The fragile balance between humans, the economy, and nature

Over time, the Alps have transformed from a remote and inhospitable area into a complex region where human presence intertwines with nature, ancient knowledge, new environmental challenges, and a renewed appreciation for mountains. Luigi Lorenzetti, Professor at USI Academy of Architecture and Coordinator of the History of the Alps Study Centre (LabiSAlp), discussed these themes in an article edited in collaboration with laRegione.

For centuries, the Alps were regarded as a mysterious and inhospitable environment unsuitable for human habitation. However, since ancient times, people have discovered resources in this region and developed strategies to live and exploit the land, leading to a process of colonisation that has shaped a progressively inhabited area.

This transformation has given rise to a unique culture characterised by a deep understanding of environmental phenomena, along with practical technologies and solutions passed down through collective memory. Today, this traditional knowledge coexists with modernity, as new residential practices, economic models, and urban lifestyles create hybrid forms where urban references influence the distinctiveness of the mountains. In recent years and also today, various dynamics—such as tourism, mobility, multiple residences, and teleworking—are further transforming the Alpine space, altering the traditional boundaries between the centre and the periphery.

Areas at risk in historical memory

However, the relationship with nature remains a real challenge. Recent disasters in Blatten, Vallemaggia, and Brienz—among others—have highlighted the fragility of a balance that can be suddenly disrupted. Luigi Lorenzetti, full professor at the USI Academy of Architecture and coordinator of the History of the Alps Study Centre, points out that "natural disasters have always occurred in the past." Of course, climate change today "plays an important role," but extreme events "often have a cyclical nature lasting decades or centuries." For this reason, "memory and risk culture have long been vital tools for survival": not only were "houses not built, but neither were stables or farmhouses" in places that people knew to be dangerous. There was "detailed knowledge about areas at risk, how to build, and what precautions to take to reduce vulnerability. The architectural forms themselves, for example, underground or semi-underground with roofs that follow the slope, made it possible to reduce the risk of destruction in the event of avalanches." Where damage and casualties were reported, it was due to the loss of historical memory of the risks associated with events that had been recurring for centuries.

Today, the traditional culture of risk is being enhanced—and in some cases, even replaced—by technology and specialised knowledge. Advances in monitoring, warning systems, and protective infrastructure have improved our ability to prevent disasters. However, Lorenzetti highlights a paradox: total reliance on technology has led us to overlook the limitations imposed by nature. Consequently, in the 20th century, construction sometimes occurred in places where it should not have, resulting in greater exposure to risk. It is important to aknowledge that "there is no such thing as zero risk," and the consequences of these mistakes can be severe in environmental, social, economic, and human aspects.

Another level of risk stems from the pressure exerted by mass tourism on the delicate environmental balance of the Alps. In addition to the disappearance of agricultural land, the decline in biodiversity, and the impact on the landscape, land consumption causes the loss of important ecosystem functions. Furthermore, during seasonal peaks, anthropogenic pressure greatly increases water consumption, exacerbating supply problems. Faced with this situation, Lorenzetti calls for "informed choices: do we want to keep places alive, allowing their inhabitants to live there, or do we prefer places built for tourism, prey to gentrification and living between artificial snow and wellness centres?"

The mountains that bring value and community

A parallel theme is the energy transition: with the rush to build solar parks in the mountains ("the new El Dorado"), we risk repeating "the mistakes made at the time of the construction of large hydroelectric plants," which were sometimes built without taking into account the interests of local populations and their economies and "without regard for the environmental and landscape impacts."

Finally, Lorenzetti points out the need to move beyond the image of the mountains as a "playground" for cities, a legacy of an imaginary concept dating back to the 19th century ("The Playground of Europe" is the title of a book on the Alps published in 1870) that has fueled stereotypes of mountains as places of leisure and relaxation. "

"We must realise that mountains are something else", continues the USI professor. "They are a complex environment with their own economic, ecological, and cultural values, and they need to be understood for what they are, not just as a backdrop for leisure. In some ways, we must overcome the 'paradox' that has characterised modernity, which has led us to seek out and discover nature, but through the artificial mediation of technology."

Are the valleys being repopulated?

However, it is also thanks to technology that some areas of the Alps are being repopulated. This is not just about vacationers; we are seeing an influx of "new mountain folks" who choose to settle in the mountains due to digitalisation, remote working, or entrepreneurial activities that do not require a daily presence in the city. "Technologically, it can be done," notes Lorenzetti, although this primarily applies to specific professional categories and certain sectors of the service industry. The trend of moving to the mountains has been emerging since the late 1990s, particularly in the Italian Alps. Villages or entire valleys that were once nearly deserted now boast hundreds of residents. "These are isolated and modest phenomena," the professor clarifies. However, they have been further encouraged by the COVID-19 pandemic years, signalling a significant shift in trends.

However, it is important to note that many of these residents have multiple residences, often alternating between extended periods in the city and in the mountains. For some, living in the mountains aligns with a more stable lifestyle. This includes newcomers who have relocated to the mountains, individuals with higher education, and those pursuing innovative business projects in agriculture, product processing, and sustainable tourism. Others may choose mountain living because it offers a more affordable and community-oriented way of life. The crucial question now is whether these returns will be lasting. For Lorenzetti, climate change and living conditions in cities, with summer heat waves reaching 95-100°F (a problem that causes enormous social and economic costs), may push some people to seek places with more tolerable climates: "Even at 1,000 metres, the difference in temperature, especially at night, can make a difference." However, those who choose the mountains generally maintain a close relationship with the city for economic and social reasons, such as work, specialist services, and social networks. Currently, it is unclear whether this phenomenon will persist over time. According to Lorenzetti, to reverse the current market logic, "we need to return to seeing the mountains as a productive space and not just a space for use and consumption. At the same time, we need to rediscover the virtues of proximity through service networks that rebuild local social fabrics."

There is a risk that the community will fall apart

The day arrives unexpectedly when an extreme event devastates the area, forcing people to abandon everything they know. The community now faces the crucial decision of whether to rebuild. This situation mirrors the experiences in Vallemaggia, Brienz, and Blatten. According to Lorenzetti, "mountain people are aware of this reality and, overall, accept it. Therefore, I believe that those who wish to return to their homes should have the opportunity to do so, even if it comes at a significant cost."

“The important thing," he continues, "is to distinguish between different events, between those that occur every few decades and those that occur every few centuries. It is well known that major floods occur in Vallemaggia every 20 to 30 years. As early as 1868, there was a disastrous flood that forced hundreds of people to emigrate, as they suddenly found themselves without homes, land, or livestock." The case of Blatten is different, as the catastrophe there is linked to a ‘unique’ event in the history of the village, as is the case of Brienz, a village where the destructive event has not yet occurred, making it 'impossible, for now, to plan for the future.

However, there is a risk common to all these different communities, namely "the possibility that the community will disband, even if the conditions for returning are in place." The issue is one of timing. As Lorenzetti points out, "If reconstruction takes a long time, residents find alternative accommodation and rebuild their lives elsewhere." Consequently, rebuilding ten or twenty years after a disaster often becomes an artificial endeavour. A notable example of this is what occurred in Valtellina after the 1987 flood; although villages were destroyed and later rebuilt, none of the former residents returned two decades later.

Rebuilding a town without a plan to reconstruct the pre-existing social fabric risks missing its purpose, which is to revive a community whose daily life has been disrupted by trauma.

Content produced and published in collaboration with laRegione.