Letter from one architecture student to another in the wake of a difficult election.
The entire course of this election process, from laughing at various characters during the primaries to the unexpected shock of a Tuesday night spent watching states that seemed so certain change from blue to red, exposes perhaps the scariest truth of it all — none of us sensed the changes to come in the initial line-up of candidates. Donald Trump was a joke, and now nobody’s laughing.
I don’t intend to spend the length of this article explaining my political concerns regarding the election. Let it go on record that I am scared. I directly oppose most of what our new president hopes to achieve in his 100 Day Plan. I am shocked that so much of America would support, or even simply condone, the hateful language of his campaign. I cannot bring myself to believe that this is always done in hate or in greed; supporters do turn to Trump in hope of better lives, a vague notion that everyone always seems to agree upon. Yet there are certain values I could never concede and many arguments I do not believe, so I stand wholeheartedly opposed to the America that Trump proposes, even if it might seem “great” to some.
There is, of course, part of me that wants to quit studying architecture and pick up a degree in political science instead. The election has brought about a deep and urgent call to make some difference, although once I begin to develop a concrete strategy, I realize so quickly that not only do I have no clue of the subtle workings of government, but I also have no interest in the realities of political work. As passionate as I might be, I know that I am no politician.
So, the next question becomes, what do I do? To answer this, I believe we have to turn to some speculative cultural theory. Trump’s precipitant presidency means something. It is naïve to dismiss nearly fifty percent of the population as cruel or idiotic. The election signifies a greater shift in cultural values; a shift that I believe aligns with global struggles as well.
Trump’s election supports isolationism. After years of US involvement of wars abroad, after years of outsourced jobs, US citizens seem to think they would be better off left alone. Americans want to put Americans first, to fix problems at home before problems abroad. In theory, the idea seems attractive. The US could become a giant capitalist Switzerland supported by its own internal trading, and thus not affected by the problems of other people in the world.
The doctrine falls apart with the word “other.” Isolationism is a policy with only two categories, “us” and “them.” In isolating ourselves, we are also automatically isolating everyone else. We are withdrawing from international treaties, we are closing our borders, we are saturating our culture with a constant need to define the “other” (immigrants, Muslims, LGBTQ, et cetera) and expel any threat of infiltration. A policy that seems promising in concept proves extremely problematic in execution. Of course, the idea isn’t new, but the willingness to embrace it and all of its consequences to the extreme of electing Donald Trump signifies that in some hypothetical sine curve of isolationism in America over time, we are in a peak like we haven’t seen in recent history.
Architecture is not exempt from its effects. The discipline of architecture shifts between building walls and building spaces. Architects can either embrace isolationism or reject it, and while cultural trends might manifest differently in politics than in architecture, it is myopic to overlook this simply because there are fewer direct offenses.
The discipline of architecture is for people. I don’t mean this to be interpreted simplistically — architectural projects must not always be inhabited or inhabitable to be contributing to humanity. Cultural objects are just as valid; architecture can act both as an art and as a building. I also would never claim that disciplinary conversations that are indecipherable to the common public are invaluable, for the richness they supply allows architecture to tackle cultural pursuits more expansively. Rather, I mean to remind that architecture in its various forms and practices is always both influenced by humanity and influencing it, and it is important to be aware of both the associated potentials and the associated risks.
In architecture, we have a real chance to make a difference, without becoming politicians. Projects we pursue can speak out against isolationism, or can minimally be critical of their intents to be certain that they do not imply an “other.” I am skeptical of any claim that architecture in itself is the solution to social problems, but becoming aware of the extensive implications of any cultural biases would certainly be helpful more than harmful. I would be grateful for even the smallest victories that might come from inclusive architecture.
Of course, I am well aware that entering the professional world will present challenges; that architecture is dependent upon its patrons, and often those patrons represent a select few. Ultimately, though, any projects can be imbued with grander purposes, and sometimes systems are more easily influenced from within than from without. In the same way that we learn to work creatively within conditions of site, let us be critical and creative in how we deal with conditions of culture.
I intend to remain vague in this letter because I believe that there are many ways of accomplishing the cultural changes I hope architects can forward, and because my biggest imperative is to channel the energy stirred by the election results into something that can have productive influence on the world. I want to encourage all students, including myself, to be more critical of how contemporary practice might have been prey to the same social conditions that allowed the election of Donald Trump, and to strive toward new methods of design that might influence change.
And don’t give up. Never, ever, give up. We cannot ever measure our work solely in statistics, in the same way that a soup kitchen does not give up when they can only feed a small percentage of the millions of starving people in the world. Things that are not significant in the computers can still drastically change the lives of individuals. This vague space is where the art of architecture becomes important — where the ideals of design that you fight for are relevant, where the words you say might resonate with someone you are speaking to. Even the smallest ripple will travel somewhere.
So, please, while we are still in school: challenge the cultural context we are given, and I will try my best to do the same.
