The time of reconstruction is the time to see a place anew. The post-disaster reconstruction process is the nexus where politics and society meet to reshape and build a collective future, amidst the rubble of devastation. Following the Lisbon earthquake of 1755, the Marques of Pombal, with authority given by King Jose I, oversaw the complete transformation of Lisbon. In what could be regarded as the first instance of modern urban planning, Pombal redesigned Lisbon as a reflection of new commercial values, with a distinctive grid system that represents the triumph of human reason over cataclysmic nature. Streets were widened, and buildings were made shorter, in order to circumvent damage in future exogenous shocks. In an unprecedented manner, disaster gave birth to a new city – thanks largely to the unopposed power of Pombal, a power not possessed by Christopher Wren after the 1666 fire in London, nor by Goto Shinpei, who sought to rebuild Tokyo after the 1923 earthquake.
The absence of a central figure and the inefficiency of the planning body have complicated the fraught – and highly politicized – reconstruction process following the 2011 Great East Japan earthquake and tsunami. Despite the three years that have elapsed, the rebuilding is still ongoing. While much has been accomplished by volunteer groups, non-profits and local governments, much remains to be done. A reconstruction project is always a series of interrelated processes that disclose the undercurrents of society and deepen existing fissures that plague the nation. Complications regarding land ownership, oppositions to planning projects, and continual delays mean that many survivors are still displaced and without a permanent home. As of April this year, there were 22,095 temporary housing units in the Miyagi Prefecture, and 13,984 provisional housing unites in Iwate; almost half of these are built on private land, which might be reclaimed over the next few years, thus placing more pressure on the municipal government to build permanent housing.
Yet amidst all the difficulties, something new emerges. Of particular interest is the ‘Home-for-All’ (Minna no Ie) project, headed by Japanese architect Toyo Ito, with contributions from Riken Yamamoto, Hiroshi Naito, Kengo Kuma, and Kazuyo Sejima. Unlike other building projects in the stricken area, ‘Home-for-All’ focuses on communal space, or the building of a kind of common hearth around which those afflicted by the disaster might gather to share their stories or support one another. In other words, the project is an attempt to embody in architectural form the ‘disaster utopia’. As of February 2014, nine structures have been completed, with more under way, the newest being a multi-purpose fishermen’s pavilion by Yang Zao. Subsisting on mainly private donations and charity organisations, the contributions made by the project are necessarily small and piecemeal, but the team is able to bypass the convoluted bureaucratic infrastructure, and reach out to the communities directly. A non-profit called Archi+Aid, based at the University of Tohoku, helps to mediate the interactions between the architects, the communities and the local government, and has gone some way towards facilitating the recovery process.
The first structure built for the ‘Home-for-All’ project is a small timber building (showcased in the Japan Pavilion at the 13th Venice Biennale) in the city of Rikuzentakata, created using saltwater-soaked timber salvaged from the wreckage. The public space created as part of the Home-for-All project nurtures a sense of community, even as that community is united through loss. That something new can be made from detritus is significant, signalling the longed-for renewal that follows limpingly the heels of disaster. Rising above the wreckage, the structure is also a reminder of what endures catastrophe.
Crucially, the Home-for-All project is an expression of the architect’s social responsibility. For Ito, disaster calls into question the fundamental meaning of architecture. He explains:
‘In the modern period, architecture has been rated highest for its originality. As a result, the most primal themes—why a building is made and for whom—have been forgotten. A disaster zone, where everything is lost offers the opportunity for us to take a fresh look, from the ground up, at what architecture really is. ‘Home-for-all’ may consist of small buildings, but it calls to the fore the vital question of what form architecture should take in the modern era—even calling into question the most primal themes, the very meaning of architecture.’
Japanese architect Shigeru Ban, known for his humanitarian project, the Cardboard Cathedral, expressed a similar sentiment when he remarked that ‘Architects’ solutions can make a huge difference in society. One area in particular – which may seem unusual given the chaos they cause – is when natural disasters occur’. Through the work of ruination, of ‘un-building’, architecture ironically finds a new meaning, or a mode of renewal.
Much of the complication in the post-3.11 rebuilding process revolved around the problems of community – distrust between neighbors; rising levels of depression; and lack of both private and social space. Ito commented on the ‘grim living conditions’ of the temporary housing units, with crammed spaces and insufficient insulation. ‘Yet’, Ito points out, ‘even under such conditions, people try to smile and make do…. They gather to share and communicate in extreme circumstances – a moving vision of community at its most basic. Likewise, what we see here are very origins of architecture, the minimal shaping of communal spaces’ (Toyo Ito – Forces of Nature published by Princeton Architectural Press). The community, and not the architect’s ambition, is thus the driving force behind the project.
The ‘Home-for-All’ project – like other similar projects such as the Tohoku Rebuilding Program of Architecture for Humanity – reiterates the humanistic claims of sociologist Lewis Mumford, whose writings on architecture and urban life deserve to be re-read, particularly in our era of disasters. Speaking of the idea of ‘architecture as a home for man’, Mumford repeatedly mentions the centrality of the human element in architecture, the primary purpose of which is to improve the human condition. Architecture has a social responsibility, above and beyond fleeting stylistic trends and the demands of the architect’s ego. In a 1968 essay, Mumford writes:
‘This, then, is the task for today and tomorrow: to restore and eventually to elevate even higher than ever before the organic and human components that are now missing in our compulsively dynamic and over-mechanized culture. The time has come for architecture to come back to earth and make a new home for man.’
Photos courtesy of Iwan Baan
Of course, the time of disaster is not only the time to reevaluate architecture, but also to reevaluate the community that the architecture houses. Perhaps it is only in the experience of shared loss following calamitous change that the isolated individuals of our world can gather by the hearth of humanity, to sow the seeds for an emergent, more resilient community composed of mutually-accepting selves. But let us not wait until it is too late – for loss has already occurred, and while our cities become populated by shards of glass and symbols of capitalistic prowess, somewhere in a desolate landscape by a wrecked shore, there is a reminder that rebuilding, with its infinite potential, needs to begin now.