Ubicada en una cuenca de un lago y rodeada por volcanes, la Ciudad de México está en riesgo constante de terremotos, inundaciones, olas de calor y otros desastres naturales. Más de la mitad de los trabajadores de la megalópolis viven al día y no tienen una red social de apoyo, lo cual los hace particularmente vulnerable a este tipo de choques. El manejo de la crisis del COVID-19 por parte del Gobierno de la Ciudad de México, en abril, 2020, podría ser un modelo en la construcción de resiliencia enfocado en este sector. En un acto sin precedentes, los mercados públicos, la sociedad civil, sindicatos y el gobierno de la ciudad juntaron esfuerzos para implementar el Programa de Apoyo a Personas No Asalariadas, con el objetivo de brindar de ayudar a que los trabajadores informales sobrevivan el confinamiento.

Located on a lake basin and surrounded by volcanoes, Mexico City is continuously at risk of earthquakes, floods, heat waves, and other natural—and not so natural—disasters. More than half of the megalopolis’s workforce survives day-to-day and without a social safety net, which makes them particularly vulnerable to these shocks. The handling of the COVID-19 pandemic could serve as a template for how to help these communities become more resilient to crises. In an unprecedented act, public market

When Carmen Luna moved to a neighborhood on the outskirts of Mexico City in 1975, there was no sewage system. To get water, she carried buckets to and from a faucet in the street. At the end of the 1980s, her house was connected to the grid; her family would get tamarind-colored water three days a week.

Last year, Ms. Luna signed up for a new rainwater-harvesting program led by Mexico City Mayor Claudia Sheinbaum, an environmental scientist. The city government had teamed up with local nonprofi

Mexico City’s problems with running water are acute: in the city’s poorest neighbourhoods such as Iztapalapa and Xochimilco, brown, murky water flows from the faucets just once a week, if at all.

The irony is that water in this region abounds. Located in a valley 2250 metres above sea level, the Aztec city of Tenochtitlán – the precursor to today’s Mexico City – was once connected by a system of lakes and rivers. The Spaniards drained the basin to make way for their colonial city, and four cent

During the second half of the twentieth century, Mexico City’s metropolitan population more than quadrupled in size. As one of the first urban regions to reach the 20 million inhabitant mark, mobility has been a top concern for chilangos (as the city’s residents are known) for decades. In the 1990s, the city was also one of the most polluted in the world. Smog days, during which schools were closed and cars with certain licence plate numbers were banned from circulation, were a normal part of ev

When Maria Isabel Contreras and her husband moved to Mexico City’s Iztapalapa district, 30 years ago, water was not an issue. But as the district urbanized, the taps began to dry up. Today, the nine-person household — four adults and five children — receives three hours of continuous supply of murky, brown water each day, before the water runs out.

This translates into a daily struggle for the Contreras household, and she is quick to enumerate all the tactics used to get by. “We inserted water

As a car-centric city, Mexico City has made gigantic strides promoting the bicycle as a means of transportation. The greatest challenge today is bringing bike infrastructure to the periphery, where people need it the most.

In Mexico City, the name Viaducto Río de la Piedad conjures images of a noisy, polluted, traffic-ridden eight-lane highway that turns into hell-on-wheels, with cars inching by at a mere six kilometres per hour during rush hour. It’s not a place to go for an afternoon stroll, let alone hang around. Yet in 2012, that’s precisely what a group of activists led by environmentalist architect Elias Cattan did. After scaling a fence on a bridge, they sat down in a circle on the concrete structure that c

Like many residents of Mexico City, my experience of the floating gardens of Xochimilco has mostly been tinged with alcohol. After all, every weekend, this Unesco world heritage site turns into a bacchanal, with groups aboard the canals’ iconic boats celebrating everything from high school graduations to engagements and weddings.

But this is a weekday morning, and Carlos Sumano, who is steering my canoe through the floating gardens, or chinampas, says that sort of unfettered use has taken its t

​In San Diego, 325,000 tons of household trash will be collected this year. According to New York City, its residents generate 12,000 tons of waste each day. In 2012, the World Bank reported that “world cities generate about 1.3 billion tons of solid waste per year,” and estimated that figure would be 2.2 billion tons by 2025.

While cities around the world set goals regarding recycling and improving collection services, one group of artists in Mexico City looks at trash as an important agent in