The housing question is a recurrent one — a persistent and multifaceted topic. It is raised particularly in moments when its impacts are felt in the very heart of society.¹ The response to the housing question is generally termed housing policy, i.e., the deliberate management of the housing sector.

In current European debates on housing provision, Vienna is often brought up for the approach it has taken, which seems to tick all the boxes. Unlike in most other cities, the municipal housing stock was not sold off in the course of neoliberal reforms, and cooperative, non-profit structures remain intact. Large swaths of the housing stock are out of the free market’s reach, and social housing continues to be built, making a tangible impact on the overall stock² although some signs point at a beginning erosion.³

In light of today’s multiple crises — a financial and economic crisis colliding with social and gender inequality, the deterioration of democratic institutions, the energy crisis, and the need for an ecological transformation⁴ — the importance of social housing becomes apparent once more: it offers an opportunity for coordinated regulation and a concerted societal transformation. Yet, given the aforementioned multiple crises, how flexible is this deeply institutionalised system? And what is the relation between this system of housing provision — which, given its regulatory function and its emphasis on care, is frequently called political — and politics, i.e. disagreements over whom to include?⁵

Provisioning housing is not merely a question of planning. Housing systems are social systems created through interactions between different (institutional) actors — namely those who plan, build, and manage apartments as well as those who live in them — but also between programmes, architectures, regulations, and agreements. Changes are not, however, only triggered within these networks, but also prompted by external factors.

The Vienna Model for housing defines itself primarily in terms of continuity, not change. Accordingly, the projects included in Vienna’s 2022 International Building Exhibition, titled Neues soziales Wohnen (New Social Housing), presented themselves less as experimental answers to a shift in urban planning, and more as proposals demonstrating how the institution of public housing can be safeguarded. Likewise, the recent introduction of a zoning category for subsidised housing and new measures to curb short-term vacation rentals serve the same goal: to uphold affordability. That strategy is by no means unfounded: Under the neoliberal governance model, housing is a commodity like any other, and the free market is considered the best instrument for distributing it. Any attempt at regulation today is swiftly criticised for trying to distort the market — even if, until fairly recently, the societal consensus was that the housing market needed to be regulated.

The result is the steady demise of social housing across European cities, particularly in those that once considered it a public service: In 1980, one in three apartments in the United Kingdom was municipally owned, until Margaret Thatcher’s government initiated the Right to Buy program, which allowed large parts of the public housing stock to be privatised.⁶ In eastern Europe, the fall of the Iron Curtain entailed the privatisation of the state-owned housing sector. In Sweden, housing associations were forced to compete with private developers, and in the Netherlands, investors successfully sued to lower the income limits that determine eligibility for subsidised housing, claiming cooperatives held an unfair advantage.⁷

Social housing, once a policy instrument of a universalist welfare state, is increasingly subjected to means-testing, thereby reducing it to a tool for poverty alleviation. At the same time, in the neoliberal logic, the public sector’s role is to secure the free market. This backdrop makes clear why the Viennese municipality resolved to focus on the continuity of universalist social housing. Since 2013, at the EU level, the City of Vienna has championed overcoming the primacy of the free market, arguing that housing, like education or health, must be part of public services.⁸

A look back at history shows that market forces alone have never produced satisfactory housing — neither in the 19th century, nor in the early 20th century, nor in the present, as events since the 2008 global financial crisis have shown. The continuity of housing provision plays an essential stabilising role in the administration of the city; it is possibly its paramount duty. This stabilising role, however, has transformed over time.

Social housing can therefore be understood as a long-term practice of policing and administration, which has changed in line with external influences, through the inscription of circumstantial forces like the economy and the logics of governmentality and management, or through the effects of temporary political disruptions that challenge the established order.

Following Michel Foucault’s discussion of governmentality, policing here refers not so much to control through oversight as to the administration of the expanded state that seeks to secure the “good life” for a population — whether through apparatuses of solicitude or more generally by structuring coexistence.⁹ By contrast, the political refers to moments when this order is briefly disrupted.¹⁰ The two — politics and policing — are interrelated. The question is therefore how the political translates into the policed housing system; a question we will try to answer by tracing the reorganisation of patterns in everyday housing and the degree of residents’ agency in shaping them.

This ambivalence is central to social-democratic planning, which took its cue from both the notion of urban sanitation and the ideals of the bourgeois family.¹¹ Red Vienna’s housing policy was not, however, limited to construction. It also included tenant protection, rent control, and the use of municipal housing as a means of decommodification and social regulation. It was thus a counter-hegemonial project that enabled upward social mobility based on redistribution and was aimed at securing political, economic, and social stability.

This regulating and stabilising role is something that Viennese housing has upheld while largely abandoning its politically antagonistic dimension. Under fascist rule, municipal housing was reinterpreted, with access and distribution based on racist criteria. It was now reserved for the Volksgemeinschaft, the racial community used to define the Nazi state and exclude anyone who did not belong to said group. After 1945, a largely depoliticised understanding of social housing emerged — as a public infrastructure meant to serve the majority population.

In the following decades of capitalist expansion, social housing became embedded in the structures of a corporatist welfare state. This Fordist type of regulation, based on standardisation and mass production and consumption, succeeded in delivering high profits while simultaneously providing full employment and welfare services. The continuing significance of housing is clearly evident in its position within an expanded “integral state,” which extended its reach deep into civil society.¹² Anchoring everyday life in the structures of the welfare state was a form of social partnership — a system that sought to overcome political conflict through consensus, but in fact often merely concealed it.¹³ Alongside municipal housing, cooperatives affiliated with the two major parties, SPÖ (Social Democratic Party of Austria) and ÖVP (Austrian People’s Party), increased in significance by building subsidised housing of their own. Social housing thus emerged as an integrative instrument within welfare-state Fordism. It made up for the lack of investment in (industrial) production, created jobs, kept wages low with cheap rents, and promoted mass consumption. The actual task of social housing was to enable the reproduction of a newly emerging middle class, which benefited from upward social mobility.¹⁴

Following Rancière’s critical reading of Foucault, this consensus around housing could be read as a sort of “policed distribution of the sensible.”¹⁵ More specifically, housing creates distinct forms of production and reproduction, establishing a fundamental order: the distribution of people and activities across spaces that each involve distinct modes of being. This order dictates what belongs to the communal sphere, what belongs to the private sphere, and which activities are assigned to whom — for instance, reproductive labour and the “role of women,” or play and what it means to be a child. It also defines who is excluded from housing. However, this policed order is not the expression of a regime ruling over its citizens, but rather a lived consensus that exists between institutions, social groups, inhabitants, and architectures. 

Overcoming the Aesthetics of Consensualism
In formal terms, this consensus is reflected in a sober, functional architecture that, by virtue of its functionality, today often comes across as anonymous. Modernist principles, such as standardisation and the arrangement of buildings in parallel rows, define the housing estates’ overall appearance without, however, imparting them a recognisable architectural aesthetic. If anything, the estates were defined by their serial, perforated facades in muted colors and open spaces between buildings that remained largely devoid of function. The apartment layouts rarely strayed from typological boilerplate based on traditional family models. Contrary to contemporary narratives, Viennese housing, for the longest time, was by no means a testing ground for progressive architecture; rather, it embodied the pragmatism and serial homogeneity of bureaucratic consensualism. 

Unlike in the United Kingdom or Italy, where social housing gave rise to a more radical type of architecture as a form of class subjectification, the “aesthetic of social partnership” produced an architecture without qualities: functional, affable, unobtrusive.¹⁶ This aesthetic remained unquestioned until the 1960s, when its functionalism began to be criticised. The exhibition Neue Städtische Wohnformen (New Forms of Urban Living), hosted by the Austrian Society for Architecture in 1966–67, marked the beginning of a debate echoing Team 10’s calls for democratisation, a renewed focus on the city, mixed-use development, and spaces for self-actualisation. These tenets were first experimented with in projects like the housing estate Am Schöpfwerk by Viktor Hufnagl and Wolfgang and Traude Windbrechtinger.¹⁷

When, in 1973, construction began on the Alt-Erlaa housing estate, planned by a team led by Harry Glück, the international discourse on large-scale social housing developments had already considerably shifted. The estate, which accommodates some 10,000 inhabitants and is often cited for its quality of life, surprisingly does not draw from the ubiquitous concept of urbanity, but from the idea of “stacked single-family homes.” The trade-off for realising the tapered structure of individual apartments with private outdoor spaces was that the communal areas in the blocks’ bellies lacked natural light; in return, the estate boasted generous rooftop swimming pools.

Alt-Erlaa was designed at a time when theorists such as Manfredo Tafuri were fundamentally questioning the promises of modernism. In his 1973 book Architecture and Utopia, Tafuri underscored the irreconcilable contradictions between the aspirations of architecture and the reality of the capitalist city.¹⁸ Any claim to autonomy in architecture could ultimately not be fulfilled, Tafuri argued, and any attempt to address the city’s social issues through form had become untenable.

That same year, the journal Oppositions was founded in New York, published by the Institute for Architecture and Urban Studies. It was to play a decisive role in shaping the debate on modernism’s legacy. In its first issue, Peter Eisenman discussed Peter and Alison Smithson’s recently completed Robin Hood Gardens housing estate in London — more precisely their typology of the “street-in-the-sky,” along with the explicitly urban architecture of Team 10.¹⁹ Eisenman criticised that the project placed more importance on the common and public realms than on the individual apartment, resulting in an imbalance between design and reality. At the same time, welfare-state infrastructure saw the beginning of its gradual dismantling: Only a few months earlier, in St. Louis, Missouri, the media-hyped demolition of Minoru Yamasaki’s Pruitt-Igoe housing complex had symbolically laid to rest the project of modernity — and with it its promise of a better future.

1968 and Its Aftermath
In Austria, the stroke of liberation sounded in 1968 took place less on the streets and more in the realm of aesthetics, for example in performances by Viennese Actionists. One such “action,” publicly staged at the University of Vienna under the title Art and Revolution, was followed by a media campaign that criminalised the participants and led to charges and prison sentences against Günter Brus, Otto Muehl, Peter Weibel, and Oswald Wiener — only fueling the myth that surrounds them to this day. Other interventions by Rudolf Schwarzkogler, Valie Export, and Erika Mis further demonstrate that topics considered counter-cultural elsewhere — transgression, sexual freedom, and spontaneity — were discussed here in the echo chamber of art and the body. In addition to these artistic interventions, the first communal housing projects began to emerge. For example, Communist Party members established a communal living space that would lead to the founding of the Spartakus group, the party’s youth arm, which would go on to advocate for the creation of youth centers. Another early communal living space, Kommune Wien (“Everything is political, and everything is private!”), gave rise to a commune of writers and artists who sought to make art and politics converge and who published the magazine Hundsblume.²⁰ At the same time, the AA Commune consolidated around Otto Muehl in an effort to escape everyday life by the therapeutic means of art. The project, which sought to overcome the notion of identity tied to a “nuclear family,” along with concepts like monogamy and private property, grew quickly and relocated to the rural Friedrichshof farm. Its cult-like, authoritarian structures led to rampant physical, psychological, and sexual abuse. Muehl was ultimately sentenced to seven years in prison for offenses including child sexual abuse.²¹

Vienna had its “1968 experience” in 1976 with the occupation of the ARENA.²² What began as a protest concert during the Supersommer der Architektur (Super Summer of Architecture) developed into a three-month experiment in artistic and cultural self-determination. On the grounds of an abandoned slaughterhouse in Vienna’s Simmering district, autonomist spaces and with it civil-society organisations saw the light of day: women’s centers, a literary café, debate clubs, a local newspaper, (media) workshops, a daycare center, and legal ­counseling. The self-managed ARENA questioned the bourgeois cultural canon as well as the state and institutional cultural apparatus — while simultaneously applying for grants and demanding access to infrastructure. This prompted mixed reactions from the Social-Democratic government, which, on the one hand, sought to clear out the ARENA through eviction notices and lawsuits, with the intent to make economic use of the site; on the other hand, it tried to find a consensual solution. This integrationist approach — which was to prove consequential for the future handling of countercultural movements — resulted in an offer for the ARENA to relocate to another slaughterhouse. After countless internal conflicts, part of the group behind the ARENA agreed to move to this alternative site, which, to this day, remains one of Vienna’s most prominent countercultural spaces.

The experiences surrounding the ARENA shaped the emergence of autonomist spaces and alternative ways of living together, both in terms of internal structure and in how they relate to the state. The administration refrained from directly controlling such spaces and instead provided resources, hoping this would allow them to rein in countercultural forces. This occurred in line with Foucault’s dual strategy of external regulation and internalised self-discipline, leading to these groups’ self-institutionalisation.

These years saw the establishment of a whole range of autonomist and self-managed spaces, including Amerlinghaus (occupied in 1975), Wiener Werkstätten und Kulturhaus (Viennese Manufactures and Cultural Center; WUK), Kultur- und Kommunikationszentrum Gassergasse (a youth center founded in 1981), and Türkis Rosa Lila Villa, a center for members of the LGBTQ* community. The spectrum ranged from radical political activists to self-managed housing projects, such as Wohnen mit Kindern (Living with Children), realised by leftist Catholics in collaboration with Austrian architect Ottokar Uhl.²³

Not all these civil society groups focused directly on housing. Rather, they fought for self-determination and inclusion, opposing the functional division of the city into areas of work and production, on the one hand, and areas of consumption and reproduction, on the other — a division that maintains the established social order with its hierarchies and mechanisms of exclusion. Proposing an alternative therefore not only meant developing a counter-model to the hegemonic understanding of culture or replacing one art form with another; instead, it was an attempt to overcome the structures and mechanisms of the dominant mode of production.

In the mid-1980s a group formed under the name Utopisches Zentrum – Verein für Integrative Lebensgestaltung (Utopian Center – Integrative Lifestyle Association) with the intention of creating a residential complex that would serve as a “communal home for various ways of living and cultural possibilities.” Here, integrative referred to both the inclusion of people marginalised by the established models for urban development and the promotion of different ways of living “in order to counteract isolation in the traditional nuclear family structure of a society defined by the division of labour.”²⁴

The group’s subsequent collaboration with the architectural practice bkk2 (later bkk3) resulted in the projects Sargfabrik (Coffin Factory; 1996) and Miss Sargfabrik (2000) — pioneering self-managed housing projects. Both opposed architecture’s prevailing functionalism and its tendency to isolate individuals from each other, instead combining residential spaces with other functions and opening up the buildings to the neighborhoods.

What began as a marginal aspect of the production of subsidised housing established itself as a niche but nevertheless significant part of the housing market. Various projects tinkered with the limits of public funding mechanisms and renegotiated the relationship between architecture and its inhabitants — whether through a process-based approach such as in Wohnprojekt Wien (Housing Project Vienna) by einszueins Architektur, the adaptability of floor plans such as in LiSA by WuP, feminist approaches to communal living such as in ro*sa by Köb&Pollak, or new concepts of decommodification such as in Bikes and Rails by Reinberg or Living for Future by schmidt-colinet • schmoeger.

As part of the HabiTAT network, these projects have been permanently withdrawing real estate from the market and experimenting with new forms of cooperative practices beyond the profit-driven sector. Gabu Heindl Architektur’s SchloR follows this approach, although without housing subsidies. The project, which began operations in 2025, structures housing in company-owned shared accommodation, organised around the employee-owned companies CRAP (studios and workshops) and TRAP (a circus and acrobatics center). Here, the strict boundaries between private, communal, and public spaces dissolve, with different ways of living and working together becoming one.

These mostly small-scale approaches may remain prototypes, and some may prove to be impractical on a larger scale; nevertheless, they reveal their inherent political nature by questioning established patterns of re-production and by reorganising the structures of how we live. However, one should be careful not to see the locus of the political within the modes of communality that emerge from these projects and their processes of negotiation. Instead, it is their ability to rupture ingrained structures of everyday (residential) life, consolidated in built form, that is inherently political.

This is not completely new: Back in the early 1920s, radical feminism gave birth to the Einküchenhaus Heimhof (single-kitchen building, realised by the Heimhof cooperative), which sought to rationalise and centralise reproductive labor. It featured 264 small apartments, supplemented by communal facilities such as a reading room, a rooftop terrace, a central kitchen with a dining hall, a laundry, and childcare facilities. In a sense, the Heimhof estate realised Lily Braun’s idea of an economic cooperative. As a cooperative, the Heimhof struggled to survive during the economic crisis, but its project was eventually completed as part of the housing program thanks to the support of prominent female Social Democrats. It did, however, remain an isolated experiment. Even though the project was by no means revolutionary, the (partially for-pay) collectivisation of previously invisibilised reproductive labour constituted an element of socialisation — which was considered an attack on the family as an institution by conservatives.

In an article in the journal Wohnungsreform (housing reform), Otto Polak-Hellwig, one of the architects, termed the single-kitchen building a “housing machine.”²⁵ Not so much in the narrow sense of a “completely rationalised residence,” but rather, as a system of machinery, to use a Marxian term. In his so-called Fragment on Machines, Karl Marx describes the machine as “consisting of numerous mechanical and intellectual organs” and encompassing not only the skills of the workers operating it but also the cognitive labour required for maintenance and further development.²⁶ Similarly, the technical architecture of collectively organised housing seems to be inextricably linked to the people who live there. Félix Guattari elaborates on this idea: In his view, the machine is no longer a purely technical tool but rather “maintains all sorts of relationships with social constituents and individual subjectivities.”²⁷ It becomes a perspective on coupling processes through which humans, “with other things,”²⁸ constitute machines that can be understood as a micropolitical practice. Guattari’s machine is a “concept for fleeing … identification, for inventing new forms of the concatenation of singularities.”²⁹

This machinic understanding can also be applied to the spatial reorganisation of collective housing projects. They represent a shift in the boundaries between the private and the (partially) public, between wage labour and invisibilised domestic labour, and between the related social roles and modes of being.

In this sense, we might consider the Einküchenhaus as the “mother of all communal living projects” — not so much because of its organisational structure, but rather because of its spatial practice of continuous transformation. This expansion of politics and protest into the reproductive sphere marked a break with the Fordist paradigm and its rigid divisions. That these shifts today also extend to the mode of production itself, e.g., through the commodification of residential spaces or the reinterpretation of the home as a workplace in the post-Fordist world — does not, however, mean that the fundamental divisions between wage labour, invisible reproductive labour, and their forms of subjectification have been overcome.

Outlook
The development outlined here — namely the attempts to reimagine how we live together — can, in retrospect, be read as a chain of individual events building upon one another. Contemporary collective housing projects would not be conceivable without the groundwork laid in 1968 and the years that followed. However, such developments are not the only changes in Vienna’s housing landscape. The processes and structures of housing production have also shifted: Since the 1980s, subsidised housing has increasingly followed economic criteria, leading to a proliferation of housing typologies and architectures. The developer competition — the model through which subsidies are allocated by Wohnfonds Wien (Fund for Housing Construction and Urban Renewal) — has further advanced this trend. However, the structural isolation of inhabitants and the lack of participation in decision-making processes have yet to be overcome.

Such shifts in the social practice of housing often arise not from within institutionalised housing provision systems but rather on their margins or even beyond, outside the system. From there, they gradually integrate into the existing structures. Without such stimuli, today’s examples — such as the mixed-use Quartiershäuser (neighborhood buildings) as part of subsidised housing — would be inconceivable.

Bio

Michael Klein works at the intersection of architecture, theory, history, and art, currently at the Research Unit of Housing and Design at TU Wien, for dérive – Zeitschrift für Stadtforschung, and for ÖGFA – Austrian Society for Architecture. He is a co-author of, among others, The Design of Scarcity (2014, with Jon Goodbun, Andreas Rumpfhuber, and Jeremy Till), Modelling Vienna: Real Fictions in Social Housing (2015, with Andreas Rumpfhuber), and co-editor of the volume Building Critique: Architecture and Its Discontents (2019, with Gabu Heindl and Christina Linortner). He collaborates with Sasha Pirker on film projects.

Notes

1 Cf. David Madden and Peter Marcuse, In Defense of Housing (London: Verso, 2016), 9–11.

2 See Michael Klien et al., Die preisdämpfende Wirkung des gemeinnützigen Wohnbaus (Vienna: Austrian Institute of Economic Research, 2023), accessed March 3, 2025, wifo.ac.at/publication/70436/.

3 See Justin Kadi, “Layers of Commodification in the City of Decommodification: The Transformation of Regulated Private Renting in Vienna,” Housing, Theory and Society (2024), 1–22, doi.org/10.1080/14036096.2024.2382417.

4 See Alex Demirović et. al., eds., VielfachKrise: Im finanzmarktdominierten Kapitalismus (Hamburg: VSA Verlag, 2011).

5 See Jacques Rancière, Disagreement: Politics and Philosophy, trans. Julie Rose (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998); see also Gabu Heindl, Stadtkonflikte: Radikale Demokratie in Architektur und Stadtplanung (Vienna: Mandel­baum Verlag, 2020).

6 Cf. Andy Beckett, Promised You a Miracle: Why 1980–82 Made Modern Britain (London: Penguin, 2016).

7 See Vincent Gruis and Hugo Priemus, “European Competition Policy and National Housing Policies: International Implications of the Dutch Case,” in Housing Studies, vol. 23, no. 3 (2008), 485–505; Brett Christophers, “A Monstrous Hybrid: The Political Economy of Housing in Early Twenty-first Century Sweden,” New Political Economy, vol. 18, no. 6 (2013), 885–911.

8 Cf. Press Service, City Hall Correspondence: Ludwig: Wiener Modell für leistbares Wohnen als Vorbild für Europa, September 12, 2024, accessed December 12, 2024, presse.wien.gv.at/presse/2024/09/12/ludwig-wiener-modell-fuer-leistbares-wohnen-als-vorbild-fuer-europa.

9 Michel Foucault, “Omnes et Singulatim: Towards a Criticism of ‘Political Reason,’” in: Sterling M. McMurrin, ed., The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, vol. 2 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1981), 225–54; see also Michel Foucault, Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at Collège de France 1977–78, trans. Graham Burchell (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007). See also “Biopolitics or Politics?,” Jacques Rancière interviewed by Eric Alliez, in: Jacques Rancière, Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics, trans. Steven Corcoran (London: Continuum, 2010), 91–96.

10 See Rancière, Disagreement (see note 5).

11 Michael Klein, “Between Forward! And the Promises of the Past: Housing in Vienna: Politics, Government, and Architecture,” in: ARCH+: Vienna. The End of Housing (as a Typology) (2024), 50–61.

12 See, for example, Bob Jessop, “Althusser, Poulantzas, Buci-Glucksmann: Weiterentwicklungen von Gramscis Konzept des integralen Staats,” in: Sonja Buckel and Andreas Fischer-Lescano, eds., Hegemonie gepanzert mit Zwang: Zivilgesellschaft und Politik im Staatsverständnis Antonio Gramscis (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2007), 43–67.

13 See Robert Menasse, Die sozialpartnerschaftliche Ästhetik: Essays zum österreichischen Geist (Vienna: Sonderzahl, 1990), 13–125.

14 See Michael Klein, “The Order of Residential Living,” in: Andreas Rumpfhuber and Michael Klein, eds., Modelling Vienna: Real Fictions in Social Housing (Vienna: Turia + Kant, 2015), 80–129; Dieter Stiefel, “‘Hilfe zur Selbsthilfe’: Der Marshallplan in Österreich 1948–1952,” in: Ernst Bruckmüller, ed., Wiederaufbau in Österreich 1945–1955 (Vienna: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 90–102; Monika Platzer, Kalter Krieg und Architektur: Beiträge zur Demokratisierung Österreichs nach 1945 (Vienna: Park Books, 2019); Wolfgang Maderthaner, “Mangelökonomie und fordistische Rekonstruktion: Arbeit in Wien 1950–1970,” in: Studien zur Wiener Geschichte: Jahrbuch des Vereins für Geschichte der Stadt Wien 59 (Vienna: Verein für Geschichte der Stadt Wien, 2003), 187.

15 Rancière, Disagreement: Politics and Philosophy (see footnote 5); and Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aeshetics: The Distribution of the Sensible, trans. Gabriel Rockhill (London: Continuum, 2004), 12–19.

16 See Menasse, Die sozialpartnerschaftliche Ästhetik: Essays zum österreichischen Geist (see footnote 13).

17 Michael Klein, “Am Schöpfwerk und die Kritik der Kritik,” in: Elise Feiersinger et al., eds., Geometrien des Lebens: Materialien zu Viktor Hufnagl (1922–2007) (Vienna: Park Books, 2022), 57–66.

18 Manfredo Tafuri, Architecture and Utopia: Design and Capitalist Development, trans. Barbara Luigia La Penta (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1979).

19 Peter Eisenman, “From Golden Lane to Robin Hood Gardens; or if you follow the Yellow Brick Road, it may not lead to Golders Green,” Oppositions, no. 1 (1973), 27–56.

20 Robert Foltin, Und wir bewegen uns doch! Soziale Bewegungen in Österreich (Vienna: edition grundrisse, 2004), 99–102; Michael Genner, “Longo mai: ‘Es möge lange dauern,’” in: Bärbel Danneberg et al., eds., Die 68er: Eine Generation und ihr Erbe (Vienna: Döcker, 1998), 286–303.

21 Otto Muehl termed his method “Action Analysis (AA),” drawing on Reich, Groß, and artistic Actionism. See, among others, Danneberg, “Die Mühlkommune,” in: Die 68er (see note 20), 274–85; and Andreas Schlothauer, Die Diktatur der freien Sexualität: AAO, Mühl-Kommune, Friedrichshof (Vienna: Verlag für Gesellschaftskritik, 1992).

22 See Dietmar Steiner, “Die Arenabewegung,” in: Danneberg et al., Die 68er (see note 20), 138–47. 23 Siegfried Mattl, “Kultur und Kulturpolitik in der Ära Kreisky,” in: Wolfgang Maderthaner et al., Die Ära Kreisky und ihre Folgen: Fordismus und Postfordismus in Österreich (Vienna: Löcker, 2007), 121–91; Werner Michael Schwarz and Martina Nussbaumer, eds., Besetzt! Kampf um Freiräume seit den 70ern, exh. cat. Wien Museum (Vienna: Czernin Verlag, 2012).

24 Folder issued by Verein für Integrative Lebensgestaltung, text by R. Schöny, 1996 (trans. ARCH+).

25 Otto Polak-Hellwig, “Rationelle Grundrisse für Klein- und Kleinstwohnungen,” in: Die Wohnungsreform (1929).

26 Karl Marx, Grundrisse. Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy, trans. Martin Nicolaus (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), 612.

27 Félix Guattari, “On Machines,” trans. Vivian Constantinopoulos, JPVA, no. 6 (1995), 9.

28 Gerald Raunig, Dividuum: Machinic Capitalism and Molecular Revolution, trans. Aileen Derieg (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2016), 107.

29 Ibid., A Thousand Machines, trans. Aileen Derieg (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2010), 34.