New Yorkers Look to the Skyline

Since the start of the process to select a proposal for rebuilding the World Trade Center (WTC) site, the public has been captivated by the various schemes put forth by competing teams. Public interest in architecture has rarely, if ever, been so acute. What is most fascinating is the degree to which the public has been captivated by the varied architectural proposals. Suddenly—and without precedent—public opinion seemed to be championing avant-garde architecture.

On Feb. 4, two finalists, the firm of Daniel Libeskind and the THINK team, led by Frederic Schwartz, Rafael Viñoly, Ken Smith and Shigeru Ban, were chosen, amid calls for a novel structure that would be a rejoinder, a memorial, a monument—a symbol and functional buildings and planning strategy. It is far from clear whether either of these proposals will ever be realized; what is apparent is that any plan must reckon with complex, and sometimes contradictory, public feelings about appropriate future uses of the site.

The WTC was targeted for destruction because of what it represented—capitalism, free trade, material wealth, greed, power and even the secular, democratic way of life. The attacks represented a clash of civilizations, yet the terrorists struck at progressive society with products of its own technological sophistication. The deaths of thousands of innocent citizens going about their workday routines helped to elevate this disaster to mythic stature. Who could have conceived of being attacked while making photocopies in a normal office environment? This tragedy stripped away the fragile veneer of security and stability from our daily lives.

Left without the potent and familiar twin silhouette, everyone resolved to recover from the physical and emotional trauma, even as the greater question loomed: “Why did this take place, and what is it all about?” Addressing this question is fundamental to understanding the emphasis on spectacle—extreme nostalgia, extreme lament, extreme rationalism, extreme height—seen so far in the proposals for rebuilding the World Trade Center site.

Never before was hatred of the United States so clearly understood as a realistic threat to the everyday lives of citizens. And unlike other tragedies, the impact did not end with the event itself; this week, we face the haunting legacy of Sept. 11 in the form of a new war and new terrorist threats to New York. Such a remarkable situation cannot possibly be contained neatly within a traditional package of tame buildings or a static memorial.

Other cities in the recent past have experienced large-scale destruction—Berlin, Beirut, Kobe and Sarajevo, are prominent examples. The focus for these cities has been on reconstruction to restore normalcy after war or natural disaster. Yet for the WTC site, renewal and reconstruction efforts are clearly not enough. Overwhelmingly, the public wants to see something big, glittery, soaring, and perhaps even beautiful, to replace the iconic twin towers, which have assumed the qualities of monument even in their afterlives.

It is ironic that the office building—the most banal building type in the entire history of architecture—has been elevated to a status comparable to that of a cathedral.

In the days after the attack, the global media unwittingly became the terrorists’ agent by relentlessly replaying images of their crimes, reinforcing the message of intimidation. As an antidote, the public is craving a restorative vision, a larger-than-life talisman to avert evil. The two finalist schemes are both highly symbolic—somewhat monumental, but also fragmented and skeletal; they represent more of an infrastructure than a monolithic building. But what do they symbolize? The act of destruction? Or are they symbols of renewal?

Vigorous debate will continue about the true meaning of a symbol, the proper definition of a monument, and the appropriate significance of a memorial. Associate Professor of Architecture and Urban Design Richard M. Sommer has called the entire process “a form of public therapy.” It is also a form of requiem, New York-style. It is loud and shrill and full of invective as well as praise.

However laden with multiple meanings, the high-profile selection process has sharpened public perception of the larger role architecture can play within the public realm at an important civic moment. Many architects, however, are concerned about the unintended consequences of this intensive media coverage. If architects are seen merely as a new kind of celebrity, architecture will be just another temporary form of public entertainment. The spectacle will continue while financial interest starts to cast a cynical shadow.

At its best, architecture serves the public by providing more than just shelter; architects’ creations become a large screen on which to project the wishes of the populace. But architecture has not taken up such a heroic cause for a long time. This time it may not meet with total success, yet it is ultimately capable of filling this role.

Cities are built upon layers of destruction, and construction takes place as we constantly re-evaluate our needs and desires. Great cities are founded upon the grand aspirations of their citizens. In giving constructive imagination to the public, architects fuel speculation as to the very future of civilization, and offer one of the most powerful weapons to counter the covert forces of destruction that surround us.

Toshiko Mori is Robert P. Hubbard Professor in the Practice of Architecture and chair of the Department of Architecture at the Graduate School of Design. She is also a panelist for the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation, which reviewed proposals for the World Trade Center site.