THE MASSACRE OF SOULS: AN ARCHITECT'S EULOGY
A gleaming mass of steel, concrete and glass, stands in front of me. Its majestic height soars into the sky, creating ripples of pride in my soul. My heart sings out to the ingenuity of the designer who conceptualized the building, the builder who built it, and the innumerable people who made that vision possible. People spend their entire lives searching infernal hellholes for a promise of spirituality. They expend lifetimes lusting after a vision of greatness that can best be described as inexplicable, or at the most supernatural. I want to cry out to every pilgrim who embarks on that odyssey... I want him to stand in front of a skyscraper, and pay his tribute to man's greatest achievement. It is the product of his own desire, the intellectual property that is naturally protected against plagiarism.
Of what use is air, if it but chokes us; of what use is space if it merely envelopes us; of what use is a mind if it simply rots away in the sunshine. A building is born out of an essential desire of man to conquer space, and to manipulate it to be of servitude to his fellowmen. And it is the destruction of this great achievement that has to be mourned in its highest degree. There is none more shocking than the destruction of the 110-story high world trade center that housed the prime nerve center of the global economy. In stark terms, it is a massacre... the sanctity of human life snatched away forcibly. In varying tones of gray, you find the attack on capitalism, and a more pressing attack on the free man... in other words on democracy.
The process of birth itself is an epitome of hope... the renewal of the circle of life, so intrinsically woven into the ecosystem of the universe. Ironically enough, with the miracle of birth comes the tragedy of death; with the idealism of creation comes the horror of destruction. Each one is synonymous with the other, fuelling the age-old precept that life manifests itself in dualities. But just as creation floods our senses with ecstasy, destruction throws us back into a state of mourning. And it is in this solemn moment, that we can even dare to acknowledge the devastation wrecked in one moment of sheer insanity. A building is not just a shell of brick and concrete but an organism that breathes life into itself, and it's occupants. And if the destruction of this building is analyzed on many levels, it speaks a sorry tale of human brutality... the amalgamation of hatred and power in its cruelest form. What one fails to fathom is how people can do this in the name of religion. How can one fanatic extremist topple the economy and morale of an entire nation, and perhaps the world in one horrifying instant frozen forever in time?
The architect of the world trade center, Minoru Yamasaki said in context to his building, "there are very few influential architects who sincerely believe that all buildings must be 'strong'. The word in this context seems to connote powerful-that is, each building should be a monument to the virility of our society." This statement brings me back to the sheer irony of life. When he conceived and built this building, he would've thought it was invincible. But, like the dreams and bodies of those killed inside, it lays mangled and distorted never to see the light of day again. I've been to that monument, gazed at the entire city from the top, and I fell in love with the building, and the mind of the man who conceived it. This feels like a ruthless massacre... the demolition of concrete and steel to wipe out a legacy.
I mourn for it like I would mourn for a best friend... it is in so many ways more painful than losing someone you love. I don't know if anyone else could feel or even try to comprehend what I'm feeling... sounds rather melodramatic even. But then to someone who dreams of being a builder, every destruction is a stab to his own soul... a monument frozen in the depths of his heart...echoing yet another voice lost to the collective madness.
Of what use is air, if it but chokes us; of what use is space if it merely envelopes us; of what use is a mind if it simply rots away in the sunshine. A building is born out of an essential desire of man to conquer space, and to manipulate it to be of servitude to his fellowmen. And it is the destruction of this great achievement that has to be mourned in its highest degree. There is none more shocking than the destruction of the 110-story high world trade center that housed the prime nerve center of the global economy. In stark terms, it is a massacre... the sanctity of human life snatched away forcibly. In varying tones of gray, you find the attack on capitalism, and a more pressing attack on the free man... in other words on democracy.
The process of birth itself is an epitome of hope... the renewal of the circle of life, so intrinsically woven into the ecosystem of the universe. Ironically enough, with the miracle of birth comes the tragedy of death; with the idealism of creation comes the horror of destruction. Each one is synonymous with the other, fuelling the age-old precept that life manifests itself in dualities. But just as creation floods our senses with ecstasy, destruction throws us back into a state of mourning. And it is in this solemn moment, that we can even dare to acknowledge the devastation wrecked in one moment of sheer insanity. A building is not just a shell of brick and concrete but an organism that breathes life into itself, and it's occupants. And if the destruction of this building is analyzed on many levels, it speaks a sorry tale of human brutality... the amalgamation of hatred and power in its cruelest form. What one fails to fathom is how people can do this in the name of religion. How can one fanatic extremist topple the economy and morale of an entire nation, and perhaps the world in one horrifying instant frozen forever in time?
The architect of the world trade center, Minoru Yamasaki said in context to his building, "there are very few influential architects who sincerely believe that all buildings must be 'strong'. The word in this context seems to connote powerful-that is, each building should be a monument to the virility of our society." This statement brings me back to the sheer irony of life. When he conceived and built this building, he would've thought it was invincible. But, like the dreams and bodies of those killed inside, it lays mangled and distorted never to see the light of day again. I've been to that monument, gazed at the entire city from the top, and I fell in love with the building, and the mind of the man who conceived it. This feels like a ruthless massacre... the demolition of concrete and steel to wipe out a legacy.
I mourn for it like I would mourn for a best friend... it is in so many ways more painful than losing someone you love. I don't know if anyone else could feel or even try to comprehend what I'm feeling... sounds rather melodramatic even. But then to someone who dreams of being a builder, every destruction is a stab to his own soul... a monument frozen in the depths of his heart...echoing yet another voice lost to the collective madness.
posted by Farzana Kader at 5:43 PM
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