could no longer move as one. Instead, it pulsed—forward here, paused there. In a project built on togetherness, we had to learn how to collaborate out of sync.
Co-creation under pressure
Our research focused on co-creation—people working together across sectors and backgrounds. And under pressure, this process revealed its true complexity. From our interviews with 81 participants, we learned that: co-creation builds trust—but it takes time. It brings innovation—but also conflict. It promises inclusion—but often struggles to reach beyond “the usual suspects”.
It empowers communities—but depends on resources and institutional support. As we show in the paper, co-creation is not a smooth process—it is “a political and relational practice shaped by power asymmetries”. And the pandemic made all of this more visible.
Unexpected resilience
But something else happened too. In several cities, when formal structures weakened, local initiatives stepped up. Citizens took more responsibility, grassroots networks became stronger, new forms of collaboration emerged. In one case, when a municipality stepped back, the community continued anyway—transforming the process into something more bottom-up. As one participant put it: “It is somehow a miracle that the living lab has survived.” These moments reminded us that co-creation is not only fragile—it is also remarkably resilient.
What we learned
Our paper distills these experiences into key lessons:
1. Co-creation needs time—and care
Building trust cannot be rushed. And people need support to stay engaged.
2. Inclusion is harder than it looks
Even well-designed participatory processes struggle to reach diverse groups.
3. Power matters
Not all voices carry equal weight—and this shapes outcomes.
4. Conflict is not failure
It can be a source of learning and innovation.
5. Institutions are essential
Grassroots energy alone is not enough—long-term change requires embedding in governance systems.
Broken wings, but still flying
When restrictions finally eased, we met again—in gardens, parks, and shared spaces.
These meetings felt different.
We were:
More aware of fragility
More appreciative of presence
More realistic about what co-creation entails Perhaps the best way to describe it is this:
We continued—but with broken and recovered wings.
What comes next?
The Edible Cities journey does not end here.
Explore more: https://ediblecitiesnetwork.com/
The network continues to:
Share knowledge and tools
Host lunch talks and exchanges
Support cities in developing edible solutions
And our research continues to ask: How can we design co-creation processes that are not only inspiring—but also robust, inclusive, and lasting?
If there is one thing this project has taught us, it is that cities are not transformed by ideas alone.
They are transformed by people. And people—despite everything—keep showing up.
Videos from the Edible Cities Network exchanges:
Rotterdam
Berlin
Oslo
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