Guy introduces himself as someone originally from Dendermonde who came to Brussels to study and eventually decided to stay. He deliberately chose Saint Nicholas Church at Fontainas Square as the location for the interview because it is associated with an important memory from the 1980s. It was here that the funeral of a close friend and employer who died of AIDS took place. What remained most vivid in his memory was the contrast between the silence and solemnity inside the church and the busy city life that continued outside. That moment made him realize how quickly life moves on, even after profound loss. From this memory, he begins describing Brussels in the 1980s, which he remembers as a darker, rougher and poorer city than it is today. The area around Fontainas Square was home to small cafés, dance venues, saunas and meeting places for gay men. For Guy, who came from a more traditional environment, this neighbourhood represented his first encounter with a visible queer community. Although homosexuality was still largely hidden and often accompanied by fear and prejudice, he experienced Brussels as a place where greater freedom was possible than elsewhere. He explains how, as a young man, he searched for his place in this world, met new people and found a sense of belonging within a relatively small community. At the same time, he speaks openly about the uncertainties of that period, discrimination, violence and the tension between visibility and anonymity. Personal experiences, including a difficult first romantic relationship and tensions within his family regarding his sexual orientation, illustrate how closely his identity formation was linked to the city and this particular neighbourhood.

In this section, Guy reflects on the transformations he has witnessed in both the neighbourhood and society. He describes how the area around Fontainas Square evolved from a neglected and socially vulnerable district into a more attractive and open environment. At the same time, he notes that social problems such as poverty and vulnerability have not disappeared but have often become less visible. A major theme is the evolution of the LGBTQ+ community. Whereas homosexuality was once largely hidden, he now sees far greater openness and social acceptance. Nevertheless, he stresses that the fear of rejection never entirely disappears. The AIDS epidemic also features prominently in his reflections. Guy lost several friends and acquaintances to the disease and recalls the heavy stigma associated with it at the time. He speaks with appreciation about local figures, including doctors and clergy members, who supported vulnerable individuals and AIDS patients. He also discusses his relationship with faith and spirituality. Although he no longer considers himself a practising believer, churches remain places of peace and contemplation for him. He reflects on life, death and meaning, and explains that beauty and comfort are often found in small things: a flower in a cemetery, a quiet moment in a church or an unexpected view of the city. Looking back on changes in the neighbourhood, he particularly regrets the disappearance of small cafés and meeting places where people genuinely knew one another. According to him, social life has become more fleeting. At the same time, he emphasizes that change is inevitable and that it is important not to become trapped in nostalgia but to remain open to new developments.

In the final section, the conversation shifts toward broader life lessons and personal reflections. Guy explains that respect for others is one of the most important values he has taken from his life in Brussels. In his view, everyone carries their own history and reasons for acting as they do, which makes it important not to judge others too quickly. He also reflects on social change, education and living together in a diverse city. Referring to his experiences in the gay rights movement, he recalls how participants in the earliest demonstrations often faced open hostility. Although significant progress has been achieved, he believes mutual respect remains essential. A recurring theme is his ongoing search for self-understanding. He talks about the many courses, studies and creative paths he pursued, ranging from accounting and tourism to theatre and dance. For him, these experiences were ways of discovering who he was. Brussels continually provided opportunities to grow, meet new people and encounter different perspectives. Finally, he criticizes the hurried nature of contemporary society. According to him, many people are constantly occupied, distracted by technology and social expectations, leaving too little time to reflect on themselves and their surroundings. He advocates for greater calm, attention and wonder in everyday life. For him, Saint Nicholas Church symbolizes exactly that: a place where, in the middle of a busy city, one can slow down, reflect and reconnect with oneself.

Annemie recounts how she moved from Glabbeek and Tienen to Brussels to study translation and interpreting at Marie Haps. She chose Spanish partly because her father considered it more internationally useful than Italian. Her daily train journeys to the then small and charming Luxembourg Station were an important part of her student life. Brussels immediately fascinated her: whereas Tienen felt like a quiet provincial town, Brussels seemed vibrant, exciting and full of possibilities. Although her first impression was somewhat affected by pollution and the dark façades typical of the period, this quickly changed as she made friends and settled into city life. Once she was finally allowed to live in student housing, she felt that “the world opened up.” She became deeply involved in student life around Luxembourg Square and spent many evenings in the Marie Haps student bar, often helping behind the counter and participating in its day-to-day activities. She vividly describes student culture at the time, the interactions between Dutch-speaking and French-speaking students, and her first serious romantic relationships. Through a French-speaking student, she significantly improved her French. Looking back, she also reflects critically on attitudes that were common at the time, including discrimination against foreign and Moroccan students, recognising today how problematic these behaviours were. She paints a lively picture of Luxembourg Square and its cafés during the 1970s: simple neighbourhood bars, student gatherings, football evenings, spontaneous encounters and a strong sense of community. Comparing the area with today, she feels that it has become more commercial, more fashionable and increasingly dominated by European institutions. While she appreciates improvements such as cleaner buildings and pedestrian zones, she regrets the loss of some of the square’s former charm and notes the increase in visible social problems such as homelessness and begging.

In this section, Annemie reflects on the financial and personal significance of her student years. She explains how her parents supported her studies despite limited financial means. She supplemented her income by working for a Dutch-speaking medical on-call service and benefited from scholarships and a modest lifestyle that allowed her to remain in Brussels. Looking back, she sees her education as decisive for the rest of her life. Although the economic crisis of the early 1980s made it difficult to find employment after graduation, she eventually succeeded in pursuing her dream career as a translator. She worked for the postal service, in social security-related institutions and later for a health insurance organization. Beyond professional opportunities, Brussels also broadened her horizons and helped her become more open-minded and internationally oriented. A central theme in this part is multilingualism. Annemie speaks passionately about her love of languages, her work as a translator and her belief that languages create connections between people. She discusses her interest in literary translation and her reservations about machine translation technologies. While acknowledging the rapid progress of artificial intelligence, she believes that human interpretation, nuance and cultural understanding remain indispensable. She also reflects on the limited cultural stimulation offered during her studies. Unlike today, students were rarely encouraged to visit museums, theatres or cultural institutions. Looking back, she finds it remarkable that so little interaction existed between Dutch-speaking and French-speaking students despite the bilingual structure of Marie Haps. She considers this a missed opportunity in a city defined by multilingualism and cultural diversity. Finally, she shares her thoughts on the future of Marie Haps and Luxembourg Square. She sees advantages in the institution’s proximity to European institutions but wonders how translator and interpreter training will evolve in response to artificial intelligence and changing educational realities.

From this point onward, Annemie mainly shares personal memories from her student years. She recalls her first love, remembering even today specific scents, places and emotions associated with that period. Luxembourg Square remains deeply connected in her mind to friendships, romance and the intense experiences of early adulthood. She tells colourful anecdotes about fellow students, relationships and café life, often with humour and nostalgia. These stories illustrate how closely connected the student community around Marie Haps was and how important life decisions, friendships and romantic relationships often unfolded in and around the cafés of Luxembourg Square. At the same time, she discusses a more difficult experience from her studies. Despite obtaining strong academic results, she was denied certification as an interpreter because her pronunciation was judged not to conform sufficiently to the linguistic standards expected by the European institutions. She experienced this decision as deeply unfair, especially because her translation work had consistently received excellent evaluations. Although she ultimately graduated as a translator, the experience left a lasting impression and reinforced her critical view of rigid institutional evaluation systems. She links this episode to broader reflections on examinations, diplomas and recruitment procedures, which she believes sometimes place excessive emphasis on formal criteria rather than actual competence. Despite this setback, she went on to build a successful career, confirming her belief that talent cannot always be adequately measured by official systems.

In the final section of the interview, Annemie describes in detail the physical setting of the Marie Haps student bar. She remembers an old building filled with mismatched furniture, a simple wooden bar, limited resources and an improvised style of organization. Despite these modest conditions, it functioned as an important social hub where friendships developed and lasting memories were created. She speaks openly about the often chaotic circumstances: worn infrastructure, cockroaches, basic food and drink options and a management structure largely run by students themselves. According to her, this informal atmosphere was part of the unique charm of student life. She also discusses student initiation rituals of the period. She distinguishes between the relatively harmless Flemish initiations, which mainly aimed to foster social connections, and the much harsher French-speaking initiations, which involved excessive drinking and humiliating challenges. Although she acknowledges that such rituals could create a sense of belonging, she believes some practices went too far and would be better abandoned. The interview concludes with a combination of nostalgia and reflection. Annemie looks back warmly on her student years, which profoundly shaped her personal development, professional career and relationship with Brussels. At the same time, she recognizes how much both the city and the educational landscape have changed since then.

Magda introduces herself as someone with broad artistic interests. She studied architecture in Brussels, worked for many years in the public sector, and developed a passion for fashion, textile arts, lace-making and ceramics. Brussels plays an important role in this creative journey as a constant source of inspiration. She regularly visits exhibitions, workshops and interesting neighbourhoods, often by bicycle or public transport. Not only artworks inspire her, but also buildings, façades, colours, materials and unexpected details in the urban landscape. When describing Brussels, she emphasizes the city's diversity. She enjoys exploring neighbourhoods on foot, from the Dansaert district to Woluwe-Saint-Pierre, constantly discovering new shops, galleries, parks and architectural gems. For her, the charm of Brussels lies not only in famous landmarks such as the Grand Place but especially in the small streets and hidden places that many visitors overlook. Her love for Brussels began during her studies at Sint-Lucas. Although she initially felt somewhat uncomfortable in the city, she quickly discovered its many surprising and beautiful aspects. Architecture assignments and excursions with fellow students led her to hidden courtyards, parks and remarkable neighbourhoods, turning Brussels into a place of ongoing discovery. Over the years, Magda has witnessed many changes in the city. She saw the European Quarter expand, historic buildings disappear and new office complexes emerge. Some neighbourhoods experienced renewal while others, in her view, declined again. She also notes the increase in traffic congestion. Nevertheless, she continues to see Brussels as a vibrant city that is constantly evolving. When reflecting on personal memories, she mainly recalls her student years and her long professional career in Brussels. During lunch breaks she often participated in cultural activities such as concerts, architectural visits and exhibitions, which allowed her to get to know the city in depth. Her main advice to others is simple: go outside, stay curious and explore the city. She also speaks enthusiastically about cultural events she regularly attends, including art and ceramics exhibitions, open gardens and architecture-related activities.

Magda introduces herself as someone with broad artistic interests. She studied architecture in Brussels, worked for many years in the public sector, and developed a passion for fashion, textile arts, lace-making and ceramics. Brussels plays an important role in this creative journey as a constant source of inspiration. She regularly visits exhibitions, workshops and interesting neighbourhoods, often by bicycle or public transport. Not only artworks inspire her, but also buildings, façades, colours, materials and unexpected details in the urban landscape. In the second part of the interview, Magda discusses the atmosphere of Brussels, encounters with other people and her vision for the city's future. She considers Brussels most beautiful on sunny days in spring and summer, when its architecture, parks and public spaces can be fully appreciated. She particularly values green areas such as Josaphat Park, the Ixelles ponds and smaller neighbourhood parks. She believes Brussels offers many opportunities to meet new people, although this requires an active attitude. She herself often starts conversations with gallery owners, artists, shopkeepers and restaurant staff. Based on her experience, many people in Brussels are open to interaction when someone takes the initiative. When discussing the future of Brussels, Magda focuses on integration and social cohesion. She appreciates improvements in cycling infrastructure and mobility but feels that different communities often live alongside each other without much interaction. She expresses concern about social segregation, cultural distance and the formation of isolated residential clusters. In her opinion, greater interaction between different groups would benefit the city. She also points to the stark contrasts between affluent and disadvantaged neighbourhoods and to the presence of poverty in a city that is also the capital of Europe. She considers this one of Brussels' major challenges. While art and architecture can be inspiring, she does not believe they are sufficient on their own to bring people together. Real connection arises when people engage in activities together and genuinely meet one another. As positive examples, she mentions places where people from different backgrounds gather around culture, cooking, creativity and community activities. However, she also acknowledges that participation is often easier for people who already have time, resources and opportunities. At the end of the interview, she describes Brussels as a "large village" filled with warm and welcoming places and countless opportunities. However, people need to be open to what the city has to offer. This is also the message she gives to younger generations: go out, be curious, venture beyond the areas around the main stations and discover the richness of Brussels for yourself.

This interview is part of a project collecting testimonies for a future prison museum. The aim is to make the realities of prison life tangible through the voices of people connected to the prison system, including prisoners, staff members, social workers, and other professionals. Justine reflects on a career entirely dedicated to the prison sector. She first worked in prisoner support services in the Brussels prisons of Saint-Gilles, Forest, and Berkendael, helping incarcerated people with administrative procedures, family contacts, and reintegration planning. She later joined the psychosocial service at Mons Prison before moving into a management role. She describes Mons Prison as an ageing institution facing severe overcrowding. Although its official capacity is around 300 places, the prison houses significantly more people, forcing some prisoners to sleep on mattresses on the floor. In her view, this situation has a major impact on living conditions and interpersonal relationships within the prison. Justine also recalls her first visit to a prison during her criminology studies. The security procedures, locked gates, and growing sense of confinement left a strong impression on her. Although she eventually became accustomed to the environment, she still remembers how striking that first experience was. A substantial part of the interview focuses on her work as a social worker in Brussels prisons. She supported prisoners with practical issues such as housing, healthcare, identity documents, family relationships, and preparation for release. Among the stories she shares is that of a man who, after spending decades in prison, had to adjust to a society that had changed dramatically during his incarceration. She also discusses the challenges of providing social support in overcrowded prisons. Staff shortages, administrative burdens, and organisational difficulties often made it hard to meet prisoners in a timely manner. Delays, cancelled appointments, and limited privacy were recurring obstacles. Finally, Justine speaks about several prisoners who left a lasting impression on her. One story concerns a young undocumented man who felt so hopeless about his future that he built a symbolic cardboard “coffin” in his cell. For Justine, this illustrates the profound effects of isolation, social exclusion, and despair in detention. She also stresses the importance of supporting first-time prisoners, who often enter prison without understanding its culture, rules, and power dynamics.

Justine, a criminologist and former social worker in the Saint-Gilles and Forest prisons in Brussels, discusses the support provided to prisoners preparing for release, the professional boundaries required in prison social work, her understanding of confinement, and her current role within the management team of Mons Prison. She explains how release from prison is prepared and highlights the importance of practical support for reintegration. She recalls former “release kits” containing transport passes, hygiene products and contact information for support services, which helped people leaving prison without resources. She also reflects on the need to maintain professional boundaries while building trust with prisoners. She describes how commuting, discussions with colleagues and supervision sessions helped her process the emotional impact of her work. For her, imprisonment is above all a condition of constant dependency: on prison staff, administrative procedures, family members and judicial decisions. Confinement also entails a loss of autonomy, reduced contact with the outside world and the inability to make one’s own choices. She further discusses her experience as a woman working in a predominantly male prison environment and reflects on differences between men’s and women’s prison settings. Finally, she outlines her current responsibilities within the management team at Mons Prison, including disciplinary procedures, the supervision of internees, institutional management and the organisation of socio-cultural activities. Her previous experience as a social worker continues to shape the way she approaches leadership and decision-making in prison.

The interviewee describes the differences between her professional experiences in the prisons of Forest, Saint-Gilles, and Mons. She explains how working with remand prisoners, sentenced prisoners, and internees requires different approaches depending on their legal status. A significant part of the interview focuses on the deteriorating infrastructure of Mons Prison. Through concrete examples—such as flooding, risks of ceiling collapse, defective doors, bedbug infestations, and inadequate sanitary facilities—she illustrates the difficult conditions faced by both staff and prisoners. At the same time, she emphasizes that despite its poor physical condition, the prison still allows for a great deal of human contact and informal interaction, something she feels is often lost in newer prisons. She also shares her views on the Belgian prison system, which she believes has reached a breaking point due to chronic overcrowding and inadequate infrastructure. She argues for alternatives to imprisonment for certain categories of detainees and advocates greater investment in psychosocial support, education, and reintegration services. Finally, she reflects on the role of a future prison museum. In her view, such a museum should help create a more realistic understanding of imprisonment, challenge common stereotypes about prisons, and preserve the memory of the often inhumane detention conditions of the past.

This conversation was recorded by Pauline Augustyn during her residency at PSC Ixelles. As part of her artistic research on silence, Pauline speaks with Jonathan, a resident of the PSC, about recovery, music, silence, mental health, and the search for one's place in the world. Jonathan reflects on his recovery journey within the PSC following a period of psychiatric care and supported housing. He describes his current situation as a gradual process of rebuilding his life: getting to know himself better, finding meaningful work, and reconnecting with society. For this conversation, he wrote a short text about silence. In it, he portrays silence as an ambivalent experience—sometimes comforting, sometimes burdensome. Silence is not a fixed state for him; it changes according to his mental state, his surroundings, and the events of the day. At times it offers space for reflection, prayer, and self-awareness, while at other moments it can feel oppressive. Music plays a central role in his daily life. During periods of crisis, he relied heavily on music to manage anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and psychological distress. Today, music remains a guiding thread that helps him stay active and gives rhythm and structure to his days. Jonathan also reflects on the idea of absolute silence. In his view, true silence hardly exists. Even in apparently quiet moments there are always thoughts, memories, bodily sensations, or background sounds. Complete silence would even feel frightening, as it would leave him entirely alone with himself. He describes the PSC as a safe environment where he has found support, stability, and opportunities for self-discovery. Through conversations, therapy, reading, and writing, he has learned to better understand his experiences. Silence thus emerges as an important element in recovery, self-knowledge, and rebuilding trust in himself and the future.

This conversation was recorded by Pauline Augustyn during her residency at PSC Ixelles. As part of her artistic research on silence, Pauline speaks with Elias, a resident of the PSC, about music, inner calm, social interaction, and the role of silence in his everyday life. Elias explains that music plays a central role in his life. His passion for music led him to learn guitar as an adult, inspired in part by the band Muse. Music is both a passion and a constant companion in his daily life. He often wears headphones, not to isolate himself from others, but simply because he enjoys listening to music. As the conversation turns to silence, Elias reveals a nuanced relationship with it. Social silences can feel uncomfortable, especially during a date or a conversation where nobody knows what to say. At the same time, there are silences that feel natural and comfortable, such as during a walk or when sharing a space with someone without feeling the need to talk. For Elias, silence is closely linked to rest. On difficult days, he looks forward to the quiet of the evening, when the intensity of the day subsides and he can finally relax. He describes emotionally challenging days as a balloon that gradually fills up throughout the day before slowly deflating at night. Silence becomes a space for relief and recovery. The conversation also touches on mental health. Elias explains that his mind is rarely silent; he is constantly engaged in an inner dialogue and often worries about how other people perceive or judge him. Within the PSC, however, he experiences what he calls a “hopeful calm.” The presence of care, structure, and people to talk to helps ease the noise of his thoughts. Silence therefore emerges not only as the absence of sound, but also as an experience of safety, connection, and healing.

This conversation was recorded by Pauline Augustyn during her residency at PSC Ixelles. As part of an artistic research project on silence, Pauline speaks with a man about his daily habits, languages, art, sound, peace, and the role of silence in his life. The conversation begins lightly, touching on breakfast, a watch, and languages, before gradually developing into a deeper reflection on silence. The interviewee describes himself as a sociable and talkative person who nevertheless has a strong need for silence. For him, silence represents peace, concentration, and space for reflection. He finds it mainly through art, painting, reading, cooking, and natural environments rather than in the city. The discussion also explores how silence is always shaped by context: silence during holidays, while studying or working, in negotiations, or as a collective moment of remembrance. The interviewee sees silence not simply as the absence of sound, but as a particular quality of sound itself — for example, the sounds of nature as opposed to urban noise. He also notes that access to silence has a social and economic dimension: people with greater financial means often have more opportunities to escape noise and seek quieter environments. Pauline and her conversation partner also discuss the title of her project, “A Cloudy Sky Can’t Be Heard.” The title becomes linked to mental health, inner fog, silence, and the possibility of change. Toward the end of the interview, Pauline shares her motivation for the project: to rethink silence as a space of possibilities and new beginnings rather than merely an absence or an ending.

As part of Pauline Augustyn’s residency at PSC Ixelles, she spoke with a participant about the meaning of silence in her life. The conversation reveals a complex and layered relationship with silence, which can offer both protection and challenge. The participant explains how she consciously tries to make more room for silence in her life, both when she is alone and in conversations with others. For her, silence is associated with freedom, self-confidence, and strength. She describes it as a refuge and a form of self-protection, especially during periods when she experiences paranoia. By remaining silent, she tries to avoid saying the wrong thing, hurting others, or being carried away by negative inner voices. At the same time, she speaks about her desire for greater silence within her own mind. She is learning to cope with her inner voices by recognizing them, naming them, and responding to them consciously. Silence thus becomes not only the absence of sound, but also an active practice of self-care and self-awareness. As the opposite of silence, she describes logorrhea: an uncontrollable urge to speak that occurs during euphoric or manic episodes. She experiences these periods as particularly difficult and exhausting. Art plays an important role in this process. Collecting, weaving together, and reusing the words and poems of others functions as a lifeline, a way of gaining some control over the outside world and lifting herself out of depressive states. The conversation also touches on her experiences with isolation. She explains that the silence of a seclusion room is not necessarily unbearable in itself. What makes the experience traumatic is the uncertainty about how long it will last, the lack of explanation, and the absence of transparent communication. During such moments, she used singing—including songs by Nirvana—as a way to ground herself and create meaning, or, as she puts it, “to make magic.” At the end of the conversation, she shares her favourite word: “spleen,” a term referring to a deep and heavy form of melancholy. For her, the word captures something of the emotional complexity that resonates throughout the conversation.

Badria habite le quartier des Marolles depuis 2000-2001 et apprécie particulièrement la tranquillité et la solidarité de sa rue et de son voisinage. Après avoir cessé son travail à l'âge de 52 ans pour de graves problèmes de santé, elle s'est sentie isolée, ses enfants ayant quitté le foyer. Sur les conseils de son médecin, elle s'est tournée vers des associations locales, notamment l'Entr'Aide des Marolles et la Maison de Quartier Querelle, où elle a retrouvé un lien social et un bien-être en participant à diverses activités et ateliers.

Le témoignage de Badria met en lumière le rôle essentiel de la maison de quartier en tant que lieu de vie, d'échange et d'égalité, contrastant avec les problèmes de préjugés et de discrimination qui affectent particulièrement les jeunes dans la société.

Badria partage ses expériences et observations concernant l'entraide communautaire et les initiatives solidaires dans le quartier des Marolles, mettant en lumière le partage culturel à travers la cuisine et l'assistance aux personnes dans le besoin.

Laura est italienne et vit en Belgique depuis 10 ans. Après avoir vécu à Jette, elle est tombée amoureuse du quartier des Marolles, ne souhaitant plus le quitter, malgré un appartement devenu trop petit. Elle traverse la rue de la Querelle "15 fois par jour".
 Elle est très impliquée dans la vie locale et communautaire, notamment le projet théâtre des femmes au Théâtre des Tanneurs, le PCS et le Café l'Or.