In the years following the COVID-19 pandemic, the escalation of global crises – including wars, economic precarity, and environmental degradation – has increasingly shaped how we inhabit cities and interpret their pasts. Expanding knowledge networks and instant access to information have transformed the ways we learn, understand, and engage with new information. Simultaneously, the constant exposure widened the scope of our everyday responsibilities and challenges. From environmental urgencies to wars instigating mass migration, global crises no longer remain stories echoing in some distant chamber; they infiltrate our routines, our relationships, and our spatial environments, changing both experiences and perceptions. 

​

What was once considered the news of a faraway village now becomes part of our morning scroll. Disasters, displacements, and conflicts are not just political events or distant occurrences; they are increasingly felt and processed through everyday life. This proximity – whether lived firsthand or encountered through screens – has blurred the line between direct and indirect experience. As a result, second-hand trauma has emerged as a pervasive yet often dismissed reality. Despite the urgency to foster resilience and recovery, political paradigms continue to reinforce long-lasting power hierarchies and marginalise the lived experiences of people navigating immediate or distant crises in their daily lives. Institutional responses to trauma often come too late – or not at all – while forcing individuals to cope with the emotional, cultural, and spatial consequences on their own. These top-down approaches reduce the social impact of crises to side effects, to be handled privately rather than addressed collectively. Over time, the individual and collective agency are disregarded, producing shared feelings of helplessness and despair.

​

This paper takes a different approach. Drawing on Rachel Pain’s concept of geotrauma – which describes the mutual entanglement of trauma and place – it argues that urban recovery cannot be understood without attending to the ways memory, violence, and healing are lived through space [1]. Pain’s term invites us to consider trauma as not only psychological but spatial, relational, and layered – emerging from, and embedded in, place. Further building on Rob Nixon’s concept of slow violence – harm that unfolds gradually and is often invisibilised – the paper explores how delayed and diffuse forms of trauma seep into daily routines and memories [2]. These forms of violence are less immediately visible but no less powerful. They shape urban rhythms, reconfigure the meanings of everyday places, and leave emotional residues that endure across generations.

​

This study suggests that everyday environments – such as a neighbour’s stoop, a family kitchen, or a street corner filled with habitual greetings – are not neutral backdrops to crisis. Rather, they are active agents in how trauma is experienced and recovery is imagined. These spaces hold cultural memory. They structure habits, trigger emotional responses, and offer continuity in the face of rupture.

​

By focusing on these everyday settings, the paper proposes a rethinking of spatial agency. It frames recovery not as an endpoint, but as an iterative, place-based process of care, memory, and negotiation. By radically reimagining collective memories and their spatial interconnections as sites of healing, this work proposes a shift in activism and how we respond to crises not only through resistance but through care, imagination, and the reclamation of everyday spaces.

​​​

MEMORY STUDIES: 
PERSONAL, SOCIAL, HISTORICAL

​

To understand how trauma and recovery take shape through space, we must first consider how memory itself operates. Cubitt states that memory studies unfold along three interrelated dimensions: the personal, the social, and the historical [3]. Recognising the multiplicity of memory as a phenomenon, each dimension offers insight into how memories are formed, shared, and iterated.

​

The personal dimension investigates memory as an individual phenomenon. Personal memories are often recalled as nouns, as static ‘facts’ or events that appear self-contained and certain. Yet, they are remembered dynamically: they shift in meaning as they are remembered, shared, and narrated. From a personal perspective, while remembering, memories contain timeframes, actions, actors, sensations, temporal references, meanings, and emotional associations. They are closely related to our sense of self since they assist in creating meanings of our experiences and guide us through time and space.

​

The social dimension of memory highlights how memory is not simply an internal process, but a shared one requiring interaction and knowledge-sharing to evolve. Social memory emerges through storytelling, dialogue, rituals, and collective acts of remembrance. It is performative and co-created – woven through everyday practices and public life. In this sense, memory acts more like a verb than a noun: it is something we do, together, rather than something we have. 

​

The historical dimension concerns how memory is structured and presented. This involves the production of subjective narratives – often linear – that tie personal and social experiences to broader hierarchical knowledge frameworks. These narratives amplify certain voices, silence others, and intentionally or unintentionally impact how events are understood and remembered. They are sometimes manifested through written works, pedagogic methodologies, or embedded in the design of monuments and institutions.

 

Together, these three dimensions position memory as a non-static phenomenon, in continuous dynamism – constantly shifting between the individual and the collective, the intimate and the political. Memory is relational, negotiated, and materially embedded. It allows individuals and societies to recall, own, and iterate their cultural practices, stories, and identities – especially in the wake of disruption.

​

However, in the presence of conflict and trauma, processing memories progresses in complicated ways. In such situations, obstacles in remembering, interpreting, and narrating memories arise. The impacts of difficult memories or excessive exposure to them introduce disorientation, and remembering and negotiating memories become an ongoing struggle. In these moments, memory processes no longer silently continue in the background of daily life; they become an everyday issue: entangled with daily practices, social and cultural resilience, and survival.

​

These complications are especially relevant in contexts where trauma is chronic or layered, rather than immediate and isolated. As introduced earlier, geotrauma and slow violence name these drawn-out forms of harm that permeate everyday life. In such settings, the social dimensions of memory become critical. They provide a framework for understanding how individuals relate to collective memories, and how those memories are remembered – or practised – through spatial experiences.
​

EXPERIENCE OF TRAUMA: DISORIENTATION ​

​

Trauma reshapes how individuals relate to time, space, and identity. It doesn’t just occur as a disturbed feeling – it distorts the basic structures through which people understand and navigate the world. The way the human brain responds to new information and develops changes through processing sensitive memories individually, socially, and retrospectively [4]. 

​

Van der Kolk moves beyond purely biological or psychoanalytic approaches in trauma studies and defines trauma’s impact on the brain through practical and social aspects that intervene in everyday experiences of meaning-making and identity building. While elaborating on his studies with traumatized children, he describes how early experiences of abuse or neglect reshape what he calls the brain’s “inner maps”, resulting in a distorted understanding of the world and senses of disconnection, loneliness, and despair. These inner maps are not solely psychological; they are embodied tools that help individuals orient themselves in time and space. When trauma interferes with these maps, a person’s sense of safety, trust, and future possibility is interrupted. As van der Kolk asks:

 

“Is it possible to help the minds and brains of brutalised children to redraw their inner maps and incorporate a sense of trust and confidence in the future?”

​

This hopeful question, central to trauma recovery, points to a transformative potential for healing – not only through clinical interventions, but through social support, everyday routines, and spatial familiarity. While explaining how traumatic memories shape identities and social interactions, it also guides us to a new potential in recovery: “If trauma warps one’s inner map, healing must involve reconstructing those navigational tools: relationally, physically, and culturally.” [Image 1]

​

TIME PERCEPTION THROUGH TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCES

​

“The story of trauma is not a story of the past that can be simply reconstructed or told. […] The trauma splits the time of the event from the time of its telling, and this split makes trauma not simply an event in the past, but an experience of time that cannot be fully narrativised.”

– Cathy Caruth, 1996. [5]

​

As Cathy Caruth argues, trauma is not just a past event – it is a rupture in time. The experience creates a gap between the experience of the incident and the ability to narrate it. This temporal fracture makes traumatic memories often resistant to linear storytelling. They emerge as fragments, flashbacks, or embodied sensations. 

​

They bend chronology and break the linearity of timeframes that we often rely on to make sense of memories. While many memories find meaning through being reconstructed into stories with a linear narrative sequence, the complexity that traumatic memories cause is due to their resistance to neatly falling into cause-and-effect relationships. Instead, they resurface with unexpected intensity, destabilising everyday life and language. This makes both relating to the memories individually difficult and negotiating them socially. As memories become harder to interact with personally and in social interactions, they also get ‘controversial to touch’ in the aftermath of traumatic incidents, even when traumatic events -like wars, pandemics, or economic crises- are experienced simultaneously with many other people. 

​

As Nišponská notes, unintegrated trauma can blur the boundary between self and other. Individuals may over-identify with the pain of others or lose the distance required for compassion. She writes: “In severe cases of unintegrated personal or collective pasts, individuals may blindly identify with aspects of others’ pasts... to the point where the self/other distinction becomes blurred.” [6] The collapse of time perception and loss of the sense of self further complicates recovery. It obstructs the social processes through which cultures form, stories are exchanged, and public discourse takes shape, and it results in feelings of disorientation. Consequently, the memories get lost in translation – both between the self and another, and between the memory and its narration. 

​

The complications in making sense of the incidents that change the course and habits of everyday life also influence the relational processes producing ‘cultures’. They alter the patterns through which people engage in rituals, routines, and relationships. While the practices that are part of the culture help build a sense of belonging and identity, the radical occurrences shifting the time perception interrupt the social processes of collective remembering and obscure public discourses of recovery.

​

​AN ALTERNATIVE APPROACH TO NARRATION OF MEMORIES 

​

Recognising shifts in perception of time and space is critical to understanding traumatic influences on individual experiences. Yet, it is equally important to understand how an individual’s life does not stop when events impact their perception and memories. Instead, identities, cultures, and meanings evolve complexly as individuals’ and societies’ inner maps keep changing [7]. While perceptions of time, routines, environments, and relationships transform, individuals continue their interactions every day and construct new memories that are entangled with those before and after. Thus, memories expand and transform while generating new meanings and connections in individual and collective consciousness [8] even through impactful shifts. 

​

Rachel Pain highlights the limitations in dominant memory and trauma frameworks. She addresses the tendency to conceptualize trauma and conflict as a stand-alone incident causing a break between ‘before’ and ‘after’ in a linear timeline: “Most Western trauma theory – even that which considers trauma as a collective phenomenon – still largely constitutes it as arising from a single event that creates a rupture between before and after. Were we to draw straightforward parallels with individual experience, this model best describes acute rather than chronic or complex trauma.” [9] 

​

Yet, as discussed here, contemporary trauma-invoking events rarely manifest as isolated, instantaneous incidents. Instead, they unfold across social networks, mediated by mass communication and social media, or through influences circulating within and beyond societies. Here, Cubitt’s framework of personal, social, and historical memory offers a more nuanced way of interpreting collective trauma. From a social memory perspective, memory is not just stored – it is enacted, embodied, and renegotiated through daily life. This lens reveals how memory is performed through ritual, expressed in architecture, preserved in shared objects, and maintained through informal habits. It also allows us to see how recovery can be supported – not just through formal interventions, but through investigating everyday notions of meaning and belonging. Memory work, in this sense, becomes an act of quiet resilience. It offers an alternative form of narration from a perspective that recognizes memories not as static factual narratives or subjective interpretations but as embodied, and collective practices – performed, negotiated, and transformed through everyday life.

​

SOCIAL CHANGE AND TRAUMA IN THE SPATIAL FRAMEWORK

​

Traumatic responses do not only influence individual behaviours like causing detachment, over-compromising to avoid conflict, or fighting against memories. They also distort social relationships and cause behavioural change in public environments. These alterations lead to new, trauma-informed meanings attributed to spaces, to identities (including our own), and habits. From dehumanizing social groups to avoiding certain spaces, the human brain develops tools and tactics to avoid or fight against traumatic memories at the cost of further social, political, and identity-related concerns. Consequently, conflicts and their impacts transform both individuals and societies.

​

Sztompka’s work on social change and trauma contributes to the understanding of individual and social behaviours post-conflict. He highlights individual trauma’s interconnectedness with collective trauma and how this relationship can be recognized in embodied experiences. In ‘The Ambivalence of Social Change: Triumph or Trauma?’, he argues that traumatic impacts can cause disruptions in cultural habits and orders by altering perceptions. These distortions, he suggests, lead to social-cultural confusions and loss of meaning closely tied to identity fragmentations: “Disruptions in cultural orders foster confusion, which in turn may lead to individual disorientation and even disidentification.” [10] 

​

In other words, social change accompanies the individual trauma as changing practices and rituals influence everyday cultures. The everyday environments where rituals, values, and relationships once evolved become unfamiliar or uninhabitable. When these frameworks collapse, it becomes harder to maintain a coherent sense of self within a shared cultural space. The cultures of everyday life - weaving together tangible environments, material cultures, intangible routines, and meanings - unravel. Trauma forces radical transformations in practices that once grounded identity. Identification through shared space becomes increasingly difficult. 

​

However, this very disruption opens the possibility of rethinking how we define culture and place. Cultures, as the complex networks of events, spaces, objects, subjects, and stories that they are, collectively contain and constitute intricate social identities. If we look at the physical environments not merely as spaces but as constructs that bring experiences, meanings, and temporalities together, we can recognise ‘culture’ as an expanded notion of place. This shift in perspective allows an approach to social change, trauma, and recovery that is accessible via investigating cultural habits and orders that are recognizable in tangible spatial activities. While posing a possibility to identify actions of disruption and recovery through a geographical placement, this approach also presents a potential to mitigate the issues related to ‘dynamic’ or ‘dysfunctional’ time perceptions post-trauma. In this sense, investigating cultures as situated spatial practices in the everyday realm makes studying memories from a social memory perspective possible. When trauma disrupts linear narratives or produces feelings of disorientation, familiar environments and rituals can serve as anchors. In this context, social memory becomes a spatial practice. It offers not only a record of what was lost, but a map for how to begin again.
 

RECOGNISING TRAUMA

​

Within the everyday realm, distinguishing trauma-related transformations from everyday practices is seldom straightforward. As medical and psychoanalytical trauma studies suggest, what creates a trauma response can be an open-ended question and raises a question of ‘when’ memories can be recognised as traumas. [11] How do we know when something has become traumatic? What makes a memory or event cross the threshold from discomfort into injury, from experience into trauma? 

​

“Trauma, like many other social conditions, is simultaneously objective and subjective: it is usually based on actual occurrences or phenomena, but it does not exist as long as those do not become visible and defined in a particular way. The defining, framing, and interpretative efforts do not occur in a vacuum. There is always a preexisting pool of available meanings encoded in the shared culture of a given community or society. Individual people do not invent meanings, but rather draw selectively from their surrounding culture and apply existing meanings to the potentially traumatising events. Hence, the traumatising conditions or situations are always cultural constructions.” [12]

​

The ambiguity becomes significant when conflicts and responses permeate everyday life and become parts of the social routines, public discourses, and collective discussions and silences. In fact, in the larger scheme of events, traumatic effects may appear as detachment or solitude as well. They may display themselves in the ‘normality’ of everyday dialogues, as a pact of silence between neighbours, a refusal to return to a once-loved space, or a feeling of unease that cannot be explained. When trauma is normalised, it becomes harder to distinguish from habit. At the very core, unidentified confusions resemble Schrödinger’s cat metaphor [13]: a confused-dysfunctional memory or habit may be benign, misinterpreted, or arbitrary but it can also be devastatingly real, disorienting, and in need of validation. Until the behaviour is unpacked, the cause and relational outcomes of memories and habits in the wider cultural network remain unclear or at least multiple. 

​

This uncertainty illustrates another reason why it is insufficient to probe traumatic conflicts as singular ‘climaxes’ in linear timelines. Crisis impacting the practices of daily life occurs in relational ways – often tangibly reflecting on urban environments and public dialogues. The possibility of trauma lingers in a state of suspension, awaiting interpretation. Therefore, linear or isolated narrational readings of conflicts and collective memories turn out to be reductive and inadequate in addressing the lived complexity of social trauma. When these conditions go unnamed, they fragment the very processes by which societies create shared meaning. Urban space, collective rituals, and cultural practices – each of which might help communities make sense of harm – become compromised. Silence, confusion, and displacement replace safety, connection, and care.

​

CONTEMPORARY COMPLEXITIES AND SLOW VIOLENCE

​

In the contemporary global context, trauma is rarely experienced in isolation. Instead, it unfolds through overlapping crises – wars, climate emergencies, mass migration, economic precarity – circulating across local and global contexts. In interconnected and multidimensional ways, crises have proliferated visibly in the post-pandemic years and have complicated the identification of traumatic incidents and responses [14]. With the fastening networks of communication, urgencies have become part of everyday life, whether they are experienced first-hand or learned about second-hand. Social media, in particular, has played an important role in the growing reciprocation of knowledge, amplifying the intensifying anxiety and stress responses [15]. This saturation has also been referred to as ‘infodemic’ by scholars addressing the prolonged exposure to crisis-related content [16]. While debates continue on whether the increase in crises portrays reality or is a delusion due to extreme access to knowledge, this increase poses realistic impacts on individuals’ psychologies and social cultures. Consequently, it becomes a critical issue at the intersection of mental health, memory, and built environment studies.

​

In this context, the underlying cultural and spatial implications of the ongoing and overlapping crises present continuous transformation accompanying the repetition of trauma-provoking memories. It becomes increasingly difficult to identify where trauma begins or ends. The fragmentation of scale – between the global and the local, the distant and the intimate – creates a layered experience of crisis. This complexity is central to understanding how trauma operates today: not as a single event, but as a slow accumulation of harm. What is defined here corresponds to Rob Nixon’s term ‘slow violence’:

 

“a violence that occurs gradually and out of sight, a violence of delayed destruction that is dispersed across time and space, an attritional violence that is typically not viewed as violence at all.” [17]

​

Elizabeth DeLoughrey expands on the term and notes that slow violence is “unrepresentable in traditional narrative forms” due to its gradual and often invisible nature. [18] This form of harm interrupts the processes and abilities to acknowledge, narrate, and interpret. Its effects appear incrementally, building ties to the broader social networks that get interrupted slowly and in parts. Consequently, they often go unnoticed by dominant frameworks of crisis response. The broken narrative and interrelational tools eventually cause the loss of social and dynamic knowledge-sharing networks sustaining the foundations of belonging, safety, and trust. As a result of this progression, states of slow and silent violence lead to shared feelings of disorientation and the fragmentation of meanings and cultures. 

​

In these conditions, geotrauma becomes a critical framework. It brings together the spatial, temporal, and emotional dimensions of trauma. Aligning with the sociospatial trauma and recovery approach, Rachel Pain introduces ‘geotrauma’ as “multiscalar, intersecting and mutual relations between trauma and place.” She elaborates: “Drawing on long-standing structural analyses, [geotrauma] highlights the common role of oppressive power relations in various collective forms of trauma. It pays especial attention to lived experience, the repositioning of survivors as experts in narrating trauma, and recognises the work of reclaiming space after dispossession” [19].
 

Geotrauma invites us to view trauma not just as a psychological response, but as a layered condition shaped by structural violence, spatial disruption, and memory. It connects the disorientation of individuals to broader social systems – and links recovery not only to care, but to place-making. By situating trauma within spatial and cultural processes, geotrauma helps explain why recovery cannot be fully orchestrated from above. It must emerge from within: through sensory, habitual, and collective practices that respond to everyday disruptions. In this way, slow violence, second-hand trauma, and dislocation are not the ends of narrative, but starting points for building new forms of agency, recognition, and repair.

​

POTENTIAL OF RECOVERY AND SPATIAL INFLUENCE

​

Between individual trauma, slow violence, and social and cultural change, the potential for healing blooms. Cultural practices, associations, and their reproduction through uniquely told stories present a medium for identifying, reorganizing, and continuing conflicted social structures and practices. Reclaiming individual and collective memories through everyday activities and routines becomes a tool for societies and individuals to rewire collective consciousness and encourage recovery. At this intersection, reevaluating long-lasting spatial practices and developing an approach to urban design based on the studies of social memory and intangible cultural heritage presents a potential way to sustain healing, promote knowledge-sharing, and recover cultural networks from within.

​

As van der Kolk and Quinn note, in the cultural contexts of the global south, collective healing and intuitive or ritualistic adoptions of creative, embodied recovery methods are common practices [20][21]. They may appear as public storytelling, sharing tea, playing games, or appropriating streets with crafts. These practices provide spaces for sharing knowledge and stories, emotional reciprocity, solidarity, and producing creative methods to find solutions collectively. While interpreting collective memories, they allow for creating shared cultures of living. 

​

Importantly, such practices are often spatially grounded. They take place in courtyards, kitchens, neighbourhood tea gardens, sidewalks, or street corners. These are not neutral sites; they are loaded with cultural significance. They become repositories for memory and tools for recovery. When revisited, reinhabited, or reimagined, they offer not only comfort, but creative means to reorient identity and restore belonging. Although traumatic experiences disrupt social networks, cultural practices, and potentials to recall and narrate coherent memories, the plasticity of cognitive abilities, the spatial tools and practices, and active social relations allow societies to reclaim their tangible and intangible cultures. The mentioned processes and their outcomes encompass the expectations of healing traumatic impacts. In this sense, the definition of geotrauma and recovery highlights embodied, place-based techniques of trauma recovery and social, rather than individual, methodologies.

 

As Rachel Pain describes, geotrauma draws from feminist, decolonial, and structural analyses [22][23] to frame trauma as “[e]mbodied and spatial, produced through oppressive power relations, and mediated through lived experience… It centres the work of reclaiming space as part of trauma recovery.” [24] Therefore, when the term geotrauma is adopted to rethink shared traumas and their healing processes, they appear as tools influenced by cultural memory and spatial practices. Within this framework, survivors are not passive subjects of harm. They are experts in memory. The emphasized social approach to memory studies gives agency to the people to reclaim and rewrite their memories as they go through acute or slow, silent or loud, immediate or second-hand conflicts.

​

These gestures challenge the idea that recovery is a fixed endpoint. They challenge the understanding of conflicted circumstances as occurrences resolvable by higher authorities. Instead, they approach them as ongoing, shape-shifting circumstances negotiated and rewired into the collective consciousness by the people. As a result, it demonstrates a recovery-focused approach to resilience as a social, dynamic, and progressive phenomenon.​

​

Building on a social and spatial approach, Pain describes seven types of spaces in relation to geotrauma – memorial, retraumatising, layered, hardwired, mobile places, places of repossession, and healing places [25]. While not individually explained here, these typologies exhibit relations to the space that can be seen in a range of examples from imposing narratives with monumental designs delivering nationalistic intentions, to grassroots practices of communities reclaiming public parks. This typology expands our understanding of how trauma and memory become mapped onto space. It also contributes to one of the central questions of this paper: why do culturally familiar, informal environments so often provide more effective opportunities for recovery than official commemorative spaces? Crucially, Pain’s definition presents an alternative classification of spaces based on their emotional and cognitive interaction with cultural memories. It invites us to think beyond function or design intention and instead focus on how people emotionally relate to, inhabit, and transform space. In this context, the built environment becomes more than a backdrop to recovery. It becomes an active participant in how trauma is processed and how healing is enacted – quietly, relationally, and across time.

​

CONCLUSION

​

Why can familiar, everyday places – a childhood kitchen, a neighbour’s stoop, or a street shared with friends – hold the power to soothe, reconnect, and rebuild?

​

The answer lies in how trauma is experienced and how memory operates. As this paper has argued, trauma is not only psychological or historical – it is spatial, social, and ongoing. Its effects are embedded in place, routines, and relationships. Likewise, memory is not only recorded – it is performed, shared, and transformed in daily life. Within this context, recovery becomes a collective, situated process that unfolds in the ordinary. Therefore, acknowledging recovery opportunities and requirements through understanding memory disruptions, individual and social identity issues, and eventual disorientation becomes critical.

​

Approaches to spatial design often fail to acknowledge social-spatial dimensions of cultural memories and miss their potential in contributing to resilience and recovery processes after shared traumatic experiences. Whereas everyday places such as a friend’s room, a familiar deli shop, a street full of neighbours, or one’s family house are deeply embedded in our individual or collective memories, memories that we seek to reconstruct after traumatic incidents. The familiar experiences and places align with the ways our socially enmeshed memories are constructed: relational, dynamic, and habitual. They present higher possibilities of stumbling upon sensory cues, relational memories, or habitual rituals that resonate with the cultures we are associated with. 

​

Rather than enforcing singular versions of the past or clean but less meaningful answers to our physical needs, spaces that allow culturally familiar practices support a more intuitive, creative negotiation of meaning and identity, serving as potential tools to recover both individually and socially. Reclaiming the everyday spaces along with their memories and practices, therefore, fosters hopeful or at least alternative future imaginaries. In doing so, they can support reconstructing “inner maps” referred to at the beginning of this text through van der Kolk’s insights.

​

With this outlook, spaces and practices with social connotations -such as a visit to the village tea house, a public square as a gathering site, or a treehouse of the neighbourhood children- can be reimagined as complex meshes of both disruption and healing. These spaces hold the potential to be investigated, learned from, and influence future designs to offer sites of solidarity and serve as sources of mutual care, resilience, and recovery. Therefore, this paper challenges designers, researchers, and policymakers to attend to the quiet politics of daily life – the shared routines, cultural rituals, and spatial memories that persist in the face of disruption.

​

As Pain reminds, “A vital part of healing, too, is combating structural violence itself, through grassroots activism and policies to tackle the entangled and layered violences that underpin geotrauma” [26]. Here, activism and policymaking are redefined through a social perspective rooted in memory studies and the agency of everyday people within everyday environments. Through experienced, localized, and often subtle acts of memory, recovery will become possible and transformative:  memories and identities will be reclaimed and reframed.

​