Last week the Financial Times published an article in which the celebrated architect Sir David Adjaye, winner of the 2021 Royal Gold Medal for architecture, once described by Barack Obama as “genius, pure and simple”, was accused by three women formerly employed by him of sexual assault, sexual harassment and a toxic work culture in his practice. Adjaye has denied the more serious allegations, while saying that he was “deeply sorry” for blurring professional boundaries through what he called “entirely consensual” relationships. He would, he said, be “immediately seeking professional help in order to learn from these mistakes”. It is beyond the scope of this article to adjudicate the merits of Adjaye’s defence, but the FT report, if true, is horrifying. Its authors say they have been working on it “for the past year”, and they describe in detail alleged events that would have been devastating to the victims. It takes great courage to talk about such experiences. The allegations are also heartbreaking. Adjaye, the most prominent black architect in the world, was – as a number of architects have said to me in the last few days – a role model. He “has been a source of pride to many”, said one, “there is a sense of shock and loss”. But it is certain that, whether or not Adjaye is guilty of the full array of crimes and misconduct of which he is accused, he would not be alone in his profession to face accusations. In 2018 the US architect Richard Meier resigned from his practice after the New York Times reported allegations of assault and abuse from a total of nine women. In the same year, a crowdsourced spreadsheet called “Shitty Architecture Men” circulated on the internet, featuring serious if unverified allegations against some of the best-known names in the field. The list, said the architect who started it, “allowed women the space to say, ‘I’m not the only one who’s had something weird happen to me’”. “Are you that surprised?” was the reaction of one leading architect, who didn’t want her name published, to the Adjaye allegations. “Our industry is very, very exploitative.” “He wouldn’t be the only one, we know that,” claimed a younger practitioner. Both argue that sexual assault does not happen in isolation, but is at the extreme end of a spectrum of abusive practices that arise in some work practices that include poor working conditions, minimal provision for maternity leave and the demands of childcare, long hours and low pay. This culture starts at schools of architecture. Students are (or have been until recently) invited to admire and emulate heroes living and dead, geniuses who often sacrificed their wellbeing and that of those close to them, as well as such things as the comfort, happiness and finances of their clients, to achieve their masterpieces. The practice of working through the night to complete a presentation is widespread. There’s a myth, says Sarah Akigbogun, London-based architect and founder of the research project Female Architects of Colour, “that great architecture cannot be produced without sleep deprivation”. A central feature of architectural education is the “crit” or “review” in which a young person stands in front of a panel of their teachers and external experts, as well as their own peers, and defends their work against potentially humiliating criticism. With the help of such practices, schools of architecture can generate structures of fear and control. Last year’s revelations of bullying, sexism and alleged racism at the Bartlett, part of University College London, were no surprise to those who know this world. Such patterns continue into practice. Employees in many firms are expected to work long unpaid hours, including all-night stints. Pay is generally low, and in some practices worse for women and people of colour. The cult of the hero persists – it is considered desirable, and good for your CV, to work for practices that carry the name of a single architectural star. Architecture is a collaborative business, requiring architects to work with each other and with other consultants and contractors, yet in education and practice there is a disproportionate emphasis on individual brilliance. Media and clients sometimes abet these attitudes, respectively promoting the idea of “iconic” architecture and making excessive demands of architects that get passed on to their employees. The writer and editor Christine Murray, founder of the Women in Architecture awards, says “the figurehead is able to be in a predatory position”, thanks to the vulnerability and precarity of staff, combined with the glorification of the big name. Celebrity “fuels the notion that you’re invincible”, as another female architect puts it. It has become clear that abuses are liable to arise in many fields: in entertainment, for example, in the financial industry, in journalism, in politics and in churches. Architecture is no different in that respect, but the notion of the great creator gives a particular character and force to its imbalances of power. I have heard architects defend the old ways – that the aggressive aspects of the crit form an essential part of toughening students up for the hard world they will enter, that the glorious creations of arrogant superheroes justify their imperfect treatment of others. But students should surely be trained for collaboration more than confrontation. And, even if you accept the false premise that the creation of masterpieces requires the crushing of others, architecture is involved with more pressing environmental and social concerns. “Architecture needs to move beyond the genius culture,” as Akigbogun puts it. “The problems we need to solve call for more than iconic architecture.” She, and others I have spoken to, do at least see signs of improvement. Crits, for example, are becoming “more constructive”. Whereas once, claims Murray, “education and early practice were places where sexual assault was par for the course”, it is “really progress” that people are now coming forward. If any good can come from the reports, if true, about Adjaye, it would be the acceleration of that progress. Rowan Moore is architecture critic of the Observer