Every architectural project uses materials that, in their origin, are extracted from distant locations, such as sand, stone, or lithium. These inputs arrive at their destination after a complex logistical process involving transport and customs clearance, which completely obscures their original provenance. Although architecture treats these materials as readily available, it is at the moment of extraction that the construction process truly begins.
The world trade in construction sand operates on a scale comparable to the illicit markets for wood, gold, and fish combined, utilizing violent networks that endanger the lives of journalists and activists. In one example from Tuscany, a single mountain produced more marble recently than in the previous two thousand years, exploited by a workforce whose history of resistance has been widely ignored.
In salt flats across three South American countries and in the copper belt of Central Africa, minerals destined for a more sustainable future are removed from lands inhabited by indigenous communities for generations, and in some cases, mined by children. Although each transaction is presented as common trade, it also represents a territorial transaction whose terms were defined far from the site of material removal.
The link connecting sand, stone, and critical minerals is not just the distance traveled, but who resided at the extraction site and the minimal decision-making power this population held over the transaction. Examples include a riverside community in Cambodia, a quarry town in the Apuan Alps, and an indigenous family witnessing the drying up of a valley in Argentina. None of these groups participated in signing the contract that determined the fate of their lands.
Understanding a marble facade or a battery pack merely by its finish implies accepting a depoliticized narrative, ignoring that all phases of the process involve who controls the land and who is forced to abandon it.
Globally, annual sand consumption reaches fifty billion tons, classifying it as the planet's largest extractive industry, with a projected growth of up to 45% by 2060. However, civil construction requires angular and coarse sand transported by rivers and coasts, unlike desert sand, which is not suitable for binding concrete. This need forces the industry to extract the material from other locations, creating a contradiction between abundance and scarcity.
A specialist from the Federal Police in Brazil, focusing on extractive industries, estimates that the global illegal trade in sand moves between two hundred and thirty-five billion dollars annually, surpassing the sum of illegal wood extraction, gold mining, and fishing. Despite this, sand receives little scrutiny because it is viewed as a common resource, and legal and black market material are indistinguishable on the construction site. In India, illegal sand mining has become the largest organized crime activity, resulting in hundreds of deaths, and in 2019, a journalist was murdered for exposing corruption linked to this practice.
The dynamic between suppliers and consumers carries a strong political charge. In Southeast Asia, there was a dispute between Singapore, the importer, and Malaysia, which restricted exports. The demand for maritime landfills in Singapore led to illegal sand dredging in Cambodia and Indonesia, causing the territorial expansion of one country to occur at the expense of another's decline.
In the Mekong River basin, sand extraction is intense in Cambodia and Vietnam, driven by real estate growth, affecting the six riparian nations that have little decision-making power over a trade shaped by geopolitical rivalry and domestic demand. Singapore's reclaimed coast is, therefore, transferred geology, built from the margin of another country.
An independent ecologist studying the Mekong Delta points out that legislation classifies sand merely as a common material, ignoring its structural role in maintaining territory. Continuous extraction can force the redrawing of the delta map due to coastal erosion and riverbank deformation.
In extraction areas, populations suffer from forced displacement due to bank erosion and housing collapse. Meanwhile, financial profits concentrate in distant urban centers. Furthermore, sand mining reduces the water table, forcing destitute farmers to migrate to cities that depend precisely on the extraction that displaced them, perpetuating a vicious cycle.
More marble has been taken from Carrara in recent decades than in the previous two thousand years, with annual production reaching about four million tons. The Apuan Alps host more than 650 distinct quarries, exceeding the number of active quarries throughout the entire United States, a much larger country than Carrara.
The workforce involved in this extraction has its own political history. In the late 19th century, Carrara was a hub of anarchism in Italy, especially among quarry workers, many of whom were ex-convicts or fugitives. They revolted against working conditions, organizing under anarchist principles (the Lunigiana revolt). The Italian state severely repressed the uprising, leading many workers to emigrate to the United States, where they found employment in marble and granite quarries in Vermont.
This connection persisted: two Carrara companies, R.E.D. Graniti and Mazzucchelli Marmi, currently operate the Danby quarry in Vermont, the world's largest underground marble quarry. The marble does not stay in Carrara, and the former extractors never had lasting rights over what they took. Large blocks are exported, where cheaper labor manufactures luxury cladding and furniture. Thus, the city lost much of its artisanal industry.
China has become a major buyer of raw blocks, absorbing more than half of certain exports, while the United States remains the main market for finished slabs and pieces. A material formed by the compression of a mountain range travels twice through global supply chains before reaching a kitchen, proving that the value of marble resides not only in the stone but in the geography it crosses.
The extraction process generates dust that contaminates regional aquifers, rendering water unusable for consumption, and eroded slopes that cause geological instability, increasing the risk of landslides and floods. Such dangers have already caused major displacements, such as a flood in 2014 that required the rescue of four hundred people. Anna Marson, former regional secretary of Tuscany, proposed a stricter environmental regulation plan in 2014 but faced an intense campaign of opposition from quarry owners.
While sand and stone represent ancient forms of extraction, the minerals driving the energy transition mark a more recent and ideologically complex chapter. To meet zero-emission targets, global lithium production must increase more than fivefold by 2030, demanding over one hundred billion dollars in new investments. This forces us to question what the acceptable cost is for the mineral that promises to reduce global emissions.
Argentina, Bolivia, and Chile hold more than half of the known lithium resources, concentrated in high-altitude salt flats. Chile possesses about a quarter of global reserves, much of it in the Atacama Salt Flat, ancestral territory of the Lickanantay people. Extraction involves pumping millennia-old underground brine into evaporation tanks, consuming between 450,000 and 650,000 liters of water per ton of lithium carbonate. In Atacama, miners are accused of depleting up to 65% of the region's vital water sources.
An indigenous activist, who grew up near the oldest lithium mine in Argentina, in the Salar del Hombre Muerto, reported how this depletion affects a family: a river that sustained llamas, goats, and sheep was diverted and dried up due to lithium production, leaving a valley that, according to him, 'was once beautiful' and today 'there are no animals because everything is dry.' Researchers from the University of Chile confirm this degradation through satellite analysis.
A unique location on a 50-acre organic farm in the village of Kepu, located 50 kilometers southeast of Mangaluru, has existed for about 200 years. This land has undergone significant changes: it transformed from a private plot into a place visited by people from various cultures.
Partha Varanshi, the sixth-generation landowner, shared that his family has always shown an interest in agriculture. He noted that in 1960, his grandfather founded a farming cooperative called CampCo. Partha's parents were also interested in agricultural sciences: his father earned a doctorate in microbiology, and his mother earned one in macrobiology.
As he grew up on this land, Partha observed its multifaceted development. Although the Varanshi family hosted guests and relatives on the farm for the last thirty years, they never conducted commercial activities until a certain incident.
Around 2006, Partha's friends visited the farm. One of them told him about a girl who had finished 12th grade and didn't know what to do next. When she learned about Partha's farm, she asked if she could spend a few weeks to understand how life on the farm functioned. After two weeks, the girl fell in love with organic farming and enrolled in the horticulture engineering faculty.
This incident prompted Partha to think: if farm life can inspire one person, other city dwellers might also love such a lifestyle, which would be a good break from the urban hustle. The family presented this idea to the Karnataka Tourism Department to promote agro-tourism and decided to launch farm stays in 2014.
The idea of inviting volunteers came to Partha in 2007 while he was studying molecular biology in Australia. He recalled the concept of WWOOFing, where interested people can work on a farm while receiving food and accommodation. The Varanshi family approved this exchange model and began hosting volunteers in 2014.
While staying, volunteers participate in various organic farming activities, including harvesting, sowing seeds, and subsequent processing of agricultural products. They learn composting techniques using farm waste to create biofertilizer that nourishes the fields growing rice, coconut palms, chili, and spices.
Guests are provided with meals, with 95 percent of the dishes prepared for volunteers coming directly from the organic farm. Over 21 days, volunteers study the basics of organic farming. Partha, his family, and local residents give tours of the property, explaining the concept of regenerative agriculture and discussing why chemical fertilizers are harmful to crops and what alternatives exist. Guests particularly value the cocoa trail, where they are shown the entire chocolate production process from bean to bar.
Those interested can take a five-day certification course for 20,000 rupees. Additionally, Partha's team teaches vital skills such as first aid and CPR, and provides opportunities for swimming, kayaking, and trampoline jumping under certified instructors. Demonstrations of all activities are free, but certification is paid.
The main attraction of the stay is the treehouse, which stands 55 feet high. This house, built by local villagers, has one room with a king-size bed and a desk. The balcony offers a view of the 55-foot cliff and lush greenery. The treehouse is available for 6,000 rupees per night, including accommodation and food, and the farm hosts about 15 volunteers monthly.
Anupama Augustine, one of the volunteers representing a group of researchers from Kerala University, described it as a 'return to nature and self-discovery.' She noted that the tours and interactive sessions with Partha revealed the subtleties of regenerative agriculture and the farm's cultural heritage, teaching her to appreciate nature more.
Partha emphasizes that besides creating a green space for city dwellers, they focus on sustainable development. The farm uses waste for composting and is equipped with a biogas plant. Solar panels with capacities of 7.5 kW and 2.5 kW are also installed on the site, along with eight natural ponds and an 80-foot deep well for rainwater harvesting. About 55 people from the village of Kepu participate in the farm's operations, cooking, cleaning, and making biofertilizers.
Despite the successes, Partha points out an issue in the relationship between city dwellers and locals. Locals sometimes have difficulty communicating with city volunteers, and some have even reported to the police regarding receiving money from city residents for work. To resolve this, the Varanshi family conducts workshops, such as 'Mud Day,' to explain the purpose of these volunteer programs to the local community.
Nevertheless, city dwellers are thrilled with life here. Partha reported having hosted volunteers from 15 different countries, including America, Canada, France, Germany, the UK, Scotland, Australia, Japan, and Vietnam. The Varanshi family also plans to develop cottages for family holidays. His father, Dr. Varanshi Krishna Murthy, expresses pride in how the land has changed, becoming a place where people can escape daily life.
Uzbekistan's unified energy system recorded a new summer record for daily electricity consumption on July 17, 2026.
According to the Ministry of Energy data, daily electricity consumption reached 293.4 million kWh. This figure exceeded last year's previous summer maximum by 20.8 million kWh, which is 7.6%.
The country also set a new record for daily electricity generation. Power plants produced 296.1 million kWh on July 17, surpassing the previous record of 295.4 million kWh, which was set the day before, on July 16, by 0.7 million kWh, or 0.24%.
Including electricity generated by small solar photovoltaic stations, the total output amounted to 305 million kWh. This exceeded daily consumption by 11.6 million kWh and was 9.6 million kWh, or 3.2%, higher than the output of the previous day.
The Ministry of Energy reported that dispatch services are conducting round-the-clock monitoring of the load on the electrical grid, as well as the condition of power lines and transformer equipment. If necessary, operators redistribute network loads and take operational measures to prevent overloads, equipment overheating, technical failures, and large-scale power outages.
Furthermore, the ministry strongly urged consumers to use electricity economically and, if possible, limit the use of household appliances that are not vital to reduce the load on the energy system and minimize the risk of emergency shutdowns.
In the settlement of Torbat-e Jam, which is a refugee camp, a project to increase solar energy capacity was implemented. This project was carried out by the United Nations Industrial Development Organization (UNIDO) with support from the Government of the Republic of Korea and in collaboration with the Center for Alien Affairs and Immigration (CAFIA).
The expansion of solar generation brought economic, environmental, and social benefits to both Afghan refugees and the host local community. According to an UN press release dated July 15, the modernization significantly improved access to vital services, reduced emissions, and promoted sustainable development.
The initiative is part of the 'Scaling Sustainable Settlements for Afghan Refugees in the Islamic Republic of Iran' program, which aims to improve living conditions, expand access to sustainable infrastructure, and strengthen refugees' earning potential while supporting local communities. Building on the success of the first phase, UNIDO increased the capacity of the photovoltaic power plant in the settlement from 52.25 kilowatts to 200 kilowatts. The updated facility began operating in July 2025, allowing the settlement to generate significantly more clean electricity from the sun, which is one of the country's most abundant natural resources.
The results were immediate: within a year, electricity consumption from the national grid decreased by almost 36 percent, and peak electricity demand dropped by nearly 60 percent. These improvements helped reduce the operational costs of the settlement, lessened the strain on the national grid during peak hours, and helped ensure a more stable power supply for schools, medical facilities, and other public services.
The environmental benefit is also substantial. Annually, the expanded solar plant is expected to produce about 432 megawatt-hours of clean energy, preventing the emission of approximately 285 tons of carbon dioxide. Furthermore, this will reduce the consumption of natural gas and conserve water that would otherwise be used in traditional power generation—which is particularly important in the arid climate of Torbat-e Jam. Beyond the technology itself, the project focuses on people: UNIDO organized practical training for settlement staff on the operation and maintenance of the photovoltaic system, thereby developing local technical expertise and ensuring the long-term viability of the investment.
Mohsen, a 29-year-old participant, noted that the training provided them with practical skills and confidence in operating and optimizing the photovoltaic system, emphasizing how teamwork makes energy more reliable for their families and public services. The expansion of solar generation also contributes to Iran's efforts to increase the share of renewable energy sources, simultaneously advancing humanitarian aid, environmental sustainability, and national development priorities. The experience of Torbat-e Jam serves as a solid foundation for implementing similar measures in other Iranian refugee camps through continued cooperation between UNIDO, CAFIA, the Iranian Renewable Energy and Energy Efficiency Organization (SATBA), the Government of the Republic of Korea, and national partners.
