Beyond the veil of ignorance

What would the demolition and construction industry look like if we could start afresh, with the very latest tools and technology at our disposal?

What if you had to design the demolition and construction industry from scratch, without knowing your place within it? You might be a labourer on the ground, a machine operator, an engineer, or even someone affected by noise, dust, or the loss of a historic building. You might be a woman stepping onto a male-dominated site for the first time, or someone with a disability trying to access a training pathway. You might be a migrant worker, a subcontractor, or a local resident living in the shadow of a high-rise demolition.

This is the challenge posed by philosopher John Rawls and his concept of the Veil of Ignorance; a moral thought experiment first proposed in his 1971 book A Theory of Justice. Rawls asked us to imagine designing a fair society without knowing who we would be within it. No knowledge of your race, gender, wealth, skills, or position. Just a blank slate and a fair mind. The idea is simple: if we don’t know our future role, we’re more likely to design systems that are fair to everyone.

So what would the demolition and construction industry look like if we applied Rawls’ veil of ignorance to it?

Let’s be honest: the industry as it exists today wasn’t built with fairness, morality or even modernity in mind. The processes, rules, and hierarchies we still rely on were crafted in a different era: when steam was king, and when safety was an afterthought rather than a foundation. These methodologies were developed before we had autonomous equipment, before drones could scan a building in minutes, before digital twins could simulate every crack and beam, before AI could predict structural failure, and long before the word “inclusion” entered our site inductions.

And yet we cling to those systems like they are somehow sacred.

Contracts are still structured around lowest-price bids. Sites are still managed with paper checklists and ad-hoc communication. Decisions are still made by people who rose through the ranks of a system built on survival of the toughest, not the most thoughtful. Equipment is still procured on brand loyalty and bravado, rather than data-driven efficiency and safety. Women still make up a pitiful percentage of the workforce. And innovation? Too often it's something we showcase at exhibitions but fail to embed in day-to-day operations.

If we stepped behind the veil and imagined we knew nothing of our place in this world, but knew everything about the tools, technologies, and human costs available to us, would we really recreate what we have?

Would we really allow an industry to operate without comprehensive digital document control, where drawings go missing and decisions are made on outdated information? Would we allow workers to enter unstable buildings when remote-controlled machines could do the job safer and faster? Would we structure training around physical strength or stamina when the real requirement today is adaptability and digital literacy? Would we tolerate 12-hour shifts and six-day weeks, knowing what we know about mental health, fatigue, and productivity?

Would we still treat demolition as the destructive sibling of construction - an afterthought - when we know that deconstruction and material recovery are essential to any hope of environmental sustainability?

Behind the veil, would we design an industry that praises loyalty while laying off experienced workers the moment the pipeline dries up? Would we encourage fierce competition between subcontractors, or would we design systems that reward collaboration and shared responsibility? Would we promote leaders based on how loud they shout or how long they’ve been on site, or based on their ability to listen, learn, and lead?

If you didn’t know whether you’d be a CEO or a scaffolder, would you still design an industry where one can’t speak openly to the other?

Would you accept a system that has normalised accidents and fatalities; where people dying at work is seen as the cost of doing business? Would you accept the idea that diversity slows things down, or that new technology is only for flagship projects?

Or would you design something better?

Maybe you’d imagine an industry where safety isn’t a slogan but a starting point. Where planning integrates drone surveys, environmental sensors, and AI-powered risk modelling as standard. Where every site is a connected ecosystem; from digital induction to real-time progress tracking, from predictive maintenance to automated compliance logs.

Maybe you’d design an industry where a 15-year-old girl watching demolition videos on TikTok sees a clear path to a future rather than a wall of sexism and gatekeeping. Where training doesn’t just mean teaching the same skills in a different classroom, but equipping people to thrive in a world of robotics, sustainability targets, and cultural intelligence.

Maybe you'd create workflows that assume electronic document control from day one, rather than relying on “the folder in someone's van.” Maybe digital twins would be the first thing created, not an afterthought or sales pitch. Maybe you'd give workers real input into how sites run; not just toolbox talks designed to tick boxes.

Behind the veil, you wouldn’t just design for efficiency. You’d design for dignity. For resilience. For the possibility that you or your child might be the one swinging the hammer, driving the machine, running the software, or living next to the jobsite.

And maybe, you'd create an industry that future generations don’t just survive, but are proud to join.

Because that’s the point of the veil. It removes entitlement. It forces humility. And in an industry where legacy is often used as a weapon against change - “This is how we’ve always done it” - Rawls gives us permission to stop asking how things were, and start asking how they should be.

So maybe it’s time we stop honouring tradition for tradition’s sake. Maybe it’s time we admit that “the way it’s always been” is a poor excuse for the way things still are. Because behind the veil, sentimentality has no value. Only logic, fairness, and clarity remain. And by that standard, the industry we’ve inherited doesn’t pass the test. It’s time to stop tweaking around the edges of a broken model and start asking the uncomfortable question: if we wouldn’t design it this way today, why the hell are we still running it this way now?