Architects need to think about this important subject. Dystopia is not just a reflection of oppression and injustice, it is about conserving the memory of that oppression and injustice, and of adapting to the new realities that have emerged out of that injustice
By: Zain Mankani
Dystopia refers to a society that is characterized by dehumanizing injustice and oppression. It is the subject of many films (ex. Terry Gilliam’s Brazil) and novels (ex. George Orwell’s 1984) but it is a subject of exploration in the field of architecture as well. In fact, the vision of a dysfunctional society in films like Brazil and Blade Runner, would be incomplete without the dystopian architecture to complement the narrative.
Yet, dystopia is not just about dysfunction and oppression. True, it is almost inevitably a reaction to real or perceived social injustice, but the vision itself may reflect a kind of utopia (an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect) that is seen as an answer to the status quo.
The American Architect, Lebbeus Woods (1940-2012) was envisioning such a utopia in response to the boring and repetitive Modern architecture that was so prevalent at the time, and still is. He used pen and colored pencils to show us an architecture that did not need to be held up against factors like gravity or government. 1
Though Woods had a cult-like following, his work was not always well-received from all quarters. His work focusing on the reconstruction of post-war Sarajevo, for example, was accused of “aestheticizing violence”2 As Woods explained in his blog, this was due to a gross misunderstanding of his work. What in fact he was doing was responding to what he saw as the two main principles of post-war reconstruction: (1) restoring what was lost to its pre-war condition, and (2) demolishing the destroyed buildings to build something entirely new.
What Woods proposed was a third principle: create the new from the damaged old 3. And the reason why he proposed this was that he understood that war changes the reality on the ground, as well as the psyche of the inhabitants of the city, and that these new realities must be reflected in the architecture, rather than trying to erase this new reality in the hope of returning to a past that is now forever lost. ‘And because the new ways of living will not be the same as the old, the reconstruction of old buildings must enable new ways and ideas of living’, he wrote 4. Moreover, since the war also takes a heavy toll on the economy, it makes sense to use whatever of the building stock can be salvaged, rather than tearing it down and rebuilding it anew.
Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that Woods’ work exhibits a distinct, if unusual, architectural aesthetic. One could be forgiven for suggesting that it romanticizes war, though the intention is to not forget it, rather than to remember and pine for it.
Today, generative AI can be used to develop more detailed visions of what such an architecture, built up on the ruins of a war-torn city, could look like. An architecture that takes up the very instruments of its destruction – the tanks and fighter planes – to create a new language and new forms of habitable space.
It is not only war that destroys, but also government apathy, neglect, and tyranny. It is not only war that eats into development funds, but also corruption and misplaced priorities. A city like Karachi is victim to such apathy, neglect and corruption that leads to paucity of funds. The government machinery is quick to destroy settlements and evict marginalized communities, but slow or unwilling to rebuild and rehabilitate. Very often, people are left to fend for themselves. They make do with whatever resources they have to patch up their demolished lives and go on living – sometimes for years or decades.
Should the reconstruction, whenever and however it happens, seek to erase the past suffering of the people? Should it allow us to forget the eviction followed by years of homelessness or living in a state of transition? Or should the architectural language testify to the resilience and resourcefulness of the people? To their passion to go on with their lives in spite of the odds?
What would the architecture language of a future Karachi, rising up out of its own ashes like a phoenix, look like? What would be the new forms that a community of evicted and displaced inhabitants come up with? Or how would a people, forced to live in partially demolished houses next to ruptured infrastructure that a financially and morally bankrupt government refuses to rebuild, reconstruct their houses, their neighborhoods, their lives, with the meager resources at their disposal?
Architects need to think about this important subject. Dystopia is not just a reflection of oppression and injustice, it is about conserving the memory of that oppression and injustice, and of adapting to the new realities that have emerged out of that injustice. It is about keeping alive the memory of social injustice and transferring that memory in concrete form to the future generations, who must be prepared to react to similar injustices. And finally, it is also about conservation of resources. An architectural language of conservation that would enable the inhabitants to do much with the resources available with them, rather than waiting for the government to intervene and right the wrongs committed by it – a wait that could very well last their entire lives.
References
1 Lebbeus Woods: The Architect Who Dared to Ask ‘What If?’, Wired, February 15, 2013. https://www.wired.com/2013/02/lebbeus-woods-conceptual-architect
2 War and Architecture: Three Principles, Lebbeus Woods Blog, December 15, 2011. https://lebbeuswoods.wordpress.com/2011/12/15/war-and-architecture-three-principles
3 Ibid.
4 Ibid.
