The definition of ‘Filipino architecture’ has been in the forefront of critical debate since the last century. The more controversial of contentions was that ‘Filipino architecture’ was, in of itself, a non-existent construct and a mere illusion to prop up the nationalist fantasy. Being perennially subject to some colonizing force or prevailing global trend, logic would conclude that architecture in the Philippines could never be considered purely Filipino.
As a matter of course, the more semantically-sensitive of scholars would utter such themes as ‘architecture in the Philippines during the Spanish Period’ or ‘modern architecture in the Philippines’. They perhaps surmise that these are more precise topical headings in the discussion of architecture in the country, as it first geographically sites the subject matter within the Philippines, and then frames it within a specific time period in the nation’s history. This adopted convention however, left certain doubts on whether physical and temporal placements were the sole determinants of an architecture’s origins. Further scholarly pursuit reveals that the course of alleviating such doubts is not in the search of a nation’s architectural ‘ground zero’, but is, in fact, in the laying of foundations for progressive thought. Espasyo: The Journal of Philippine Architecture and Allied Arts is prime evidence of this new elevated and discursive frame of contemplation. It is a peer-reviewed journal created under the auspices of the National Committee on Architecture and the Allied Arts of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA). Translated, espasyo is ‘space’, or that which is within grasp of our senses, perceptions and ruminations. Reflective of the meaning of the word, the journal Espasyo encompasses a myriad of possibilities in architectural discussion, including: design; history, theory and criticism; teaching and pedagogy; design process and methods; building and material science; environment and behavior; visual communication; design computing and cognition; urban design and community architecture; and, environmental technology. This maiden issue of Espasyo contains reviews and articles that delve into diversified avenues of inquiry, revealing the nuances and the prospects in the modes of production of Filipino space. The variable avenues of discussion employed by the contributors to this journal provide an extensive view, almost stretching across two polar ends of an architectural spectrum, allowing readers to determine for themselves the interconnectedness of issues despite the apparent differences in assertion, ideological assertions and methods of inquiry. For one, Ozaeta’s “Spatial Cognition in Architectural Design Education” expostulates that the “required topical content of the design courses in the required standard architectural curriculum ... reveals a Modernist frame where architecture is merely seen and produced as an ingenious container for human activity.” He laments that “[t]he unconscious notion that architecture is a physical object devoid of the reality that it also, and more importantly, involves human experience in the movement through its interior spaces has been set, it seems, in [architecture students’] freshman year and has taken root as a mental habit. The prevalence of such a habit, if not checked, can thus be easily seen to result in later designs which may be supreme in physical form, but disabled in experiential space.” The present historical moment may indeed be a sad dilution of the apparent original agenda of Modernism, which is far from how it was appropriated in the aftermath of a colonial social order in the Philippines as Cabalfin expounds in his discussion entitled “The Other’s Other: Self-Exoticism and National Identity in Post-Colonial Philippine Architectures, 1946-1998”. He writes that “.. modern architecture in the post-colonial setting thus becomes sites of experimenting with modernity, or at least different notions of what it means to be modern. In this particular time period, the government and the private sector not only used modern architecture to project a modern and progressive nation, but more importantly, the architectures became sites for the search of a national identity. In the process of using modern architecture to define and configure a national identity, the architecture appropriated and derived designs, ideas and concepts from indigenous Philippine cultural communities.” Emanating from the same post-colonial rhizome, Duque in her review of the “10th Conference of the Documentation and Conservation of buildings, sites and neighbourhoods of the Modern Movement,” or DOCOMOMO asserts that: “...it is impossible to save the legacy of the Modern


Movement [in the Philippines] in isolation without having established the reason(s) this heritage is even significant. Determining ‘outstanding universal value’ requires enormous and cumulative investment of time, financial and intellectual resources from various agents - individual and institutional, private and state, local and international.” As illustrated by these articles, readers will likely find themselves compelled to partake of all that Espasyo has to offer, not only as a germinal source of information, but also as a means to stimulate the mind towards critical architectural inquiry. As further examples, such discussions on the architecture of colonial presence, as expounded by Lico in his article “Building the Imperial Imagination: The Politics of American Colonial Urbanism and Architecture in Manila,” or the straight-forward applications found in “Sustainability through Parks and Open Spaces” by Galingan for sound and safe environments in public open spaces in urban areas, can suggest patterns of thinking that can permeate into practice and pedagogy among colleagues in the field. Leafing through Espasyo, one will likely find deeper appreciation of space as a construct of experience, as a confluence of sensory stimuli, perceptions and even collective memory. Strong familial ties and economic enterprise are manifested in Zambrano’s “Rising Core House.” The “...practice of depicting, seeing, experiencing, and/or doing porn as a ‘presencing’, a productive existence of otherwise suppressed social and sexed (thus erotogenic) spaces” are discussed in Cañete’s exploration of “Sexscapes:The Spaces of Philippine Pornography.” The means of preserving the academic environment in universities are suggested in the journal entry of Araneta entitled “The University Experience In An Urban University: Preserving the Academic Environment in the University of the Philippines in Diliman,” as well as in Sarthou’s “Transferring the UPIS High School: A Case for Campus Modernization and More Effective Land Utilization.” Espasyo also gives a quick-view of the latest literature that have been intentionally written to break open the innuendos and complexities of Philippine space across the country’s history. The reviews “Arkitekturang Filipino: A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Philippines” by Lico, and “The Im-

perial Tapestry: American Colonial Architecture in the Philippines” by Alarcon expose the new terrains of architectural historiography, as well as the conscious and unconscious discriminations that the authors employed in documentation and criticism. Espasyo also contains reviews of exhibitions showcasing the more interactive modes of knowledge-sharing in the field of spatial design. Concisely described in these reviews, the exhibitions “Building Modernity: A Century of Philippine Architecture and Allied Arts” and “Pa[ng]labas, Architecture + Cinema: Project of Filipino Space in Film”, among others have proven to be successful ventures in the proactive assimilation of architectural knowledge among practitioners and enthusiasts alike. Space can only be truly appreciated when people are able to traverse it, absorb it, feel it ultimately, becoming a site of lived life. Through our senses comes a level of perception and understanding. Our understanding is enhanced by our knowledge and our memory. This engaging process creates experiences that enrich our lives. This first issue of Espasyo, is expected to be the starting catalyst among scholars and hard-core designers to consciously and deliberately contribute to the body of architectural knowledge, armed with the conviction that it is space which surrounds and permeates our collective being. It is also hoped that Espasyo shall fill the void by providing a comprehensive understanding of a field that touches so many lives on so many levels. Lastly, It is with faith that Espasyo will give both the passionate and the technicallyadept a more enlightened awareness of Filipino space in all its intangible presence, discourse potential and visceral splendor.




The Other’s Other:
Edson Cabalfin is a Ph.D candidate in the History of Architecture and Urbanism Program at Cornell University. He was formerly a Fulbright Fellow at the University of Cincinnati where he received his M.S. in Architecture degree in 2003. Prior to coming to the U.S., he received his B.S. Architecture and Master of Architecture degrees from the University of the Philippines in 1996 and 2001 respectively.

Self-Exoticism and National Identity in Post-Colonial Philippine Architectures, 1946-1998

Using Philippine architecture as a case study, this paper attempts to illustrate how a marginalized national culture creates its own “other” culture as a way of legitimizing its identity and as a mode of participating in the international architectural discourse. The paper poses the following questions: How does the national rhetoric facilitate self-exoticizing tendencies in the representation of Philippine identities? How does modern architecture participate in this self-exoticism? How does the post-colonial Philippine architecture culture create for itself an internal “other”? The study concentrates on governmentsponsored and privately commissioned architectures built within and outside the Philippines from 1946 to 1998. Institutional buildings, recreational facilities, residences and exhibition pavilions are examined here.

presentation. Thus, developing countries such as the Philippines continue to be regarded as a peripheral phenomenon to an otherwise European-American modernity. The history of modern architecture in these countries will always be considered as derivative discourses, as inferior copies and as the “other” if we continue to argue that modernism in architecture is essentially a European occurrence. While the center-periphery dialogue that takes place on the international scale is already disturbing, the process of how a marginalized society reproduces the same cultural othering on the local level is equally problematic. Using examples of Philippine architectures built between 1946 and 1998 as a case study, this paper attempts to provisionally illustrate how a marginalized national culture creates its own internal “other” as a way to legitimize its national identity in the international stage. Through self-exoticism, or the process by which a nation represents itself as exotic to a larger audience, the post-colonial nation conjures a fictive image of the country as culturally distinct and unique. This paper poses the following questions: How does nationalism facilitate self-exoticizing tendencies in the representation of Philippine identities? How does modern architecture participate in this self-exoticism? How does the post-colonial Philippine culture create for itself an internal “other”? I argue here that while post-colonial cultures, such as the Philippines, struggle to deal with their post-colonial situation by repudiating its colonial past using modern architecture, the same decolonization proc-

The writing of the history of modern architecture even until today has remained to be largely Eurocentric in its


ess in fact recreates and reproduces the same “othering” within the national culture. Modern architecture is thus understood here as both an instrument of decolonization and at the same time, an apparatus of cultural marginalization.

did not necessarily coincide with the de facto culture was subsequently exoticized.

Nationalism, Modern Architecture and the Exotic Other
Nationalism, as historian Anthony Smith (1971) argues, requires that the world be divided into discrete and unique nations, each contributing its special genius to what he calls the “common fund of humanity.” This implies that nations, to be accepted into the international community of free nations, would have to demonstrate this special genius. Culture oftentimes becomes the clear manifestation of this genius where nations prove their distinctiveness and uniqueness. In architecture, this often translates to the presentation of an architectural tradition that is visually distinct from one culture to another. Thus, when one says, for example, “Japanese architecture,” one should be able to conjure an image of easily recognizable characteristics (such as shoji screens, tatami mats and torii gateways), different from, let us say, German or Italian architecture. Filipino architecture, according to this rule, should not resemble any other form to be accepted to this pantheon of world architectures. But what does it really mean when we identify the “Japanese-ness” or “German-ness” of architecture in the first place? Similarly, what does it mean when we have “Filipino Architecture” in this sense? Because of this imperative to define a nation’s uniqueness, indigenous cultural traditions often become the fountainhead of national distinctiveness. Perceived as authentic and essential sources, indigenous cultural traditions are mined towards establishing a national culture. But this turn towards the indigenous is not necessarily a neutral appropriation of culture. Unfortunately, at times, nationalism fosters self-exoticism because of this need to define the difference between countries. The nationalist program and rhetoric valorize the indigenous to the point of exoticizing it in order to prove the nation’s unique contribution to the world cultural heritage. Furthermore, as geo-political boundaries do not necessarily coincide with cultural distinctions, there will definitely be overlaps and sharing of cultural traditions between nations. How then do we define a nation’s special genius if, in reality, the indigenous traditions are not exclusive to that nation? In the Philippines, we see this referencing to indigenous cultural traditions through the appropriation of forms, ideas, concepts and visual imagery in modern architecture. The National Arts Center in Mount Makiling in Laguna, built under the auspices of First Lady Imelda Marcos, was designed by Leandro Locsin in 1976 to house the specialized national high school for the arts (Polites, 1977). The dramatic pyramidal form of the main theater, which overlooks the bay of Laguna, reclaims the traditional roof forms of the northern regions of the Philippines. With its steep galvanized iron roof slopes grounded by eight large concrete piers, the theater recalls the sheltering quality of Philippine ver-

The Philippines and the Post-colonial Experience
The Philippines, a country whose very name was given by Spanish colonizers as homage to crown prince Phillip II of Spain in the 16th century, has undergone a long and arduous colonial experience. Described by some historians as being in the catholic convent for 330 years, referring to the Spanish-colonial rule from the 1570s to the 1890s, and afterwards in Hollywood for 50 years, depicting the American-colonial presence from the 1890s to 1946, the Philippines’ history and current identity as a nation is inextricably intertwined with its former colonial masters. Declaring independence from the United States in 1946, the new republic was faced with the challenge to build a nation from the ravages of World War II and, at the same time, to create a cohesive national culture that can truly be called Filipino. Post-colonial efforts in cultural regeneration focused on the search for what was thought as an authentic Filipino identity. This meant the reclaiming of a distant past, particularly pre-colonial history, as a legitimate source of the nation’s cultural identity. In this sense, the postcolonial was equated with the anti-colonial. Historians reconfigured the history of the republic towards a nativist-oriented approach, which highlighted the point-ofview of the Filipino people versus that of the colonizers (Navarro, Rodriguez and Villan, 1997). In the arts, there was resurgence in interest in folk literature, visual arts, music, and dance where indigenous traditions were given prominence (Tiongson, ed. 1994). The government supported research and documentation of dying vernacular languages, oral histories, obscure musical traditions and unknown artistic forms during this period (Lico, 2003). Cultural administrators, planners, artists and scholars valorized the cultures of the different ethno-linguistic groups of the Philippines as the genuine pre-colonial sources of national culture. But identifying this national culture has not been an easy path, as the Philippines is culturally diverse. Even up to today, experts have not exactly pinpointed how many ethno-linguistic groups are present: some scholars argue 77, while others assert as much as 200 distinct ethno-linguistic groups (Tiongson, 1994). Historically, the capital city of Manila, from the time of the Spanish-colonial period to the American-colonial era, became the political, economic and cultural center of the archipelago (Reed, 1978). Because of this, what became the de facto mainstream national culture in the post-colonial era was highly biased towards the primarily Catholic, lowland, urban and Tagalog culture that dominated the environs of Manila. Consequently, the non-Christian, non-lowland, rural and non-Tagalog cultures and groups became the “other” of this national culture. Through the creation of a national mainstream culture, anything that


nacular architectures from the sweltering tropical heat and the harsh monsoon rains (Figure 1). The conspicuous roof forms are also present in the National Legislative Complex in Quezon City (locally known as Batasang Pambansa) designed by Filipino architect Felipe Mendoza in 1978 (Figure 2). Combining massive concrete volumes with sloping metal roofs, the complex, being an emblem and center for the Philippine House of Representatives or Congress, draws its symbolic power from indigenous architectures that are familiar and known to the local populace. Still in another instance, the Baguio Convention Center in the Mountain Province similarly borrowed the dominating mass form of pyramidal roofs of the Cordillera area in northern Philippines (Figure 3). Like the National Legislative Complex, because of its reference to local structures, the local community could somehow relate to the representation. Indeed, modern architecture in this sense was seen as something that is connected with the local, and yet evoking a modern aura through the reinterpretation of these local forms in modern materials. Pyramidal, gabled and hipped roof forms evocative of traditional architectures in the Philippines were nonetheless antithetical to the flat roofs favored by European modern architects. Not only did these steep roof forms respond to pragmatic issues brought about by the tropical climate in the areas but also, in a way, created a counter-discourse to the canonical vocabulary of European modernism. In this manner, the roofs are anti-colonial declarations. Another means of presenting architecture as different from Euro-American modernism was through the use of ornamentations and details derived from the local culture. One such detail was the tajuk pasung, the intricately carved gable horns found in the houses of the Tausug (whose name literally means “people of the sea”), a sea-faring Muslim ethno-linguistic group from the southern part of the Philippines (Figure 4). According to anthropologist Roxana Waterson (1998), elaborate carved wooden beam extensions are a common feature found among Austronesian houses, often used as protective talismans for the houses. These carved beams became a popular exotic element in modern architectures built in the 1960s. This detail is seen in commercial buildings, such as the Holiday Hills Golf Club (Figure 5) and the Maguindanao City Hall (Figure 6), and in private residences such as the Fernandez House. In most of these cases, the carved beam is exaggerated, flattened and applied to multiple areas. The Sulo Hotels in Makati (designed by the Mañosa brothers) and Quezon City (designed by Rudy Labos) feature dramatic sweeping roofs with reinterpreted carved beams on the crests of the buildings (Figure 7). On the lower level, adobe walls anchor the roof to the ground, which are supposedly inspired by the 18th century Spanish forts in Manila. Similarly, Max’s ResFigure 4: Tausug House (Sulu, Mindanao)

Figure 1: National Arts Center, Makiling, Laguna 1976

Figure 2: National Legislative Complex Quezon City 1978

Figure 3: Baguio Convention Center Mountain Province 1980s


taurant in Quezon City feature two superimposed curved roofing capped off with intricately carved gable horns (Figure 8). Upon closer inspection, however, the tajuk pasung-inspired gable carved ends seem to be conflated with Polynesian and Indonesian architectures. Interestingly enough, the saddle roof forms in fact more closely resemble that of Toraja houses in Sulawesi, Minangkabau and Batak group dwellings in Sumatra rather than any types of houses found in the Philippines (Oliver, 2003; Waterson, 1998). Were Filipino architects simply borrowing designs from neighboring islands, or were they following popular trends in American architecture in the 1950s, which appropriated imagery and iconography from the Polynesian islands (Kirsten, 2003)? Though we don’t exactly know the process at this point, what we do understand is the presentation of the architecture as an exotic locale and destination.

the bahay kubo, or the traditional lowland house, using a modern idiom (Figure 9). Instead of using organic materials, such as bamboo, grass and wood, the Philippine Pavilion projected the modernity of the nation through the use of acrylic, concrete and metal in the materials of the building (Bureau of Pubic Works Bulletin, 1958). But at the same time, the pavilion also reiterated the supposed uniqueness of the country through the iconography of indigenous building forms. Somewhat veering away from the use of vernacular architectural forms as inspiration, the Philippine Pavilion at the 1964 New York World’s Fair projected an exotic aura through its over-all roof form (Figure 10). The circular plan of the exhibition pavilion was capped by an aluminumclad conical roof structure derived from the humble farmer’s hat called the salakot (Philippine Architecture and Building Journal, 1963). The country this time sought to project the industriousness of its people by highlighting the rural character of the nation. At the same time, Filipino architect Otillo Arellano utilized laminated Philippine hardwood on the second level to display the country’s technical capability. Though one might say that the materials used in interpreting the hat form are modern (that is, metal and glass), the pavilion nevertheless emphasized the bucolic and tropical environment of the Philippines through its iconographic reference. For the 1992 Universal Exposition in Seville, Spain, Filipino architect Francisco Mañosa designed the Philippine Pavilion to evoke the tropical and native character of the country (Figure 11). The two-storey structure featured a large roof form using split-bamboo nodes and a tower displaying historical and cultural themes from the Philip-

Modern Architecture and National Identity
Another area where the issue of exoticism intersects with modernism occurs at exhibition pavilions in international expositions. These pavilions are important structures for nations, as these are physical manifestations of a country’s image. Directed to a foreign audience, the national pavilions not only serve as promotional vehicles for the country, but also communicate the nation’s standing in the international stage. For the Philippines, the pavilions were declarations of the country’s new position as an independent post-colonial republic. In the 1958 Brussels’ Universal Exposition, the Philippines represented itself through a reinterpretation of a vernacular house. Modest in size, a mere 120 square meters in floor area, the Philippine Pavilion retranslated

Figure 5: Holiday Hills Golf Club (Quezon City) 1960s

Figure 6: Maguindanao City Hall (Mindanao), 1980s

Figure 7: Sulo Hotel (Makati City), 1960s

Figure 8: Max’s Restaurant (Quezon City), 1960s


Figure 9: Philippine Pavillion, Brussels Universal Exposition, 1958

Figure 10: Philippine Pavillion, New York World’s Fair, 1964

pines, evocative of the indigenous life on the islands (Caruncho, 2003; Rispa, de los Rios, Aguaza, 1992). Primarily utilizing bamboo, wood and mother-of-pearl shells, materials endemic to the Philippines, Mañosa emotively constructed an image of the country as a land of traditional architectures, cheerful festivals and bountiful natural resources. The roof form, inspired by the layered bamboo roof of the Isneg ethnic group of northern Philippines, promoted the natural resources and rural aspects of the country. But this exoticized view of the Philippines not only happened on foreign soil but also occurred in the local setting as well. The 1998 Philippine Centennial Exposition or Expo Pilipino in Clark, Pampanga, continued to embody tropes of exoticism and primitivism from earlier expositions. Envisioned to be the flagship project in the centennial celebration of the declaration of independence from Spain, the 60-hectare site in the former U.S. air force base was the Philippines’ attempt to hold an international exposition (Ocampo, 1998). Expo Pilipino contained various theme parks, a lagoon, exhibition pavilions, multi-media exhibits and in its center, a large covered amphitheater called the “Freedom Ring” (Figure 12) (Luis, n.d.). Following a linear historical narrative, the theme parks represented various points in Philippine history, transporting visitors from the pre-colonial past (“Chosen Islands”), to the Spanish-colonial era (“Colonial Plaza”), to the present period (“Global Plaza”) then telescoping to the imagined future (“Millennium Hall”). The theme parks were reminiscent of the ethnological exhibits at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair (Figure 13) and the much later Nayong Pilipino (Philippine Village) theme park built under the direction of Imelda Marcos in 1972 (Lico, 2003). The theme parks featured replicas of houses and were inhabited by members of various Philippine ethno-linguistic groups, such as the Ifugaos, Kalingas, Sama, Dilauts and Maranaos (Rydell, 1984; Kramer, 1999; Grindstaff, 2004; Fermin, 2004(;. In

similar fashion, the members of the ethno-linguistic groups performed quotidian activities such as weaving, pounding rice, dancing and other daily routines supposedly giving Filipino urbanites a glimpse of the lives of their Filipino brothers and sisters (Bankoff and Weekley, 2002). By conflating different historical moments and cultural identities in the Philippines within one contained site, the exposition attempted to create a shared historical past and a common future for post-colonial Filipinos. As scholars Greg Bankoff and Kathleen Weekley argued (2002), Expo Pilipino was a “recolonization of the past,” as the national government recreated the process of colonization in its assemblage of various groups around the Philippines and the reproduction of vernacular architecture and historical landmarks. Resorting to the pre-colonial vernacular architecture and indigenous materials as design references, however, did not free the exhibitions of the problems associated with primitivism and exoticism. In seeking to portray the Philippines through a perceived non-political representation, they failed to see the highly politicized process of exhibition and display.

Problematizing Modern Architecture
In conclusion, modern architecture in the post-colonial setting thus becomes sites of experimenting with modernity, or at least different notions of what it means to be modern. In this particular time period, the government and the private sector not only used modern architecture to project a modern and progressive nation, but more importantly, the architectures became sites for the search of a national identity. In the process of using modern architecture to define and configure a national identity, the architecture appropriated and derived designs, ideas and concepts from indigenous Philippine cultural communities. This, however, was not simply a neutral act of appropriation, as issues of identity politics and power relations come into play. Who gets to choose which ones to include and exclude in the national narrative? Which cultures are highlighted and which ones are effaced? How are these identities represented and communicated?


Figure 11: Philippine Pavillion, Seville Universal Exposition, 1992

Figure 12: Freedom Ring, Expo Pilipino Clark, Pampanga, 1998

Figure 13: Igorot Village, Philippine Reservation St. Louis Exposition, 1904

In addition, modern architecture in the Philippines became an anti-colonial stance, a repudiation and response to the colonial tradition that for so long had affected the country. Architecture here should be considered as an empowering tool where post-colonial identities are made more pronounced and articulated. But at the same time, modern architecture also allowed self-exoticizing tendencies in the formulation of a national identity. This was brought about by the need to reconfigure local identities to a more global definition of a nation, a definition that requires each sovereign nation to be able to contribute to the common fund of humanity. The Philippines, as in other post-colonial nations, in its effort to deal with its decolonization process by renouncing its colonial past, sometimes recreates and reproduces the same colonial structure and operations. In considering modern architecture in post-colonial societies, there is a need then to be critical of the nationalist program by looking at both its empowering and oppressive strategies. We cannot just ignore the complexity of the formation of post-colonial identities as it is related to nation formation. Furthermore, modern architecture, as it is embedded within the post-colonial project, should not be dismissed as merely appendages or extensions of European-American histories, but instead should be recognized as having histories on their own. In the final analysis, the conservation of modern architecture then should become more of an empowering strategy for postcolonial nations, a testament to their struggles against colonial oppression and a celebration of their coming to terms with their own identities within the global setting. References
“Age of Discovery: RP to Participate in the Seville Expo,” Architectscope (March 1992); Cruz, E.R., 1992 “Expo ’92 and an Extravaganza of Discoveries,”Philippine Panorama (April 26, 1992), 4,6-7. “Expo Pilipino: A Magnificent Landmark,” Mirror Weekly, (June 22, 1998). “Philippine Pavilion at the New York World’s Fair 1964-1965,” Philippine Architecture and Building Journal, 3, Number 2 (1963). “Sulo International Hotel,” 1963, Philippine Architecture and Building Journal, 4 (4).

“The Philippine Pavilion in the 1959 Brussel’s Universal Exposition,” Bureau of Public Works Bulletin (April-June 1958) Bankoff, G. and Weekley, K., 2002, Postcolonial National Identity in the Philippines: Celebrating a Centennial of Independence, Ashgate Publishing, Hampshire, UK and Burlington, VT. Caruncho, E., 2003. Designing Filipino: The Architecture of Francisco Mañosa, Tukod Foundation, Manila. Chaterjee, P., 1986, Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. Fermin, J., 2004, 1904 World’s Fair: The Filipino Experience, University of the Philippines Press, Quezon City. Grindstaff, B., 2004, “Creating Identity: Exhibiting the Philippines at the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition” in Grasping the World: The Idea of the Museum, Preziosi, D. and Claire Farago, C. (eds), Ashgate Publishing, London. Kirsten, S, 2003. The Book of Tiki, Taschen Books, Cologne. Kramer, P., 1999, “Making Concession: Race and Empire Revisited at the Philippine Exposition, St. Louis, 1901-1905,” Radical History Review, (7). Lico, G., 2003, Edifice Complex: Power, Myth and Marcos State Architecture, Ateneo de Manila University Press, Quezon City. Luis, P. n.d. “The Dreams and Bolts of Which a Ring is Made: The Design and Construction of the Freedom Ring, Philippine Centennial Exposition,” Unpublished Manuscript. Navarro, A., Rodriguez, M.J. and Villan, V. (eds), 1997, Pantayong Pananaw: Ugat at Kabuluhan, Pambungad sa Pag-aaral ng Bagong Kasaysayan, Palimbagang Kalawakan, Mandaluyong City. Ocampo, J., 1998, “Past, Present, Future Perfect: Expo Pilipino Aims to Make Every Filipino Proud,” Starweek: The Sunday Magazine of the Philippine STAR, 4-5, 13; Oliver, P., 2003, Dwellings: The Vernacular House World Wide,: Phaidon, London and New York. Reed, R., 1992, “From Suprabarangay to Colonial Capital: Reflections on the Hispanic Foundations of Manila” in Forms of Dominance: On the Architecture and Urbanism of Colonial Enterprise, Nezar Al Sayyad, (ed)., Avebury, London. Rispa, R., de los Rios, C.A., Aguaza, M.A. (eds), 1992, Expo ’92 Sevilla: Arquitecture y Diseño,: Sociedad Estatal para la Exposición Universal Sevilla 92 and Electa, Sevilla and Milan. Rydell, R., 1984. All The World’s Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London. Smith, A., 1971, Theories of Nationalism, Duckworth, London. Tiongson, N. (ed), 1994, Cultural Center of the Philippines Encyclopedia of the Philippine Arts, Cultural Center of the Philippines, Manila. Waterson, R., 1998, The Living House: An Anthropology of Architecture in Southeast Asia, Whitney Library of Design and Watson-Guptil Publications, New York.


Sustainability through Parks and Open Spaces
Zenaida C. Galingan, who belonged to the first batch of graduates of Landscape Architecture from the University of the Philippines, joined its faculty after she finished her Master of Landscape Architecture from the same college in 1994. She is currently the Graduate and Undergraduate Program Director for Landscape Architecture in the college, wherein aside from her regular duties, she also takes part in various landscape projects within the vicinity of the University of the Philippines Diliman campus.

spaces cannot be ignored. History shows how other countries and cities reclaimed public lands to convert them back to parks and open spaces for the purpose of public health and enjoyment. The most famous example is the 500-hectare New York Central Park, which was designed in 1851. This followed the earlier examples of parks in England that were built during the industrial revolution when workers and most of London citizens were choking due to pollution caused by industrialization. In an unpublished treatise on civil architecture written in 1773, Paolo Labisi praised open spaces for providing ventilation and air, channeling rainwater away from houses and giving “all the inhabitants the ability to guard against earth shocks by means of learning their own houses and meeting in the open spaces to escape the perils of being hit by the ruins of the buildings”. 1 During the Spanish colonial era of the Philippines, the inclusion of plazas or open squares (cum small parks) was made part of the overall land use plan of towns and cities. These plazas became the central locus of life of the place or towns where public activities were always held. Manila alone had 56 plazas. Most of these were incorporated, conserved, improved and flourished during the American period. Unfortunately, only 31 of these are left. What caused the deterioration or loss of these plazas? In the table provided by M. Andalecio in her master’s thesis2 , most of the plazas were either converted into street center islands, parking spaces or were just totally wiped out due to road widening. Others now function as basketball courts and not as open spaces and centers of civic activities as

Long before people became aware of environmental protection, global warming, the depleting ozone layer or the promulgation of “Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design” (LEED), sustainable design had long been a concern of landscape architects. Landscape architecture is defined as the stewardship of the land, and its practitioners have responsibilities to produce designs that are easy to maintain, can be kept functional and are environmentally sustainable. How can sustainability be obtained through our parks and open spaces? How can LEED be applied in a park design? This research aims to produce some guidelines that will help create a sound and safe environment through sustainable public open spaces, especially in urban areas.

Historical Importance
Open spaces in dense urban settings provide people the necessary room to breathe, go for leisurely walks, play, or just sit and relax. The importance of parks and open


originally planned. Many were removed to give way to development of infrastructure which was deemed more important. Recent casualties of Metro Manila’s infrastructure development were the conversion of the Mehan Garden into a Park and Ride Building in 2001 and the closure of the Nayong Pilipino open space because of the planned NAIA improvements in 2002. Daniel Burnham, in his master plan for the City of Manila in 1905, incorporated four large parks along the edges of the city, often connected with linear strips of green called parkways. Unfortunately, not even one of these is visible today. The only one that survived after the Second World War was Harrison Park until it was converted into a shopping center in 1976. The central open space of all these was Luneta, now popularly known as Rizal Park. This 58-hectare popular destination is also suffering from urban encroachment, and additional built-up spaces have been added along its waterfront. The same is true with the City of Baguio with its famous Burnham Park. Edward Highbee once wrote, “[t]he adult who losses the eyes of the child has lost the way to his own soul. The city that loses its parks loses its children and those adults who have not forgotten how to play and enjoy nature.” 3 The importance of open spaces is not purely limited to recreation, strolling, playing, meeting other people, and other civic gatherings, but also to its ecological significance. Ensuring that the next generation will have pure air, safe environments and clean water are responsible civic goals that can be perpetuated through proper design, maintenance and preservation of our parks and open spaces.

nila, with its population of 1,660,714 4, the 60 hectares of Rizal Park seems to be enough to support its population. However, Rizal Park is not located at the center of the city, so the bulk of the population does not directly benefit from it. Besides, one person needs at least 40 square meters of plant cover to be supplied the individual oxygen requirement5. In thickly populated districts of Metro Manila and other Philippine cities, not enough open spaces are provided to meet this requirement. For example, Navotas City has an area of only 1,069 hectares, a population of 230,403 and a density of 21,393 persons per square kilometer6. With this population, the place needs, as per HLURB requirement, 115,201 square kilometers or 11.52 hectares of open space which the city doesn’t have. This is just an example of how badly open spaces are needed in the metropolis. Even the laws on public housing, which call for even lesser planting areas, are not enough to sustain the oxygen needs of inhabitants. The Revised Rules for Economic and Socialized Housing Projects to implement Batas Pambansa Blg. 220 allot a very small area for open space, and in some cases, it is even optional to provide planting strips along roads as seen in the table below:

Table 1: Width of Planting Strips and Sidewalks

Laws Governing Urban Parks and Open Spaces
The government recognizes the need for open spaces. However, the size of present spaces provided is not sufficient for the desirable requirements of people to have a healthful environment. As per the Housing and Land Use Regulatory Board (HLURB) standard, at least 500 square meters of park and plaza is required for every 1,000 individuals in a p p population. In the case of Ma-

In other instances, open space can also be converted to basketball courts and other multi-purpose uses. In subdivision development, the law requires 30 percent of the area to be devoted to open spaces. However, its definition of open space not only includes basketball courts and other concreted game courts, but also roads and sidewalks. So, in effect, not much area is really devoted to planting or landscaped open spaces.

Dwindling Water Resources
Fresh drinking water used to be available everywhere and could be had for free. Garbage and other wastes, which pollute our sources of water, have become a common and perennial problem that calls for an immediate solution. Manila Bay is now becoming a catch basin of all the trash coming from as far as Pampanga, Bulacan and other Metro Manila rivers.7 Most of our creeks are polluted or even totally covered and occupied. The main culprits are the illegal settlers who continually invade and colonize shores and creeks. One strategy of protecting our rivers is to place parks and open spaces along the waterways, like the Marikina River Park and the Pasig Linear Parks along the Pasig River. Reclaiming our easements and developing them into public

Figure 1: Satellite Map of Dagat-dagatan area in Navotas bereft of any park


parks, nature trails and open spaces will not only enhance our water resources, but will improve people’s quality of life. The problem of salty water penetrating our water table is also becoming serious and needs to be addressed. Traces of this phenomenon, called salt water intrusion, are already evident in areas of Parañaque and Pasig in Metro Manila. This is caused by the heavy use of deep wells to provide water, as well as inadequate rain water recharging the aquifers with what has been taken or used. The vacuum left when too much underground water is drawn is then filled by the salty water coming from the nearby seas. National Water Resources Board (NWRB) Executive Director Ramon Alikpala said the status of the Metro Manila aquifer is critical as Metro Manila is below sea level. “There is already salt water intrusion in the western part of Metro Manila because of over-extraction and the lack of re-charging of the aquifer,” Alikpala said, adding that nonreplenishment of aquifers is causing land subsidence or land sinking, which can bring about flooding in the long term.8 This is also partially due to the lack of permeable spaces where surface water can penetrate and go directly to the water table. Too many concreted and built-up spaces in urban areas, where housing and building densities are so immense, greatly contribute to this problem. Difficulty in maintenance also compels residents in urbanized locations to pave areas previously allocated to lawn and other greenery. Providing parks and lots of greenery will help ensure that future generations will still have fresh water to drink. Inclusion of constructed wetlands, bioswales or man-made swamps in planned parks or any large development will provide a natural filtration system that will ensure that polluted surface water can be partially, if not totally, cleaned.

Figure 2: Thermal (top) and vegetation (bottom) locations around New York City via infrared satellite imagery.11

heat, while white pigmented finishes help reflect the light by as much as 50 percent compared to ordinary asphalt. But this is not enough. Permeable spaces, more planting and natural air-cooled spaces, which parks can provide, are still needed to combat this phenomenon.

Air, Dust and Noise Pollution
The increase in vehicular use causes a build-up of carbon monoxide, which leads to a greenhouse effect and the dwindling of the ozone layer. Cities are suffering from too much air and dust pollution, and this usually results in smog commonly enveloping most cities (Figure 3).

The Urban Heat Island (UHI) Effect
Densely populated cities are always hotter than suburban localities, not only because of the concentration of the population in cities, but also because of built-up concreted spaces which absorb and release too much heat. These give rise to the UHI phenomenon, or an increase in temperature, which causes the unique “hot island” to form within the cooler space of surrounding suburban areas where spaces are wider, plantings are in abundance, soils are more penetrable and where more wind can pass through. Studies show that the effect of UHI is indirectly contributing to climate change and global warming due to the greenhouse effect of which UHI is partially responsible.9 Satellite pictures show that heavy vegetated areas have cooler temperatures (Figure 2). Studies also prove that an additional 10 percent green space can mitigate UHI by up to 4 °C (7 °F).10 The use of green roofs, green walls and white pigments on asphalt help reduce UHI. Dark asphalted roads absorb

Figure 3: Smog envelops most cities and urban areas due to fumes and other pollutants coming from vehicles

People are slowly realizing the importance of true open spaces with planting and other outdoor amenities. Malls and condominium developers are now forced to incorporate green spaces as part of their developments’ attraction. Filipinos are slowly cultivating a penchant for al fresco dining. Restaurants can now see the economic gains in providing green and refreshing set-ups. This not only contributes to greater patronage, but is also a factor in cleaning the air. The proper choice of plants can also help reduce dust pollution. Dust can be trapped in the leaves of plants or trees, which can then be washed off by rain. Experiments show that dust concentration in tree-lined streets is much less than that of streets bereft of any vegetation. Another kind of pollution that urbanites are suffering from is that caused by noise. Deafening sound coming from running vehicles, blowing of horns and loud music


is another problem that needs to be addressed. Physical soundproof barriers can be found along highways to protect adjacent communities. Plants can also be good noise abatement materials, together with proper contour planning. Railroad setbacks can be vegetated, which can also help reduce noise coming from trains.

only proper choices of plants, but spaces to make our parks more sustainable. Some plants are even used to absorb toxic materials in the soil, while other plants have the capacity to take up harmful elements from the ground and store them in their stems. This will be a cheaper way of cleaning contaminated soil. Shade is a common objective in planting trees, especially in tropical countries. The more trees that are planted, the more shaded a space will be and the more popular, healthier and more sustainable an area will be. On a more direct application, planting trees located in the west side of buildings will provide additional shade and will greatly reduce air- conditioning requirements, thus reducing energy consumption. A good sign of a healthy environment is the proliferation of birds and other friendly insects like butterflies, bees and crickets which can mostly be found in a natural environment. Plants, like coronitas, forget-me-not, sweet-scented verbenas and zinnias, attract different colorful butterflies, while fruit-bearing trees are homes to most birds and other fruit-eating animals. In Hyde Park, in the center of Sydney, Australia, fruit bats are commonly observed flying at night, whereas other birds are in great proliferation during daytime. In the University of the Philippines, where open spaces are still in abundance, several species of birds have been spotted. Planting for the senses includes not only visual but also auditory and olfactory elements. The sweet smell of the champaca and ilang-ilang flowers, the hissing sound of the leaves, the singing of the crickets, the humming of the birds, the excitement brought by the bats and the plethora of colors brought by the butterflies all contribute to the sensation of being one with nature and convey the feeling of relaxation that one looks for in a park. All these are extra rewards that people derive indirectly from plants, aside from the functional characteristics that contribute to the environment’s ecology. Bringing nature to people through park design contributes immeasurably to spiritual and physical sustainability.

Saving on Energy with the Use of Renewable Resources
One way of saving on energy is to use locally available materials. LEED advocates the use of native materials where construction is being done to save on the cost of gasoline and energy utilized in exporting and transporting these to the place where they will be needed. The Philippines has plenty of locally-produced construction materials, which can be used in park design. Our pavers, natural stones and tiles, lighting fixtures, pipes and other materials are more competitive in terms of price than imported ones. Our local manufacturers have been able to produce materials that are environmentally-friendly—like the porous pavers manufactured by the MGS Corporation, which is very suitable for replenishing the water table. Another method is to make use of power from natural sources like the sun, wind and water. Use of solar power is now being slowly exploited, but not as widely as environmentalists will hope for. Rich industrialized countries have realized the value of renewable energy and have tried to incorporate this in their architecture. Even waiting sheds and seating areas are now being solar powered. This can be easily applied to parks and open spaces. Initial costs may be high but in the long run, it will prove to be more economical. In cases where more open spaces are available, windmills can be incorporated.

Planting for the Senses and Sustainability
The economic value of plants have been proven time and again as a source of food, clothing, shelter and much valued oxygen. Their aesthetic and healing values have been celebrated in many books and articles. In a paper written by Jonah Lehrer, it is said that people living in cities are bombarded daily with distractions and that these cause mental stress. Studies show that a mere glimpse of trees and green spaces improves the brain’s performance. Studies also prove that patients recovered faster when they saw plants from their windows. Hospitals are now incorporating open spaces where patients can go and admire the plants and also garden. Aside from these, the engineering and ornamental importance of plants is something that people should treasure and apply. Using plants like Wedelia trilobata or vetiver grass for erosion control will not only ensure engineering safety, but also reduce hard concrete buildup and put in additional softscapes for much needed oxygen supply. Park and plaza planting requires not

Maintenance and Safety
An area is non-sustainable if it is not safe. The popularity of a space depends on how safe one feels when visiting it. People will avoid going to a place when there is an opportunity for a mugger to prey upon him. Maintenance is a key factor in making a locality safe. Un- maintained parks will connote abandonment and insecurity. People will shy away from a scene where neglect is very evident. Neglected places will attract vagrants, the homeless, petty criminals and sometimes, even prostitutes. When the majority of the population for whom the park is built shy away from it, the sustainability of the place and its very purpose are lost. Although less energy consumption is advocated, when it comes to safety, financial versus social accountability is at stake.


Enough lighting must thus be provided. A dark nook will be a good setting for carrying out a misdemeanor. Planting of dense shrubs where there is a chance to hide or any thick vegetation which will create opportunities to commit crimes must be avoided. Spaces in a park must have good visibility for all users to deter any offense from being perpetrated. Roving guards, if possible, must be installed. A naturalistic landscape is ideal, but it should not be a total wilderness. People living near parks must be encouraged to participate in looking after the park to make it safer and cleaner.

Marginal spaces, like easements, areas along railways and waterways, former dumpsites and quarries can be converted to mini-parks and greeneries. More plantings in parks and open space will ensure cooler surroundings and lessen the UHI effect. Parks and open space, through trees and plantings, reduce air and dust pollution. Rain gardens can be incorporated in areas where flooding is experienced during heavy rains.

• •

• Concreted or paved spaces, like parking, game courts,
walkways and driveways must be paved with permeable or pervious materials to ensure surface water percolation directly to the ground.

Open spaces and parks are necessary parts of communities and cities. These are needed and are irreplaceable not only as breathing spaces and areas for relaxation, but also as a means to attain environmental sustainability. People must learn to appreciate the values of parks and open space, and public officials must take all the necessary steps to retain and regain whatever open spaces we now have or used to have. Below are suggested guidelines that, through parks and opens space along with proper landscape architectural design and planning, can help sustain the environment:

• Plants that will attract birds, butterflies and other helpful insects must be planted in parks to have a healthier and more natural environment. More native or indigenous plants must be used for better adaptability. Plants with little water requirements, like sansevierias and bougainvillas, can be utilized to save on resources. Renewable energy must be tapped into lighting parks. Solar panels for rain shelters and other structures can be used to save on fuel. Solar lamps for walk lights are ideal, but proper installation must be observed to avoid vandalism and theft. Wind energy, where applicable, must be harvested for area operation. Constructed wetlands, when possible, must be incorporated in park design to save on water. Recycled gray water can be used for watering plants. Good programs of maintenance must be applied to make the park safe and more popular to users. The success of a good park depends highly on a well-coordinated maintenance scheme. Residents living near parks should be given incentives (e.g. tax rebates) to protect and maintain their parks.

• •

• Laws, especially those regarding public housing, must
be revised and strictly followed in order to provide for bigger, more spacious and sustainable open spaces. Street planting must be mandatory. Sidewalks in socialized housing developments must be provided with planting strips where at least 1 square meter for tree holes can be accommodated at an interval of 10 meters or nearer, depending on the tree species. HLURB’s standard of 500 square meters of open space per population of 1,000 must be devoted fully to planting or green areas and must not be made convertible to game courts or any other concreted spaces. More open spaces, which are accessible to people by walking or biking, must be provided.

• •

An open space as part of a civic center serves as an additional breathing space in a highly populated city


Safety measures in parks through proper design must be employed. No space where opportunities for mugging must be overlooked. Constant park monitoring must be conducted. A special park department, like those found in other countries, must be established to ensure that all parks and establishments of proper open spaces will be suitably constructed, supervised, maintained and monitored. A sustainable environment is attainable. Parks and open spaces play a valuable part in making our world ecologically healthy, protecting our water resources, reducing pollution, and at the same time, providing open green spaces for people to enjoy physical and psychological well-being. Well-designed, properly maintained parks can be a source of delight and a magnet for local residents as well as foreign visitors. In other countries, parks are sources of revenue, which contribute to their own maintenance. Parks and open spaces are vital for the survival of the people, for recreation and relaxation and for the assurance of a healthy environment. References:
Alcazaren, Paulo. “Parks, Open Spaces and the City (Part 1),” The Philippine Star. 23 August 2003, pp. G-1 to G-2 Alcazaren, Paulo. “Parks, Open Spaces and the City (Part 2),” The Philippine Star. 30 August 2003, pp. E-1 to E-3 Andalecio, Melba, “Landscape Morphology Analysis: A Basis for Redevelopment of the Public Plazas in Manila”. MTLA Thesis, University of the Phils., 2008. Breuste H., Feldmann, J. & Uhlmann, O. eds., Urban Ecology. Germany: Springer, 1998. Bailey, Stephanie, How to Make Butterfly Gardens. University of Kentucky College of Agriculture. http://www.ca.uky.edu/ENTOMOLOGY/entfacts/ef006.asp, accessed 5 August 2009 Cervantes, Ding, “Manila Bay remains a garbage dump for 19 CL coastal towns 100-day action plan completed”, The Philippine Star Updated October 01, 2008 12:00 AM. http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleid=404035, accessed 8 August 2009 Environment Management Bureau and DENR. The Air We Breathe. Philippines: Trimark Publishing, 2003. Higbee, Edward. The Squeeze, Cities without Space. William Morrow & Co. New York, 1960 Hopper, Leonard ed. Landscape Architectural Graphic Standard, “Parks and Recreation pp. 821-826 Parks Recreation”

• •

Jenks, Mike and Dempsey, Nicola, Future Forms and Design for Sustainable Cities. Elsevier Architectural Press, 2005 Madulid, Dominngo, A Cyclopedia of Philippine Ornamental Plants. Bookmark Inc., 1995. Lehrer, Jonah. How the city hurts your brain...And what you can do about it boston.com January 2, 2009 http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/ ideas/articles/2009/01/04/how_the_city_hurts_your_brain/ , Accessed 28 August 2009 Newman, Oscar, Defensible Space, Crime Prevention through Urban Design, Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1973 Papanek, Victor, The Green Imperative, Ecology and Ethics in Design and Architecture. Thames and Hudson Singapore, 1995 Robinette, Gary O. Plants, People, and Environmental Quality: a study of plants and their environmental functions. U.S. Dept. of the Interior, National Park Service, 1972 Wekerle, Gerda and Whitzman, Carolyn, Safe Cities, Guidelines for Planning, Design, and Management. Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1995. Butterfly Gardening http://butterflywebsite.com/butterflygardening. cfm Accessed: 5 August 2009 http://www.igreenspot.com/wp-content/uploads/solar-poweredbus-shelter1.jpg Accessed 29 August 2009 Phytoremediation: Using Plants To Clean Up Soils, http://www.ars. usda.gov/is/AR/archive/jun00/soil0600.htm, Accessed 27 August 2009

1. Kostoff, Spiro, The City Assembled. Bulfinch Press Book, Hongkong, 1999, p. 137 2. Andalecio, Melba. “Landscape Morphology Analysis: A Basis for Redevelopment of the Public Plazas in Manila”. Unpublished MTLA Thesis, University of the Phils., 2008. 3. Higbee, Edward. The Squeeze, Cities without Space. William Morrow & Co. New York, 1960 p. 242 4. http://www.demographia.com/db-manila-area.htm, accessed May 20, 2009 5. Plants, People and Environment 6. http://www.navotas.gov.ph/content.aspx?sectionid=511, accessed July 22, 2009 7. Cervantes, Ding, “Manila Bay remains a garbage dump for 19 CL coastal towns 100-day action plan completed” ”, The Philippine Star Updated October 01, 2008 12:00 AM. http://www.philstar.com/Article. aspx?articleid=404035 Accessed: 8 August 2009 8. Manila, January 11, 2007 (STAR) The Importance of Groundwater By Madeline Patawaran-Dela Peña http://www.newsflash.org/2004/02/si/ si002278.htm, accessed July 22, 2009 9. http://www.urbanheatislands.com/, accessed 2 August 2009 10. Ibid. 11. Picture taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_heat_island, Accessed 27 August 2009 12. http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/ideas/articles/2009/01/04/ how_the_city_hurts_your_brain/ , Accessed 28 August 2009


Teaching Space:
Spatial Cognition in Architectural Design Education
Emilio Ozaeta holds Bachelor of Science in Architecture and Master of Architecture degrees from the University of the Philippines Diliman. He is currently a Senior Lecturer at the same institution’s College of Architecture where he is a faculty member of the Architectural History, Theory and Criticism Studio Laboratory. He also teaches Architectural Design courses.

This paper shall attempt to review the Commission on Higher Education -required architectural design course topics of the uniform undergraduate curriculum of architecture against theories of spatial cognition. From this additional topical learning, content shall be proposed as supplements. Architectural design education in the Philippines has traditionally focused on the proper graphic production of specific building types. In imparting traditionally “proper” design skills, an unspoken emphasis is also often made on the formal and material aspects of the design, as well as the assumptive notions of the functionality of spaces and spatial adjacencies as perceived from floor plans. In this, an apparent marginalization of knowledge or recognition of the actuality of human development of spatial cognition is often made. The mandated topical content of the CHED standard curriculum appears to indicate the lack of a reference to established and evolving theories of spatial cognition and intelligence determined through research on the development of spatial cognition in children.

This paper examines the required topical content of the design courses in the required standard architectural curriculum and determines the lack of validity against realities of space perception and cognition. Theories of development of spatial cognition in children are then examined to determine conceptual categories of cognition which are, in turn, then used to propose supplementary content areas for the architectural design courses, thereby inducing a paradigm shift from formal/spatial to spatial/ perceptual in the design courses. As such, the proposed content additions may provide a more realistic view of how space is actually perceived, thus also providing a more accurate foundation for the beginning architectural design student.

For many architectural educators, the problem of how best to approach the teaching of first-year undergraduate design courses has been a puzzling one. Having most likely spent years in professional practice in the field, many of the instructors may have developed a mindset where architectural design is removed from the basic outlook of spatial creation, but rather, is seen as the production of complex physical structures with an attendant layering of mechanism, technology and idiosyncratic notions of personal aesthetics. Architecture is often understood essentially as a machine-object which the beginning student must learn to create and re-create in various fashions and for different purposes. As such, architectural design is viewed as divorced from intrinsic ideas of actual humanarchitectural interface and interaction, and thus ignores


concepts of culture and spatial perception and cognition. The latter is particularly significant in that the understanding of spatial cognition even in children is obviously basic and critical for any creation of architectural space. This is clearly reflected in the standard curriculum for undergraduate architecture students where a review of the course content of the architectural design courses reveals such a paradigm. Thus, it is that beginning architecture students inadvertently imbibe design habits such as “designing from a floor plan,” where the ability to create mental images of designed spaces, obviously critical in architectural design, is not established and is replaced instead by the unconscious primacy of architectural forms which are understood to be physical objects to be designed with spaces merely as leftover by-products. This study shall seek to examine this prevailing mindset in the design education of the beginning architectural student and to address this issue through a review of spatial cognition research in children as the foundation. From the personal experience of this author in the teaching of upper-level design courses, a common disability of design students is not being able to mentally visualize three-dimensional static designed space. It is a struggle for them to imagine interior space with wall, floor and ceiling planes as it would be viewed from an average eye level in the process of creation. It is even more difficult for them to imagine walking and moving through these spaces in four dimensions but which is required as a given function of space circulation in architecture. After reviewing much of their output in several years of teaching these design courses, it appears that it is much easier for these students to visualize the architecture as an exterior object, with walls and roof, and imagined from an omniscient external viewpoint. The unconscious notion that architecture is a physical object devoid of the reality that it also, and more importantly, involves human experience in the movement through its interior spaces has been set, it seems, in their freshman year and has taken root as a mental habit. The prevalence of such a habit, if not checked, can thus be easily seen to result in later designs which may be supreme in physical form, but disabled in experiential space. This may ultimately result, therefore, in a designed environment replete with such qualities, if it remains unaddressed, when these students become practicing professionals.

This is followed with a review and subsequent analysis of the body of research on spatial cognition in children. The underlying assumption here is that how we learn to cope with the realities of physical space provides the foundation for spatial learning and spatial intelligence as a necessary given for human survival. Thus it follows that the critical reality of how we, as children, establish our spatial abilities should likewise be the foundation of how beginning students of architectural design should learn to create those spaces. From an analysis of the total research, its various foci is determined, which is used to correspond to categories of knowledge on spatial cognition. This is then used as the basis for the proposed supplementary course content for the uniform curriculum, which should balance the inherent paradigm with a more spatially cognitive context.

Related Literature: The Human-Architecture Interface
At the outset, it is appropriate that an appreciation of the nature of the relations in the human-architecture interface be made by way of a review of the body of relevant research. In this we must undertake a broad look into research areas in the social sciences as well as in architectural theory. The field of environmental psychology has provided much input into the understanding of the relations between designed environments and people. With the aid of multi-disciplinary and inter-disciplinary research within the domains of anthropology, sociology and the sciences, theories of human-architecture relations have been proposed. These have, for architectural education, resulted in architectural design standards accepted today as norms which are oftentimes used blindly without an understanding of their bases. For instance, ideas involving the therapeutic possibilities of designed spaces on aging patients and those with dementia compose a well-developed field of scholarship founded on the work of Powell Lawton in 1970 and Joachim Wohlwill in 1960. A review of the research undertaken since 19801 has established that most research has focused on institutional environments as research situ. These have led to: architectural design principles involving appropriate population densities in such institutions; building configurations seeking to avoid occasions of disorientation, restlessness and over-stimulation; sensory requirements; quantitative and qualitative lighting needs; safety, and; specific principles in the spatial design of patient facilities. Complex thought, on the other hand, has risen from research on the possible minimalization or prevention of criminal behavior through architectural design. The work of Ralph Taylor outlines concepts of population density and crime which have, in turn, provided much insight for the architectural concepts of territoriality, privacy and defensible space of Jane Jacobs and Oscar Newman.

An examination of the CHED-mandated undergraduate curriculum for architecture is the starting point of the investigation. This is examined and analyzed to establish that the required topical content areas of the architectural design courses, particularly for the freshman year as given, already imply an unconscious paradigm of architecture as formal object rather than as human-interfaced space at this early stage. The review of the curriculum thus determines the contextual problem.


Research on the set of behaviors involving wayfinding and disorientation by Carpman and Passini has produced design literature which espouses specific architectural solutions and approaches. The by now classic text of Passini, for example, is staple reading. Parallel literature in environmental psychology explores various areas, such as spatial knowing and cognitive mapping; analyses of wayfinding legibility of designed environments, and; wayfinding of specific age or gender groups2. These have consequently resulted in design ideas on surface materials, lighting specifications and space circulation which today have found practical applications in many public spaces. In another vein, much work has been devoted to the understanding of how physical environments can aid and allow people to work more efficiently. Research here has thrown light on the specific design aspects of spatial clustering and organization which, in the past, has produced the idea of open planning. Likewise, empirical studies have resulted in design concepts of view control, ease of access to resources, the sensory properties of the work environment and even the effects of various building materials on physical and psychological health.3 Fairly recently, research has been undertaken by Arline Bronzaft on the control of noise pollution in designed environments, and by Peek and Mileti on the formulation of concepts for disaster architecture in light of global manmade and natural threats. These provide exciting insights into emerging issues.4 Similarly, the domain of architectural theory contains parallel theories and concepts on the mutual influence and relations of designed environments and people. Such ideas, while borrowing initial theories from the social sciences, formulate concepts of architecture and its co-relational associations with both the self and society. As an example, notions on the self’s interactions with architecture involve ideas focused on the concept of the body. These have produced discourses on complex ideas of body mimicry in anthropomorphism, and body-environment relations in anthropocentrism in the comprehension of spatial concepts in architecture, as basic architectural theory. Likewise, discourse on gender issues and their associative ideas as expressed in architectural form and space are founded on the premise that architecture expresses and negotiates individual and social notions of gender and gender relations. Such discourse, as summarized by Rendell and set forth by the work of Bernard Tschumi and more so by Diana Agrest, range from classic feminism to ideas on masculinism and even embraces startling notions of gay architecture and its implications.5 Pragmatically, theoretical text on how architecture engenders human emotions emanates from studies in behavioral psychology and has spawned design concepts currently applied to building types, such as discos, bars, restaurants, shopping malls and similar places of com-

merce and entertainment. Today, such places are intentionally designed to attract and hold patrons through sensory and subliminal messages in their architectural design, thereby increasing and maintaining patronage, and thus enticing users of these facilities to spend more. The work of Edward Hall in the 1960s in the field of human distancing behavior, which he terms proxemics, sprung from the pioneering research of Robert Sommer6 on personal space. Here, Hall examines the various behavioral phenomena surrounding psycho-physical separation, such as ‘fight or flight’, and behavioral defense mechanisms in its various cultural forms. Hall interestingly provides experimental data for various architectural concepts, including socio-petal and socio-fugal spaces as well as the various permutations of personal space.7 Discourse on architecture, and society and culture, on the other hand, has emerged with the work of Amos Rapoport and his texts on the architectural expressions of specific cultures.8 Drawing heavily on an ethnographic methodology, these espouse theories on cultural factors which contribute to the determination of specific form and space which, in turn, aid in the comprehension and design of facilities appropriate to the cultural needs of various peoples. Similarly, Chris Abel’s work on architecture and identity9 and Lawrence Vale’s discussions on architecture and nationalism10 have set forth theoretical hypotheses on a society’s self-image and its corresponding consequences in architectural design. Finally, the classic phenomenological work of Christian Norberg-Schulz espouses an agenda of architecture as a tangible expression and embodiment of a community’s genius loci or what he terms “Spirit of Place.”.11 He advocates the need for the understanding of designed environments as having intangible but nevertheless valid and pervasive individual and unique identities or Spirits, such as feelings of home and uniqueness, as well as the need for their description, comprehension and preservation as compelling expressions of a culture. This has led to practical applications, such as those espoused by Garnham in his text on the identification, documentation and preservation of community genius loci.12

The Uniform Curriculum for Architecture
The preceding section revealed the established wealth of literature on human-architecture relations. In contrast, an examination of the uniform Bachelor of Science in Architecture curriculum content for architectural design courses espoused by the CHED in prevailing use today reveals a Modernist frame where architecture is merely seen and produced as an ingenious container for human activity.13 DESIGN 1 (Introduction to Design) Elements of Architecture. Architectural interiors and landscape architectural design.


DESIGN 2 (Creative Design Fundamentals) Design exercises involving anthropometrics, modular coordination, functional inter-relationships and activity circuits. DESIGN 3 (Creative Design in Architecture, Architectural Interiors and Landscape Architecture) Design exercises on problems stressing the value of spatial functions, orientation, micro-climate, ventilation and spatial relationships including ecological considerations. DESIGN 4 (Space Planning 1) Design exercises giving emphasis on vernacular architecture, including energy conservation, space management and building interiors. DESIGN 5 (Space Planning 2) Design exercises in problems stressing the analysis of space requirements based on organizational structure, functional set-up and human behavior to pinpoint linkages and interaction to spaces. DESIGN 6 (Site Development Planning) Design problems stressing environmental analysis, topographic, geologic and seismologic conditions, utilities and the perceptual sensibilities of man. DESIGN 7 (Community Architecture and Urban Design) Design exercises giving emphasis on the socio-cultural activities of man, historical preservation, proxemics and materials of architecture; designing with nature. DESIGN 8 (Designs for Tall Buildings and Complexes) Design exercises giving emphasis on building structures, utilities, laws, structural concepts and ecological planning. DESIGN 9 (Pre-Thesis Design Problems) A major problem stressing the importance of solving complex architectural problems. Preliminary research and studies for the terminal project. DESIGN 10 (Thesis) A terminal project involving a comprehensive problem in building, interior and landscape architecture integrating processes and issues of previous studies. From the array of course descriptions or topical content, it may be seen that content concerning human interaction with architecture, although touched on in many of the design courses, is limited. The view of human behavior, as in that of Design 2 for example, involves the proposed understanding of human “activity circuits,” the implication being that projected users of a designed facility are a species whose behavioral habits must be learned and for whom an appropriate design must be made. From the personal experience of

the author as an architecture design student in the past, this particularly Modernist paradigm, where “machines for living in” were proposed for the anonymous user devoid of any cultural or idiosyncratic considerations is reflected in the inclusion of this term and thus this idea in the required course content. The Design 2 course likewise involves “anthropometrics, modular coordination, functional inter-relationships and activity circuits” as its mandated topics. Here, architectural design skills are expected to be approached as a system of measurements beginning with those of the physical body, progressing through their application into standard mathematical systems, and ending with the implicative but odd requirement to measure human behavior and activity and their assumptive finite permutations. This application of an apparently orthodox scientific approach to understanding what people do thus contributes another layer of implied definition to the architectural student: that architecture is a fit container for people and their programmed intra- and inter-actions. While this introduces the notion of human-architecture exchange, it also installs a perceptual divide between architecture as object and as human agency. Architecture is seen as merely a servant to human needs, devoid of dialogue or mutual affect. Likewise, the content of the first design course implies an abstraction of architecture as divorced from human relation and devoid of its actuality as a human expression. The “elements of architecture,” as espoused in the curriculum are, by unstated consent, taken from references such as that of Ching14, which proposes such components as space, structure, enclosure, circulation, technology, program and context, with only the program (likewise a Modernist conception) involving any human involvement. This belies the long-established facts in such fields as environmental psychology of complex human interaction with the designed environment beyond the notion of the activities of the human specimen as generators of appropriate spaces and forms. When layered over by such required additional topics as “Architectural interiors and landscape architectural design” in the first design course, the matter becomes even more confusing for now, the indistinct definition of what architecture should be is given an additional implication: that architectural interiors and landscape architecture are mere primary modes of the architectural creative process and at best, are worthy only of beginning architectural design education. This now also puts into question the foundational definition of architecture itself. What is architecture made of? Is architecture made of specific “elements” with interior and exterior landscaping? While the standardized content of the preparatory design courses in the first year promote the inclusion of topics deemed as basic, a closer reexamination brings to light inclusive topics that betray an unclear assumptive definition of architecture itself. As shown, the unstated impression left with the freshman student by the often literal


interpretation of the preliminary design course topics on the uniform curriculum is that architecture is primarily a physical object that one must learn to design. Such an object has specific characteristics, but what they are is the personal onus of the student. As witnessed in the wealth of data and thought on the complex relationship between the designed environment and humanity, it may be assumed that the implicative product of an architectural education, which identifies architecture as a static non-relational object, is an environment where Place is accidental and not purposeful, where buildings mean only in the most peripheral sense and where idiosyncratically aestheticized form is precedent over lived space. Thus, the felt actualities of architecture as people-friendly and meaningful are marginalized in favor of the Modernist idiom. Designed space is then viewed as a by-product of the dominant form and as a necessary utility. We see, then, that environmental space is a uniquely necessary entity for human welfare. In situating first year design courses within a definition of architecture that has little relation to people other than to meet their needs, it may not be farfetched to envision a resultant designed environment as visually interesting, even pleasing, but experientially devoid of human warmth or attraction. What may have been overlooked, then, in the course content of the uniform curriculum of architectural design, is the notion that architecture is much more than a container for people. The uniform curriculum, in itself, does not include any detailed proposed syllabi for the courses, as each institution is required to develop their own syllabi and interpret the mandated topical course content as they see fit. Thus, these required course titles and topic titles are the only basis for the construction of each institution’s syllabi.15 Given this, perhaps a consideration should be made for the possibility of the inclusion of a foundational comprehension of spatial cognition in the early design courses. Research on the development of spatial cognition in children indicates areas of spatial studies which may provide bases for curricular content with an additional, but necessary, focus on the cognition, comprehension and manipulation within space of the human being as a significant aspect of human survival. Such inclusion would then ground the beginning student in the reality of architecture not as a built object outside the realm of human agency, but as an interactive participant in human well-being.

Gardner16 has characterized spatial intelligence as having the following aspects: the capacities to perceive our spatial environment accurately, to modify and transform these initial perceptions, to re-create aspects of our visual experience without a visual stimulus, and to produce forms or manipulate given ones. The development of such abilities allows us to perceive and negotiate our relations with the environment for our safety, comfort and health. Spatial intelligence begins with the development of spatial cognition at a young age. A large amount of research in this area has provided inroads to our comprehension of spatial ability. In sum, this body of work has appeared to focus on four major areas of human ability: body position and orientation, object location, wayfinding and the understanding and use of spatial symbols. Piaget has provided a substantial foundation of experimentation and research centering on neonatal body orientation. Subjects’ evidentiary comprehension of specific views through head and eye positions have led to his postulation of the development of an early image of body layout through the establishment of various frames of reference centered on the body-self. It has been seen that an infant learns, at the outset, to control movement and direction, allowing them to differentiate areas in space and later, generally locate objects. Spatial parameters are thus perceived according to distances of sensory-motor organization. Frostig17 has further theorized that these egocentric and even allocentric activities, in fact, initiate the creation and enhancement of early body image, particularly in its subjective state. Object search and location in space marks a further developmental step by the extension of frames of reference from the self to the immediate world, as theorized by Piaget. Such location considers the continuous updating of information of moved objects involving perception, memory and logical inference. It has been learned that children from two to four years rely on spatial, rather than visual, cues to locate objects. Foreman and Gillett18 thus state that it is the relative position of an object with regards to other objects that provides markers for its position, and not the visual qualities of the object itself or its spatial context. Familiarity with the object is apparently not significant in younger children as is the significance of landmarks. Older children then begin to adopt the use of visual cues as working memory improves and expands. The transition from spatial to visual cuing is further found to be influenced by both the amount of experience as well as the affective quality of the experience. Research on children’s wayfinding abilities indicates that pre-school children can remember simple and moderately difficult routes even after only one exposure. It is apparent that they are able to use both personal and ephemeral landmarks in both route memory and description. Thus, stable landmarks significant to them, as well as moveable or changing ones employed through memory, serve as signifiers to establish cognitive maps. Experimenta-

Spatial Intelligence in Children: Cognition and Preferences
Given the context discussed, an examination of the research to date on the development of spatial cognition in children reveals possibilities in its adoption for use in the architecture curriculum.


tion has further shown that pre-school children are able to develop such maps even with limited verbal communication skills. The use of models and sketches reveals their ability to recall environmental features in specific locations and relationships to each other. Such abilities, however, are dependent on direct experience rather than on the viewing of representations or media substitutes. In sum, Pick19 identifies wayfinding ability in young children as the development and retention of route knowledge, information on proximity to self-selected landmarks and, in older children, the additional use of mental inferences and differing perspectives of an entire environmental layout which is further developed into young adulthood. In relation, experimentation has revealed that 2 1/2year-olds are already able to recognize relationships between models and actual spaces. These, however, must have a one-to-one correspondence in terms of number of elements, visual qualities and locational cues. Three- year-olds have, on average, more developed capabilities, in that they require less of a direct correspondence but still necessitating the presence of perceived similarity between elements. Four-year-olds may already be able to handle multiple correspondences between the model and the actual space, elements in the model and elements in the space itself. This is particularly possible if there is an overall familiar structure in the model or representation, such as the shape of an animal, from where one can relatively locate an object, for instance, as being “at the tip of the dog’s tail.” 20 Analysis: Proposed Spatial Learning Topics in the Course Content From the research on spatial cognition in children, it may be argued that an early comprehension of how people learn to situate themselves, locate objects and mentally manipulate environmental space is significant for continued human existence. Such understanding may then be translated as inclusive topics within the content of the first year design courses. Logically, it must be derived from the four areas of research on spatial cognition given in children, as described previously, as these are the foundations on which developmental spatial learning is made. As given, these are spatial symbols, body position and orientation, object location and wayfinding. Spatial symbols. This is a necessary “first step” in the development of design skills. Here, the beginning architectural student learns the visual and experiential realities of the various design communication graphic symbols being learned in their adjunct class on formal graphic drawing. This learning topic involves the understanding of the actual visual consequences of plan symbols such as walls, door swings, windows and their corresponding visual reality. Thus, at the outset, the student is made to realize that orthographic drawings used in the creation of architectural design have embedded realities beyond the artificialities seemingly

and temptingly denoted by the symbols themselves and thus used by students as convenient substitutes for the actual experience. Design exercises may then involve the mental visualization and imagining of various design elements within a single space from given graphic symbols. The student may then learn that drawings such as floor plans are only shorthand graphics for an experiential reality and are not the design itself. Body position and orientation. Design course content centered on this topic relate to the infant’s learned ability to distinguish specific spatial views as of the same object despite the production of differing views through eye and head movements. Thus, an understanding of the principle that spatial views may be made of the same object through differing station points or, conversely, of an entire spatial environment through an accumulation of differing views (such as in a panoramic mode) is an extension which may be applied to the beginning design student’s learning. Many such students’ initial endeavors in design classes are founded on the floor plan as the point of reference. Such a baseline creates an artificial reality wherein the designer sees an omniscient overhead view of an interior structure instead of a more understandable view of space as experienced in actuality. Thus, the inclusion of a topic on how body position creates differing spatial views may appear to develop a more authentic grasp of a designed space rather than an orthographic mental image. Design exercises may thus, for example, focus on generating differing views of an object within a space or of an entire space from a specific station point, thus allowing the student to appreciate a spatial experience more in tune with the expected reality. Object location. Here, the design student may progress to more complex experiences of spatial views, as this design topic is based on the child’s location of objects within space through the use of markers and cues. Specific views are recognized as familiar through the use of particular spatial elements as visual cues. Thus, the design student may further learn to manipulate viewpoints through designed spaces from one object or station point in the previous topic, to movements in and around a single space or set of spaces, while cuing in on specific elements to establish orientation and familiarity. A progressed layer of spatial skill is therefore obtained as the student learns the effect of a further series of movement on personal experience. Design exercises may then include those on the generation of spatial views given a specific route through a design as well as reflections on the experience. Wayfinding. This design topic further progresses from movement through space with a finite set of visual memory aids, to the design of a spatial series with a larger set of cues. Here, the design student may learn the experiential results of the design of circulation routes through and around architectural spaces, thus creating more thoughtful designs with knowledge of such results as base. Design exercises may thus involve the creation of a design focusing on users’ circulation patterns and the related experiences. These should result in the eventual development of architectural


designs with conscious wayfinding elements based on the knowledge of expected resultant experiences. In the topics and exercises proposed above, a point is thus made: learning what it means to create an architectural design as an experiential reality rather than from an omniscient view divorced from that of actual users’. A student also learns to understand what it means to design formal space using graphic symbols and their implicative realities, to design spaces with a single specific view, with multiple views of and from a single point, of a sequence of views through a spatial series while keeping a finite set of elements in view as location markers and, whole circulation patterns from the experienced spatial series with a thoughtful eye on creating wayfinding perceptions. In the end, the student is made to imbibe the concept that spatial design results in differing experiential consequences depending on specific manipulations. This may effectively erase the habitual notion of design from graphic conventions as an acceptable substitute for, and the consequent negation of, actual realities. Summary: Redefining Architecture Considering the wealth of established knowledge on the human-architecture interface and spatial cognition on children, perhaps it is time to reconsider our common notions of architecture. In doing so, it may then be possible to establish a deep foundation for the development of content for early design courses cognizant of the realities of human interactions and particularly, of spatial perception and cognition. Architecture has traditionally been defined as “the art and science of designing and constructing buildings.” This statement has led generations to create and reinforce the notion that architecture is a lofty activity to be engaged in only by initiates in its sacred knowledge. Among its implications include the Modernist idea that its products are bestowed from above on the populace, and that the latter has no right to voice its opinions on their creation. A pervading perception issuing from this definition is that architecture is merely a product, an object, albeit large by human scalar standards, but dispassionate and having no relation to human well-being other than providing shelter or being aesthetically pleasing. As such, it is no more than akin to a late-model sports car, a utilitarian object to possess and enjoy. Conversely, however, architectural literature has also conceived of architecture as that which “creates Places for people.” The phenomenological notion of space was first proposed by Bachelard in his volume, The Poetics of Space21, and further developed by Norberg-Schulz, as discussed above. Here, ‘Place’ has been defined to mean a designed environment that creates and embodies human memory and experience. Places are containers of human meaning, as they are imbued with our intentions and remembrances, which are communicated back, creating a reinforcing cycle of personal or even social interaction with architecture. Thus, all architecture communicate meanings through form and space. The British author

Gilbert Keith Chesterton once stated that “[a]rchitecture is the alphabet of giants; it is the largest set of symbols ever made to meet the eyes of men.” Architecture, then, provides Places as fully engaged environments that may be both active and passive in our relations with it. It is through the comprehension and acceptance of this alternative definition that the way may be paved for the eventual realization that architecture can, indeed, facilitate human development. By nature, the design of architecture involves the conceptualization of form and space which are its major components. Architectural form is that which we may appreciate with our senses. Because of its highly visual nature, form is often mistaken to be the sole embodiment of architecture’s being. Form is the physical material that shelters and provides visual delight, and thus is that which is quite obvious to our sight and appreciation. What is often overlooked, however, is the invisible space which we inhabit and through which we move. Space is assumed to be merely a by-product of the production of physical form. It is that which we fill up with objects and bodies to operationalize function. In fact, however, it is architectural space and not form that has proven to be the major engineer of human well-being in architecture, as may be deduced from the array of research on humanenvironment relations. The inherent qualities of a designed space, as revealed through its attendant form, are that which, in point of fact, communicate to us. Communicated meanings expressed by designed space are first perceived through our sensory equipment, but processed and absorbed by our conscious and unconscious faculties, thus inviting response. It is space, more than form, which we, in fact, inhabit and through which we establish relations with the environment. Norberg-Schulz22 has, in fact, identified five spatial schemata elucidating our human relations with designed space. ‘Pragmatic space,’ he states, is that through which physical action is made and which integrates the human entity with the physical environment. ‘Perceptual space’ is that which aids in locational orientation; it is essential to identity. ‘Existential space’ establishes familiarity and a sense of rootedness, thus developing a socio-cultural reality. ‘Cognitive space’ allows for the mental appreciation of the world. Finally, ‘logical space’ offers the tools to describe space to others. This ephemeral space, then, connects us to our environments in various ways and thereby creates avenues for interaction and human development. Spatial intelligence thus logically issues from this realization. To enhance well-being it is obvious, then, that architectural space and our relations with it must be comprehended. Newcombe and Huttenlocher23 have stated that “[i]n order to survive and reproduce all mobile beings must be able to organize their action in the spatial world”, while Gardner24 emphasizes that it is essential on a basic level that we are able to orient ourselves in the world, recognize objects or scenes in its original and altered forms and contexts, create and interpret graphic representations


of our spatial environment and comprehend verbal and visual metaphors about our spaces. Understanding how we do so, on the other hand, and consequently creating purposefully designed environments that support and enhance spatial abilities, thus appears to be the logical next step, one which we overlook often to the detriment of our human development and well-being. Thus, it may be seen as vital that an appreciation of spatial intelligence as well as its beginnings in the development of spatial cognition in children be the core to the development of learning content in the early architectural design courses.

1. Kristen Day and Margaret Calkins, “Design and Dementia,” in Handbook of Environmental Psychology, eds. Robert Bechtel and Arza Churchman (New York: Wiley, 2002). 2. Jane Carpman and Myron Grant, “Wayfinding: A Broad View,” in Handbook of Environmental Psychology, eds. Robert Bechtel and Arza Churchman (New York: Wiley, 2002). 3. Janetta McCoy, “Work Environments,” in Handbook of Environmental Psychology, eds. Robert Bechtel and Arza Churchman (New York: Wiley, 2002). 4. Arline Bronzaft, “Noise Pollution: A Hazard to Physical and Mental Well-Being,” in Handbook of Environmental Psychology, eds. Robert Bechtel and Arza Churchman (New York: Wiley, 2002). 5. Kate Nesbitt, ed. Theorizing a New Agenda for Architecture. (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996). 6. Robert Sommer, Personal Space: The Behavioral Basis of Design (New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1969). 7. Edward Hall, The Hidden Dimension (Garden City, New York: Anchor Books, 1966). 8. Amos Rapoport, House Form and Culture (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1969). 9. Chris Abel, Architecture and Identity (Oxford: Architectural Press, 2000). 10. Lawrence Vale, Architecture, Power and National Identity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992). 11. Christian Norberg-Schulz, Existence, Space and Architecture (New York: Praeger Publishers, 1971). 12. Harry Launce Garnham, Maintaining the Spirit of Place (Arizona: PDA Publishers, 1985). 13. Commission on Higher Education, CHED Memorandum Order No. 13 Series of 1999 Curricular Guidelines for Architecture Education. (Pasig City: CHED, 1999). 14. Francis Ching, Architecture: Form, Space and Order (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1979). 15. It is assumed for this study that institutions teaching undergraduate architecture do develop their own syllabi from the uniform CHED curriculum. As such, it will also be assumed that they adhere to the required course topics in doing so. The exception to this may be those institutions which CHED has granted the status of “Center of Excellence” and which are allowed to deviate from the uniform curriculum structure and course content in the development of their own curricula and syllabi. 16. Howard Gardner, Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligence. (New York: Basic Books, 2004). 17. Christopher Spencer, Mark Blades, and Kim Moresely, The Child in the Physical Environment (New York: Wiley, 1989). 18. Nigel Foreman and Raphael Gillett, eds. A Handbook of Spatial Research Paradigms and Methodologies, Volume 1. (United Kingdom: Psychology Press, 1997). 19. Herbert Pick, Jr., (1999). “Organization of Spatial Knowledge in Children” in Spatial Representation: Problems in Philosophy and Psychology, eds. N. Eilan, R. McCarthy and B. Brewer. (Great Britain: Oxford University Press, 1999). 20. Foreman and Gillett, A Handbook of Spatial Research Paradigms and Methodologies, Volume 1. 21. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas (Boston: Beacon Press, 1958). 22. Norberg-Schulz, Existence, Space and Architecture 23. Nora Newcombe and Janellen Huttenlocher, Making Space The Development of Spatial Representation and Reasoning (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2000). 24. Gardner, Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligence

It has been argued in this paper that current topics in mandated early architectural design courses appear to imply a view of architecture as that of formal object and container of human bodies and activities rather than the actual reality of architecture as lived and experiential space replete with interchange and dialogue between people and space. The created spaces of the designed environment and people affect each other; one reacts to stimuli from the other to create new perceptions of personal realities every moment. Studies from within and outside the domain of architectural thought have provided more than speculations on the various ways and implications of this exchange, with the result that is now accepted that designed space embodies dimensions far beyond that engendered by the notion of architecture as mere physical object. The use of a body of research on how people perceive, understand and use space from the field of study of the child’s development of spatial cognition is thus applied as the generator of additional learning topics for the freshman courses of the CHED standard undergraduate curriculum. This adoption of the concepts of spatial symbols, body position and orientation, object location and wayfinding appears to be a rational approach to the issue of the inclusion of more spatially perceptive learning topics. This in no way assumes, however, that the four are fixed, as additional research may be further added to the literature in the future. As such, it is this author’s recommendation that monitoring of this field of study in child development be continuously made to update the architectural design course topics. It is hoped, for now, that the inclusion of the proposed topics from research on spatial cognition may develop design skills that are more in step with reality, experience and humanity.


Rising Core House:
A Vision of a Sustainable Low-Income Urban Housing Linked with Income Generation for Slum Upgrading and Poverty Alleviation1,2
Albert Zambrano is an architect, painter and sculptor born in Manila. He has a degree in architecture from the University of Santo Tomas and a Diploma in Urban and Regional Planning from the University of the Philippines-Diliman. He is currently involved with research, planning and design of urban housing while teaching at the Mapua Institute of Technology.

In Manila, the slum and squatting problem became a glaring problem at the aftermath of World War II in 1945 when migrants from the countryside flocked to Manila in search of food and work.4 It was also at the end of the World War II that the United Nations (UN) was established to stabilize international relations and maintain peace.5 Since then, the UN has expanded its objectives to include reduction of poverty and the promotion of sustainable development. Among its specialized agencies is the UN-Habitat, which aims to achieve adequate shelter for all by promoting socially and environmentally sustainable human settlements development.6 Like the UN, the World Bank (WB) was established at the end of World War II, which was conceived for post-war reconstruction but is now focused on poverty reduction as its overarching goal.7 Both the UN and WB have produced extensive data and literature on housing in the Third World from their activities. This paper draws heavily from those literature and builds upon the theories and writings of influential authors on poverty and low-income housing in conceptualizing, supporting and justifying the proposed housing delivery system explained in this paper.

This paper summarizes a number of major Third World low-income housing literature and theory from the 1950s to the turn of the 21st century. Then, this paper explores an observed emerging trend in the transformation process of a Manila slum. A synthesis of the findings is then made a basis for formulating a proposed low-income housing delivery model that is put forward in this paper. The proposed model is explained with a corresponding prototype design that will demonstrate the physical possibility of such a housing model on very small lot cuts. Moreover, the prototype will provide practical design ideas and layout suggestions to slum upgrading beneficiaries who cannot afford the services of a professional architect. “Laborare est Orare” – St. Benedict3

Sustainable Development and Urbanization
Cities make vital contributions to economic growth; they are the main engine of development of both developed and developing countries.8 In addition, cities also serve as incubators for new and emerging enterprises where


goods, information, labor and services are efficiently exchanged.9 The world is increasingly becoming urbanized; 2008 is the year that for the first time in human history, there are more people living in urban areas than in rural areas. Projections based on trends show that increasingly, there will be more people living in urban areas in the future. Most urban growth will be in developing countries, the population of which will be mostly poor. Projections show that by 2030, Asia’s urban population may reach 2.64 billion, Africa up to 742 million, and Latin America and the Caribbean up to 609 million. Their total will account for 80 percent of the world’s urban population in 2030. However, very few cities in the developing world generate enough jobs to meet the demands of their growing populations.10 Political instability and social unrest may result in huge numbers of people out of work especially during a recession. The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) reports that young men’s frustration at being unable to find work or engage in decent livelihoods contributes to violent behavior at home or in the streets. Young women, on the other hand, may resort to early marriages or involvement in prostitution, increasing the risk of sexual violence and exposure to HIV/AIDS.11 Furthermore, those without productive livelihoods or employment are easily recruited to take part in subversive or criminal activities. If cities are to work, it is necessary to improve the work of the poor. More and better job opportunities must be created to improve living conditions and to create a better environment in urban settlements.12 Increasing populations and the corresponding increase in human activities, especially in urban areas, lead to the depletion of resources, the exacerbation of environmental problems including pollution, the generation of waste and climate change. Low- and middle-income countries are vulnerable to the impacts of climate change. Their urban populations are particularly vulnerable to increases in the frequency and intensity of storms, floods, heat waves, the reduction in water supply and price increases of food.13 The Report of the World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED), titled Our Common Future, defines sustainable development as meeting of the needs of today without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs. The report states that the future will be predominantly urban and that many environmental concerns will be urban. The report analyzes the links between poverty, inequality and environmental degradation.14 The Habitat Agenda, in turn, defines sustainable human settlements as combining economic development, social development and environmental protection. It recognizes that attaining the goals of adequate shelter for all and sustainability of human settlements will promote global stability and equity by reducing conflict and injustice, and contribute to comprehensive and lasting peace. The Habitat Agenda also asserts that properly planned

and managed urban settlements hold a promise for human development and for the protection of the world’s natural resources through its ability to support large numbers of people while limiting their impact on the natural environment.15 Janice Perlman thus postulates eloquently that global environmental sustainability cannot be achieved without urban environmental sustainability, and that there can be no urban environmental sustainability without alleviating urban poverty.16

The Culture of Poverty and the Myth of Marginality
During the late 1950s, Oscar Lewis formulated a theory of poverty based on his studies of slums in Mexico and the United States. According to Lewis, poor people with a culture of poverty have feelings of marginality, powerlessness, inferiority, unworthiness, helplessness and dependence. They are disorganized, have no ability and have no initiative. This culture is perpetuated when it is passed on to their children.17 The study of Aprodicio Laquian situated in Manila, Philippines during the late 1960s, however, does not fit the theory of Lewis. Laquian’s study of Barrio Magsaysay in Tondo shows that the poor are, in fact, well organized for mutual protection and mutual support for social and religious observance. His findings show that the majority of slum dwellers are hardworking and honest people who send their children to school and dream that they will one day rise out from the poverty in the slums. Regardless of how harsh and difficult the lives of poor people are in the slums, they have a better chance of improving their lives in the city than in rural areas.18 Also contrary to the assertions of Lewis, Perlman, during the 1970s, studied the favelas (slums) of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. She found that rather than being a drain upon the economy, the poor residents provided a constant supply of cheap labor in the city, while also participating as consumers. She found in them high rates of community group membership, strong kinship networks and evidence of trust in mutual help.19 Moreover, in relatively recent studies by Hernando de Soto in the cities of Egypt, Haiti, Mexico, Peru and the Philippines during the 1990s, results have led him to conclude that the difficult journey towards ‘poverty eradication’ and economic development lies within shantytowns together with their slum entrepreneurs. He points out that in each country examined, the entrepreneurial ingenuity of the poor created wealth on a vast scale. This wealth can also constitute the largest source of potential capital for development.20

Incremental Self-Help House Transformations and Home-Based Enterprises
Back in 1952, the United Nations Housing, Building and Planning Branch commissioned Charles Abrams to undertake a survey of the world’s urban land problems and policies. It has brought him to various countries such as


Barbados, Bolivia, Colombia, Ghana, India, Ireland, Jamaica, Japan, Nigeria, Pakistan, the Philippines, Puerto Rico, Singapore, Turkey and Venezuela. Then, in 1961, the Joint Center for Urban Studies of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Harvard University asked Abrams to put together his reports into a book, which was published in 1964 and was titled Man’s Struggle for Shelter in an Urbanizing World. The book highlights housing as an important component of the urbanizing process while linking it to the broader aspects of the development process.21 Among the findings of Abrams was that when mortgage financing was unavailable (especially for slum dwellers), house building was done in installments. This method is done in all parts of the world, starting with a simple shelter, then expanding room by room or floor by floor until the house meets the family’s space needs.22 In addition, the experience in many countries, including the Philippines, shows that even the poorest families manage to enlarge and improve their housing over time, if they have a stake in doing so.23 In 1957 the British architect John Turner worked for the Peruvian government in providing technical assistance and research in the barriadas (urban squatter settlements) of Lima, Peru. From his years of work, Turner developed a housing ideology for the exploding cities of the Third World. According to him, the important thing about housing is not the house itself, nor how it looks. The important thing is what the house can do to the dweller and how the house can meet the needs of the dweller.24 He also believes that when dwellers control the design, construction and management of their own house, the process stimulates individual and social well-being, leading to personal fulfillment.25 These ideas were influential in the self-help ‘sites and services’ and slum upgrading approaches of housing provisions during the 1970s. These involved providing basic services and allowing the dweller to freely construct his own house in any way within set standards or limits. Graham Tipple and teams of researchers during the mid1980s studied dwelling transformations, or the changes and extensions of dwellings done by dwellers, on government-built housing in Bangladesh, Egypt, Ghana, and Zimbabwe. Their study showed that relatively low-income households were capable of improving their housing conditions and had the ability to supply rental rooms or provide accommodation for other family members. The extensions and changes were often of as good a quality as that of the original structures. Extension activities improved local housing conditions and increased the use of rooms for commercial and other economic activities, adding to the income-earning potential of residents. User-initiated transformations also increased the rate of housing supply, providing accommodation for many extra households.26 In later studies, Tipple found that households living in poverty tended to extend their dwellings and use them for economically-profitable purposes as much as they possibly could. He studied the effects of home-based enterprises (HBE) on the residential environment of developing countries. He found that HBEs increased the employment

opportunities for low-income households, especially for women. Aside from increasing employment opportunities, HBEs also improved access to essential services, although it potentially had bigger concerns on waste generation and disposal. Overall, Tipple proposed a general acceptance that HBEs are valid in low-income residential areas and should be encouraged.27 More to the point, Laquian states: “If there is one lesson for planners in the massive literature on slums and squatter community life, it is the finding that housing in these areas is not for home life alone. A house is a production place, market place, entertainment centre, financial institution and also a retreat. A low-income community is the same, only more so. Both the home and the community derive their vitality from this multiplicity of uses”.28

Domestic Economy and Linking Housing Provision with Income Generation
Cedric Pugh developed a housing theory in a domestic economy during the 1990s, stating that housing economics should not be confined to market exchange value, design and impact of subsidies and social questions. According to his theory, housing is domestic capital, drawing together social and economic assets in household economics. He defines household economics as generation of income, domestic sector work and human capital formation in children and other members of the household. The roles of individuals and households in domestic economics is central in socio-economic, political, and environmental sustainability.29-31 The UN-Habitat and International Labour Organization (ILO) document titled Shelter Provision and Employment Generation recognizes the role of HBEs to individual households and to the national economy of governments, stating: Home-based enterprises should be recognized as important contributors to the poorest households’ economies and to the country as a whole. The best policy for current home-based enterprises is tolerance and non-intervention while allowing them to be eligible for small business loans, training assistance etc. It is proposed, however, that loans for small businesses should be permitted for the extension of the home for business use.32 The UN Report Challenge of Slums: Global Report on Human Settlements 2003 emphasized the need for future government policies to support the livelihoods of the urban poor by linking low-income housing development to income generation to eradicate slums, stating: The answer, therefore, lies, as it has always done, with countries and city governments to decide what will benefit their people, and put together strategies in partnership with their citizens and donors that will enable these outcomes to be reached. Because


slums are both a result and a manifestation of urban poverty, such strategies must address the fundamental problems of unemployment, lack of income-generation opportunities and rising income inequality. Put simply, the journey towards cities without slums must be part of the more difficult journey towards ‘poverty eradication’, which is essentially a search for sustainable urban livelihoods.33 A previous UN Report, An Urbanizing World: United Nations Global Report on Human Settlements 1996, tells us that the construction industry in most countries makes significant contributions to socio-economic development. It contributes to a nation’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP) and to its fixed capital formation. The construction industry has multiplier effects that stimulate other sectors of the economy.34 The UN Global Strategy for Shelter to the Year 2000, paragraph 49 thus states: Income and employment generated by shelter construction are amplified by forward and backward links to other sectors of the economy. Studies have found that these links not only are at least capable of generating income and employment gains as other types of capital investment but frequently operate with considerably shorter time lags than other investment between the inception of investment and the realization of its full effects. For this latter reason, the shelter sector is often looked on as an attractive sector for stimulating the economy in order to achieve recovery from periods of economic recession.35 Shelter is therefore an integral part of development - they are mutually supportive and interdependent. The UN Global Strategy for Shelter to the Year 2000 thus recommends the shelter sector to be linked to the goals of overall economic policy, social policy, settlement policy and environmental policy.36

Rudofsky, the philosophy and know-how of the builders of vernacular architecture present the largest untapped source of architectural inspiration for industrial man.37 Dwellings in informal settlements have many similarities and parallels to vernacular architecture: they are built by people who will live in them with some help of family and community members, or in other instances, by a small group of informal builders. These settlements and their structures change and grow over time. These people build according to their present needs using their current available resources. Amos Rapoport observed that contemporary spontaneous settlements resemble traditional vernacular settlements and developed a framework that would consider spontaneous settlements as vernacular settlements. He has demonstrated how spontaneous settlements can be the closest contemporary of vernacular settlements. Rapoport then strongly advocates that spontaneous settlements are of vernacular design from which designers and planners can learn from.38 The exhortations of Rudofsky and Rapoport on what may be learned from vernacular architecture and informal or spontaneous settlements are taken in with the conceptualization of the proposed housing model explained in this paper.

Slum Upgrading Outcomes and Trends in the Philippines
This section explores an emerging trend in house design and construction in informal settlements in the Philippines. As a case study, it will describe the transformation process of a settlement in the City of Manila, namely the Dagonoy Estate. The Dagonoy Estate is more popularly known as the ‘Hiyas ng Maynila’ or Jewel of Manila. It is a 10,433 square meter estate bounded by Estrada, Onyx and Crisolita Streets in San Andres Bukid, Manila. The site was a swampland first occupied by informal settlers in the early 1960s. Since then, the estate has experienced fires in 1980, 1984, 1992 and 1999. After every fire, residents immediately rebuilt their shanties using whatever they saved from the fire combined with other sourced materials. Municipal Ordinance No. 7998 under the Land for the Landless Program of the City of Manila granted security of tenure to the beneficiaries. The site was re-blocked, resulting in 316 homelots, and was awarded to beneficiaries on December 24, 2000. Gawad Kalinga (GK), a non-government organization (NGO) which has been involved in the delivery of housing and services to the poor in 2002, started extending assistance to the estate in partnership with the City Government of Manila. Community improvements, house construction, assistance with medical, educational and livelihood services were also provided by GK. Residents who opted not to receive assistance from GK for house construction pursued their own construction ac-

Vernacular Architecture and Spontaneous Settlements
According to Bernard Rudofsky in his 1964 book Architecture without Architects, vernacular architecture is also known as non-formal, anonymous, spontaneous, indigenous or rural architecture. Some of its characteristics are durability and versatility. The builders of vernacular architecture have an admirable talent for fitting buildings into their natural environment. The builders build spontaneously using common sense in solving practical problems. Many of these solutions are handed down from generation to generation. Some old settlements are even preserved and made into luxury resorts to provide relaxation for city dwellers. Some well-known examples are Santorini in Greece, Positano in Italy, Mojacar in Spain and Hyderabad Sindh in Pakistan. For


tivities. Those who chose to avail of GK’s assistance were organized to undertake communal construction of wellbuilt concrete 2-storey housing units for the participants. After GK’s assistance, some residents, on their own initiative and efforts, added more floors. The small lot cuts and heterogeneous characteristic of residents have produced an interesting mix of structures of varying heights at various stages of completion (Figure 1). Some structures are well-built while others may be classified as precarious construction (see the succeeding section entitled Photo-Documentation). Limited data shown in Table 1 indicates lot cuts becoming smaller in the re-blocking of slum upgrading and slum redevelopment projects. This has brought about an emerging trend in house design and construction that may be termed as the incremental slim building.

Figure 1: Interesting mix of structures of varying heights at various stages of completion in the community as of 2006 (Zambrano, 2006)

Table 1: Minimun Lot Cuts from Several Shelter Projects since 1977 to 2006

Photo Documentation

Figure 2: Physical forms emerging from the transformation of slums with small lot cuts. Note the use of the street level for comme commercial purposes

Figure 3: A one-storey CHB house on the left Figure 4: The box structure, after a year, was expanded horizontally towards the is a box structure with a two-step street using wooden materials ladder to the entrance

Figure 5: Hazardous practice of stacking cantilevered floors on top of each other in order to increase floor area

Figure 6: Too slim for comfort, with about a 2-meter wide frontage. Access is an external spiral staircase from the ground straight to the fourth floor

Figure 7: Due to the reduction of natural Figure 8: The same box that was horizontally expanded has undergone vertical light and ventilation as a result of small expansion, rising two stories high lot cuts, beneficiaries were bound to put windows on firewalls although it may be blocked by future construction on the adjoining lot

Figure 9: Design and construction provisions to readily admit an additional floor

Figure10: Common skyline feature: protruding steel bars from a concrete roof slab show the intent of the residents to expand at a future date


the either the Community Mortgage Program (CMP) or resettlements sites. The rationale for the model is the need to create sustainable livelihoods and shelter for the increasing number of poor families in this rapidly urbanizing world. The proposed housing model will be called the Rising Core House (RCH). The main point of the RCH is that the poor should not remain poor. It is a vehicle for the poor for self-determination. It creates opportunities for them to evolve their potentials. This is done by harnessing their own initiatives, creativity, energies and resources to improve their conditions over time.
Figure 11: Example of a well built 4-storey dwelling structure emerging from slum upgrading

The RCH was conceptualized by combining the characteristics of vernacular architecture with organic slum development patterns and sustainable building approaches. The development process is analogous to the shell growth of the chambered nautilus: as the body of the nautilus grows, so does its shell grow in stages. The housing model, in the same manner, can grow in stages as families grow and as extended families are added to the household (Fig) ure 13).

Figure 13: Development process (Bayona, 2009).

Figure 12: An excellent example of a tall and slim dwelling structure

The Proposed Housing Delivery Model and a Prototype Design
The theoretical housing delivery system model explained here is best explained when accompanied with a corresponding prototype design. The prototype design will provide a clear visual description of the concept, its process and its design features. The prototype also demonstrates the physical spatial possibility of such a conceptual model on very small lot cuts that are common in urban slums. Moreover, slum upgrading programs and projects usually do not include a housing component; beneficiaries are left to themselves to design and construct their own houses. The prototype will provide a model where beneficiaries and self-help builders can get design ideas from, especially on how to achieve better natural lighting and natural ventilation that slim buildings lack. The model was conceptualized for slum upgrading in highly urbanized areas, but it can also be applied in

Figure 14: Rising Core House

Figure 15: Regional replications

The RCH develops incrementally into a mixed-use typology, with the flexibility to adjust to changing economic conditions and requirements. It can accommodate functions of living and of making a living in a variety of combinations. The lower floors are used for income- generating activities while the upper floors are used as dwelling spaces. The ground floor can be a store, a workshop, a clinic, an office or a carport. w These spaces can also gen-


erate rental income if owners choose to lease out parts of these spaces (Figure 14 & Figure 16).

in new construction, expansion, upgrading, renovation and repairs. Such construction activities can create multiplier effects on other sectors of the economy and stimulate the growth of micro-, small- and medium-enterprises (MSMEs) within the community in food, services or trading, thus creating more income-generating opportunities for the poor in urban areas. The physical incremental development from the one-storey core house to a higher structure may symbolically represent the poor’s aspiration and struggle to lift themselves out of poverty. Literally, it may do just that, because it is a potentially effective tool for poverty alleviation and urban revitalization when combined with security of tenure, micro-finance and support for home-based enterprises (HBEs) (Figure 19).

Dormitory Layout

Apartment layout with separate access

Roof deck for roof garden or urban agriculture

Above ground living, dining, and kitchen

Above ground 2-bedroom layout

Above ground 1-bedroom layout

Ground store layout

Ground store and carport/shop layout

Ground carport/workshop layout

19 square mts. studio starter unit

25 sqm expanded 1- bedroom unit

Ground carport/workshop layout

Figure 16: Floor layout possibilities

Figure 19: Incremental development and home improvement over time
Sun shading and natural lighting Passive cooling and cross ventilation Rainwater harvesting and grey water re-use

Figure 17: Design features
Flood scenario

Theoretical Narrative The following paragraph is a theoretical narrative of some poor people living together in a community, all having an opportunity to build their lives with a housing development system that is linked with income generation. Human interaction in healthy competition may spur further development, while human interaction in cooperation and mutual support fosters community building within the settlement site:
Artemio is a poor barber, his barbershop is the front porch of his one-storey house. Over time, he has saved enough money to construct a second floor. He buys cement, steel bars, fiber boards, paints, pipes and other construction materials from Benjamin’s small hardware store a few houses away. Charlie and his team of carpenters who live nearby were hired as construction workers for the expansion.

Figure 18: Layout for a 3-meter wide frontage and 4-meter deep lot

The methods of construction are labor intensive and use construction components that can be manufactured or assembled in small workshops. This can help create jobs

During construction, the group of carpenters would usually buy food from Dana’s bakery/food store located next to the construction site. With increased sales, Dana buys herself a new dress from Ella’s tailor/dress shop located


on the street corner nearby. Ella has no time to do her laundry so she sends them to Francoise’s laundry shop behind her house. Francoise ran out of soap and walks to Grace’s neighborhood store across the street to buy the soap she needs. Grace commissioned her neighbor Hiro, the taxi driver, with a delivery of an additional stock of soap. Hiro, after making the delivery, buys a gift for his mother-in-law from Isoud’s gift shop a few blocks away from his house. Isoud’s television has needed repair for some time now; with the extra cash at hand he calls on Jose, an electronics repairman, to fix it. Jose’s daughter has a well-paying job in the formal sector; they start planning the expansion of their house with the help of her husband Kiriam, who was laid off but fortunately has found an overseas job. Kiriam used to work in the same company as Leo, who unfortunately was also laid off and could not find another job. One day, after he was paid some money as an unskilled laborer working on the expansion of a neighbor’s house, Leo took his sixyear old son to Artemio’s barbershop. While his son was having a haircut, he daydreamed and thought to himself that if he is not lucky enough to expand his own house, he hopes to send his son to school to eventually get a good job or get lucky in a business and expand the small house they have. Artemio is again saving money to construct another floor…

may not turn out as expected, the Rising Core House may not even rise at all in some situations, but the possibilities of expansion and income-generating opportunities could give a clear and concrete goal that low-income people can busily work on. This is a realistic and achievable goal most people living in poverty can aspire and hope for. Notes and References
1. Many thanks to the reviewers - their insights and suggestions have improved the paper in ways that were unexpected by the author. Thank you so much to Dean Asteya Santiago, Dr. Ernesto Gonzales, Dean Miguel Carpio, Dean Abelardo Firmeza, Dean Maundelito Florendo, Dean Nicolas Ricafrente, Dean Gloria Teodoro, Prof. Ricardo Aranas, Prof. Daniel Dayan, Prof. Leah Dela Rosa, Prof. Willy Enghoy, and Prof. Rodwin Oloresisimo for their comments, suggestions, and support. A million thanks to my students for lending me their hands in creating images and scale models for this paper namely: Annello Abong, Allan Acielo, Angelo Adriano, Marco Amores, Nestor Barbosa Jr., Raison Bassig, Brian Bayona, Bon Campana, Christine Ferro, Ezra Geronimo, Joseph Josue, April Lantican, Hannah Lising, Dimsy Malonzo, Krishna Manalo, Ryan Mariano, Cerise Mina, Jan Pedregosa, Lovelian Reyes, Franco Santiago, Rannie Sherman, Ralph Uyan, and Erwin Zembrano. Also my heartfelt gratitude to everyone else who has contributed both directly and indirectly to this paper in any way. Thank you all… 2. This paper is dedicated to my art teacher Fernando Sena his actions and words towards children, especially underprivileged children, is an inspiring light. 3. Benedictine edict in Latin, translated as “to work is to pray” 4. Juppenlatz, M. Cities in Transformation: The Urban Squatter Problem of the Developing World. (Sta. Lucia, Queensland: University of Queensland Press. 1970) pp. 89-92. 5. http://www.un.org/aboutun/history.htm 6. http://www.unhabitat.org 7. http://www.web.worldbank.org 8. ILO (2001). Cities at Work: Promoting employment and social inclusion in urban settlements in developing countries. Background paper for the United Nations General Assembly Special Session on “Istanbul+5”, 6-8 June 2001. p. 7 9. Dowall and Clarke. A Framework for Reforming Urban Land Policies in Developing Countries. (Washington D.C.:The International Bank for Reconstruction and Development/THE WORLD BANK, 1996) p.9 10. UNFPA. State of the World Population: Unleashing the Potential of Urban Growth. 2007. http:// unfpa.org .2007. 11. Ibid., p. 18 12. ILO. Cities at Work: Promoting employment and social inclusion in urban settlements in developing countries. Background paper for the United Nations General Assembly Special Session on “Istanbul+5”, 6-8 June 2001. 2001. p. 1. 13. Satterthwaite et al. Adapting to Climate Change in Urban Areas: The possibilities and Constraints in Low- and Middle-income Nations. Human Settlements Discussion Paper Series, Climate Change and Cities No. 1. (London: International Institute of Environment and Development, 2007). 14. WCED. Our Common Future: Report of the World Commission on Environment and Development. (New York: United Nations. 1987). 15. UN-Habitat. The Istanbul Declaration and the Habitat Agenda. (Nairobi:UN-Habitat, 2001). 16. Perlman and Sheehan. Fighting Poverty and Environmental Injustice in Cities. Chapter 9, State of the World 2007: Our Urban Future. (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2007) pp. 172-239. 17. Lewis, O. The Culture of Poverty. (Scientific American, 215(4) , 1966) pp. 19-25. 18. Laquian, A. Slums are for People: The Barrion Magsaysay Pilot Project in Urban Community Development. (Quezon City: Local Government Center, College of Public Administration, University of the Philippines, 1969.) 19. Perlman, J.E. The Myth of Marginality. (Berkely, CA: University of California Press, 1976.) 20.De Sotto, H. The Mystery of Capital: Why Capitalism Triumphs in the Westand Nowhere Else. (New York: Basic Books, 2000). 21.Abrams, C. Man’s Struggle for Shelter in an Urbanizing World. (Massachusetts: The M.I.T. Press, 1964). 22.Ibid., pp. 174-175 23.Ibid., pp. 178-179 24.Turner, J. Housing by People: Towards Autonomy in Building Environments. (London: Marion Boyars Publishers Ltd.,1976). 25.Turner, J.F. and Fichter, R. Freedom to Build: Dweller Control of the Housing Process. (New York: The Macmillan Company. 1972). 26.Tipple, G. Extending Themselves: User-Initiated Transformations of Government-Built Housing in Developing Countries. (Liverpool, England: Liverpool University Press. 2000). 27.Tipple, et al . The Effects of Home-Based Enterprises on the Residential Environment in Developing Countries. (Urbanizing World and UN Human Habitat II, International Research Foundation for Development, Inc. New York. 2002). 28.Laquian, A. (1983) Basic Housing: Policies for Urban Sites, Services, and Shelter in Developing Countries. (Ottawa. Canada:International Development Research Centre). pp. 87-93. 29.Pugh, C. Squatter settlements: Their sustainability, architectural contributions, and socio-economic roles. Cities, Vol 17, No. 5. pp. 325-337. 2000 30.Pugh, C. A new approach to housing theory, sex, gender and the domestic economy, Housing Studies 5(2), 112-129. 1990 31.Pugh, C. The household, household economics and housing. Housing Studies 12(3), 383-391. 1997 32.UNCH (Habitat) - ILO. Shelter provision and employment generation. (Nairobi, United Nations Centre for Human Settlements (Habitat); Geneva, International Labour Office, 1995). 33.UN-Habitat (United Nations Human Settlements Programme) The Challenge of Slums: Global Report on Human Settlements 2003. (London: Earthscan, 2003). p 53. 34.UNCH. An Urbanizing World: Global report on Human Settlements 1996. (Oxford: Oxford University Press,1996). 35.United Nations Centre for Human Settlements (Habitat). The Global Strategy for Shelter to the Year 2000. Nairobi:UNCHS, 1990). p 19. 36.Ibid., pp. 52. 37.Rudofsky, B Architecture without Architects. (New York: Doubleday, 1964). 38.Rapoport, A. Spontaneous settlements as vernacular design. In Spontaneous Shelter: International Perspectives and Prospects, ed. C. Patton, (Philadelphia: Temple University Press 1988) pp 51-57. 39. Reforma, M. Housing the Urban Poor: The Tondo Experience. (Quezon City: National Housing Authority. 1983). 40. Santiago, A. (1987). “Shelter and Services for the Poor: A case study of San Martin de Porres,” in Philippine Planning Journal. Vol. XIV, No. 2, April 1983 , Vol. XV, No1, October 1983 pp. 1-27

This paper will conclude with two primary points: the first is that low-income housing development can be heavilylinked to income generation, as demonstrated by the proposed housing model and its prototype design. This linking will address the fundamental need to create sustainable urban livelihoods for the unemployed and the poor. The second point is that user participation and dweller control of the design, construction and management of houses and communities are necessary for the success of housing programs and projects, but the precarious and undesirable construction practices noted in the photo-documentation necessitates the formulation of guidelines and standards appropriate for slum upgrading. The presented prototype in this paper provides a clearly defined visual reference for a participatory discussion among beneficiaries, public officials, planners, architects, engineers and other actors on setting limits, formulating guidelines and establishing standards for the upgrading and management of slums.

No amount of affordability or feasibility studies, existing empirical data or argument can fully validate the proposed housing delivery system presented in this paper. Extensive in-depth research on settlements where such similar housing delivery system patterns already exist may provide insights. However, its ultimate test is when it is deliberately and systematically (or spontaneously) implemented in various contexts. The results


The University Experience in an Urban University:
Preserving the Academic Environment of the University of the Philippines Diliman
Maureen Anne Araneta is an Assistant Professor at the College of Architecture of the University of the Philippines Diliman. She is also an architect of the Office of the Campus Architect of the University of the Philippines in Diliman. She completed her B.S. degree in Architecture (cum laude) and her M.A. degree in Urban and Regional Planning at the School of Urban and Regional Planning, both at the University of the Philippines Diliman. Her apparent centricity towards UP is redeemed by her high school education at Philippine Science High School (Diliman).

thoughts, statements and actions of both the faculty and student alike . Contributions to the nation were merely consequences of the academic endeavor. This may also be the reason why the myth of the “Diliman Republic” persisted:, that the campus was a bubble that isolated faculty and students from the mundane facets of the outside world. At the same time, this bubble allowed the outside world to be the center of intellectual discussion. The bubble burst during Martial Law years in the 1970s. UP students and faculty took part in protest rallies and demonstrations despite threats of injury and arrest. The imposition of the “New Society,” a social reengineering scheme that favored the ruling regime, was suffered by the University. According to Elmer A. Ordoñez however, the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus also brought about a positive outcome - the birth of the civil liberties movement oncampus. It was at that point where UP’s “Olympian indifference” was irreversibly overturned. The 1980s and 1990s saw the slow but steady trickling in of outsiders onto campus land. This may largely be attributed to the experience the University shared with the nation during Martial Law, in which sympathies were with those who were treated unfairly. Come present day, this sympathy has metamorphosed into the intrusion of outsiders into the campus by. Oncampus, ambulant vendors, ragamuffins and informal settlements are a common sight. Various areas of the campus have been classified as criminal hotspots, where cellphones are more usually snatched and car side-mirrors stolen. The campus has become a traffic by-way, connecting the northern por-

The faculty, students and staff of the University of the Philippines have developed values that surround, shape and permeate their university experience. The presence of these values is indicated by UP’s stature as a premier educational institution. What challenges the preservation of these values are the variable forces outside the realm of the Diliman campus. These forces, especially when taken together with the internal forces of the University, create a dynamism that can enhance the institution if university experience is maintained within the dominion of the academe and if support services of the University are developed.

The University of the Philippines has been involved in national concerns since its inception in 1908. Until the 1960s, however, its involvementseemed tempered, because academic pursuit defined and dictated the


tions Quezon City to Ortigas and even Makati. Having a non-UP person as a neighbor in the residential areas oncampus is no longer unheard of. Although it is true that students and faculty are focused on academic pursuits, the accumulated negative effect of non-academic activities are certainly be felt by students and faculty by virtue of their occurring oncampus, the very milieu upon which academic activities take place. UPD began as a 493-hectare donation coupled with the 1,572 hectares of the Tuason Estate purchased at the price of P786,000.00 (P0.05 per square meter or P500.00 per hectare)(OJO: WHO PURCHASED FROM WHO?). The purchased land and the land donation are respectively the origins of Quezon City, which has now grown to be “the largest of Metro Manila’s cities in population and land area”1 , and UPD, which was designated by President Manuel L. Quezon “to provide an adequate educational plan in an atmosphere conducive to moral and scholastic standard appropriate to our highest institution of learning.”2 The growth of the campus’s city seat, Quezon City, further aggravates the intrusion of outsiders into the campus despite the institutional land classification of UPD in the Land Use Plan of Quezon City. The metamorphosis from distant place to center, from isolation to city assimilation, is a scenario largely brought about by the uncontrollable actions of forces external to the University. These actions have a great effect on the quality of academic life oncampus, which, in turn, affect the academic outputs of students and faculty. The “atmosphere conducive to moral and scholastic standard” will constantly be threatened unless the University takes these external forces in hand.

UP is managed through its various administrative authorities such as the Board of Regents, the Chancellor, the Vice-Chancellors and the Deans. The manner in which UP is managed, however, should be based on a concrete and detailed identity, and must be much more than just its umbrella description s “the premier academic institution in the country.” The imperative is to operationalize this theoretical self-definition to better identify the roles of UP, and in consequence, play out these roles more effectively.

The University and the City
Universities, especially those of the state, can be regarded as “the microcosm of its host country.” Christopher Driver expounds this by stating that the “existence of a university capable of governing itself by the consent of its members is some pointer… to the present or future capacity of a whole people to govern itself by a similar form of consent.”3 The ability to self-govern has thus made universities ‘physical units’4 , in this manner becoming as easily identified as parks, hospitals and central business districts. As physical units, universities have the ability to form definite relationships with other elements of a locality. This phenomenon has allowed some of the more well-known urban planners and theorists to incorporate the university into their conceptual frameworks. Despite disparate views on the structure and conceptualization of cities, urban planners and theorists share the common notion that the activities of a university are interlaced with the activities of a city. With or without stringent demarcation, interaction exists between university and city. Christopher Alexander emphasizes that due to the innate complexity of human activity, “there will always be many systems of activity where university life and city life overlap”5. These overlapping systems constitute the “social aspect of the city,” which Lewis Mumford describes as “a special framework directed toward the creation of differentiated opportunities for a common life and significant collective drama.”6 Thus, such commonplace activities as drinking coffee, going to the movies and walking from place to place are manifestations of this “collective drama,” which both people of the university and of the city do. Mumford stresses however, the importance to “express size always as a function of the social relationships to be served... [since] size, density and area are absolutely necessary to effective social intercourse....”.7 In fact, Alexander says that although “drawing a line in the city so that everything within the boundary is university, and everything outside is non-university” is conceptually clear, it does not agree with the actualities of university life. This is because the total experience of a university includes those gained from within and outside the university. Even the clear demarcation of the university in brothers Paul and Percival Goodman’s “City of Efficient Consumption,” the mile-wide ring between the central metropolisas-a-department store and the neighborhood ring, all en-

General Assumptions
One of the major assumptions is that the academic autonomy of the University is preserved. The social interaction of the people involved in its academic autonomy—the UP users—can can either strengthen it, if properly managed, or weaken it, if left unchecked. Thus, activities that are considered non-academic in nature can affect the academically-oriented activities of UP constituents on campus in various ways.. As the primary users and beneficiaries of the campus, the preferences and perceptions of UP faculty, students and staff are deemed to take precedence over t those of the general public, albeit users and beneficiaries as well of the facilities of the campus and the results of the academic activities that UP users conduct. UPD must maintain a consistent image, both physically and conceptually among all people, whether contact with the university be direct or indirect. This image will help impart to all concerned the additional roles the university should play.


circled by the abruptly-occurring open country, actually allows interaction with neighboring regions. The parks of the university serve as the source of natural light and good natural view of the hotels and restaurants of the centrally-located market-driven metropolis. The outdoor cafes and places for dancing located in the parks of the university are the locations wherein the “deadly internecine strife: between those who would integrate...classical creations and discoveries very closely into the culture of the center, and those who fear that this integration corrupts everything into hogwash” is thrashed out by the transients coming from the hotels of the metropolis.8 Early education in the “City of Efficient Consumption” begins in the camps, and later, the junior colleges, located in open country. The open spaces give “space for...unconventional moods and violent play” of the young. But it is also here that the elegant life in the city lived as a child resurfaces, wherein adult achievement in the metropolis becomes desirable for the rebellious adolescent. It is the university that “glorifies the values of the city in its popular humanities, and in its pure humanities it provides the symbols of reasonable sublimation for those who come by destiny to see through the machinery.” 9 In more practical but equally lyrical terms, Martin J. Klotsche states that “[o]ne of our greatest needs is to raise the level of comprehension about the purposes and goals of urban civilization above that of mere living to one of enjoyment, pleasure, and fulfillment.” 10 The Greek philosopher Aristotle himself articulated this very aspiration as well, in that although a city “grows for the sake of mere life, it exists for the sake of a good life.”11 To help achieve this, Klotsche says “...it is in the areas of investigation and fact finding and of applying the knowledge of the scholar to the practical problems of city life, that urban universities can make their most distinctive contribution.”

population of the city of which it is a part, in addition to the academic activities of instruction and research, whose benefits extend beyond the confines of the city. Public urban universities especially have the social responsibility of providing “higher education for young people who, because of financial hardships, would otherwise be denied it.” Henry Steele Commager however, stresses that the urban university should not give in to the needs of the community at the expense of what should be its higher purpose – “the advancement of learning.” Commager says that the urban university should chiefly function “not to serve the practical and vocational needs of the local community... but to serve the needs of society at large and in the realms of basic research.” 14 In this sense, urban universities can effectively halt the deterioration of cities using the knowledge that it generates without having to be subservient to the needs of cities. Klotsche fears that today’s cities are dehumanizing because of the disproportionate attention to technology and industrialization, rather than to “the needs of the community and of man as a part of it.” Such urban problems as overcrowding, traffic congestion and air and water pollution reduce the lives of its inhabitants into a daily battle to survive. Urban universities can help solve these urban problems because they “possess the broadly based knowledge of many disciplines, have as their purpose the creation of an intellectual climate necessary to achieve objectivity and perspective, and have experience in relating learning to the needs of society....” Urban universities thus have the unique role of “giving meaning to urban life and assisting in the creation of a new image of our cities.” Reciprocally, “each urban university is engaged in a thorough reappraisal of its location, seeking to capitalize on it and to identify itself with those forces that are striving to make the city a pleasant place to live.” To preserve the urban university’s academic nature, as well as to retain the students, faculty and staff who occupy it, the urban university should be able to “support and enhance its teaching, research, and public service functions. Its concept must encompass the total environment of learning which includes, in addition to classrooms, libraries and laboratories, many other institutional facilities. Residential quarters for faculty and students and for other professional and middle management people, special research facilities and provisions for sororities and fraternities, as well as coordination with the surrounding commercial facilities, parks and schools must all be considered. To accomplish this objective, universities must think in terms of a new urban form related to the general environment of which they are a part.”

The Urban University
Generally speaking, an urban university is one “located in and serving an urban community.” In Europe, the urban university originated in medieval towns. Provincial universities in Great Britain were founded in the emerging industrial centers of England and the “dramatic development of German universities in the nineteenth century, with strong emphasis on science and public administration, was due in part to their location in cities where political activity was concentrated and where a technological emphasis was developing.” 12 In this same vein, urban universities nowadays offer “graduate or professional training at least at the level of the master’s or second professional degree, and [is] concerned in outlook and program with its urban environment13.” This means that the urban university provides the professional and continuing education needs and performs various public service functions to the

Concept: UPD as an Urban University
Based upon the general definitions given by Klotsche, UPD is an urban university principally because it is located within an urban setting. More specifically, it is a public


urban university, due to the subsidy that it receives from the national government and as such, its tuition and other school fees are comparably lower than that of some of its neighboring urban universities, such as the Ateneo de Manila University and Miriam College.. UPD is not the only urban university in Quezon City and its neighboring cities. However, its nature as a public (or state) urban university has its corresponding social responsibilities, more especially because it is the flagship campus of the UP System. Even so, it also has with it attached benefits from the population that it serves.

that government, business and industry aspects of the city enters into with UPD. It is at the junction of interaction that the roles of UPD and its peripheral areas are determined, which in turn determine the “persona” of UPD whether as a self-sufficient physical unit, or as an entrenched urban form.

Supplemental Concept: National University versus Urban University
Martin J. Klotsche defines an urban university as a “university located in and serving an urban community [offering] graduate or professional training at least at the level of the master’s or second professional degree, and [is] concerned in outlook and program with its urban environment.” This means that the urban university is defined by its: 1) location; 2) level of instruction, and; 3) involvement in public service. The drive to designate UP as the national university arose during the call for a New University Charter, as the original charter creating the university was drafted in 1908. Despite amendments through the years, the original charter was found to be inconsistent with the current conditions and the planned developments for UP. Designating UP as the national university was done in the hopes of guaranteeing its position among top-ranking universities in the Asian Region and in the world. To be a top-ranking university meant being a “[leader] not only in teaching – which all universities do – but also in cuttingedge research, which only few universities can do.” 16 Efforts have been made to clearly define what a national university is. Jose Abueva, a former UP presidentsaid “a national university has four salient features. These are: 1) We set standards in higher education in all disciplines and therefore we set an example for all universities, public or private; 2) We are a graduate university, offering more graduate programs than other universities and in fields that private universities do not offer because they do not make money; 3) There is no other university that can claim to be a research university; and 4) we are a public service university more than other state universities or all of them combined.” 17 Emerlinda Roman, the current UP president , gave her own definition:
“If the UP is to continue to fulfill its mandate it must do so as the National University of the Philippines. I use the term “national” to mean four things. First, there is the geographic meaning of the word. With its seven campuses in 12 locations, UP is literally present all over the country. The second meaning has to do with the depth and breadth of the UP education. No other university in the country can boast of the scope and range of our course offerings; these include all disciplines, and therefore embrace all interests and inclinations. Third, like the National University of Singapore, the University of Indonesia, the University of Malaya in Malaysia,

Concept: Peripheral Areas
To sustain Mumford’s “social drama,” he stresses the importance to “express size always as a function of the social relationships to be served... [since] size, density and area are absolutely necessary to effective social intercourse....”15 To clarify, he states “...for men to congregate freely and frequently in neighborhoods the maximum distance means nothing, although it may properly define the area served....” This gives rise to a university’s peripheral areas, those areas ‘outside the boundaries’ of the university, but which still serve as the extended social milieu of a university’s users beyond the confines of the university. These peripheral areas are those outside UPD’s boundaries but within the confines of the metropolis which serve as the venue for “social intercourse” and the location of the most intensive exchange of mutual benefit between the university and its urban environment. Note, however, that although the extent of the peripheral areas surrounding UPD are physical in nature, they are mentally defined, meaning, peripheral areas are constructed based on how UP users perceive the extent of their social milieu.

Concept: UPD as an Urban University with Adjoining Peripheral Areas
Illustrated in Figure 1 is a diagram of the interaction between UPD as an urban university and its peripheral areas. The breadth of these peripheral areas is generally determined by its ability to support the “social drama” (e.g. bookstore-browsing, coffee-drinking, dining, etc.) and the various mutually beneficial enterprises

Figure 1: Interaction between UP Diliman and its Peripheral Area


Chulalongkorn University in Thailand, Tokyo University, and Seoul National University, UP is the leading university in the country, spearheading the country’s quest for knowledge and keeping abreast of advances in different fields of knowledge worldwide. And fourth, UP’s orientation remains firmly nationalist: everything we do here we do in the service of the nation.”18

This designation has created the mental association that the UPS is represented by its flagship campus which is UPD.. UPD is an urban university by virtue of its location in Quezon City. The UPS is a national university because of the location of its campuses across the country. Note that not all the campuses of the UPS are urban universities. Only the campuses in Diliman, Manila and Baguio are urban universities because of their locations within an urban setting. Therefore, UPD (an urban university) is a national university because it is a part of the UPS. The UPS (a national university), on the other hand, is composed of both urban and non-urban universities.

Notice the similarities in definition between urban university, as presented by Klotsche, and national university by Abueva and Roman, with respect to UP:

Table 1: Comparison of Definitions for Urban University and National University

These similarities imply that an urban university is also a national university. The level of instruction and the involvement in public service make this so. However, this line of reasoning is not commutative – a national university is not necessarily an urban university. Abueva and Roman have cited that to be a national university means setting standards in higher education and leading in direction and depth in research. Possessing these two qualities apparently is not preconditioned by a university’s location within an urban setting. What then consolidates the definitions of urban university and national university in relation to UP? A portion of Roman’s definition for national university answers this particular question: “...there is the geographic meaning of the word. With its seven campuses in 12 locations, UP is literally present all over the country.” Although UP was established in Manila in 1908, it was reorganized into a system of autonomous campuses in 1972, with UPD designated as the administrative seat of the university system.
Figure 2: The University of the Philippines is a system of autonomous campuses, with UP Diliman as the flagship campus

It becomes apparent that as a constituent university, albeit the flagship campus, UPD should first be considered an urban university before being considered a national university. Viewing UPD in this manner, in terms of its interactions with its immediate environs before its impact on a national scale, will facilitate its effective functioning as a constituent university and therefore, its role as the flagship campus of the UPS. The diagram in Figure 2, therefore, illustrates that UPD (at center), though an urban university and the flagship campus, is still definitely part of a larger system of campuses.

Figure 3: Conceptual Framework


Conceptual Framework
After having discussed some of the concepts of the study in the previous sub-sections, Figure 3 illustrates how these concepts can relate to each other in a conceptual framework: At the center of the framework are UPD’s faculty, students and staff. They constitute the population with direct access and stake hold in the UPD campus. The UP Administration practices authority over the academic activities of the UP population, in accordance with the UP Charter. The activities that the UPD population primarily engage in are geared towards academic pursuit. The outcomes of the engagement in academic pursuit redound to the peripheral area of the UPD campus. The outcomes of the engagement in academic pursuit also become the means by which UP participates in the academic concerns of national and international university communities of which it is also a part. This participation is tempered by the image that UP, as an institution and as a population of faculty, students and staff, projects to the national and international university communities. The UPD campus supports various UP support services, like housing, medical services, fire protection services and delivery of services, through different forms of infrastructure and enforcement of policy. The completeness, delivery and level of exclusivity of the UP support services are provided through the efforts of the UP Administration, the consequent actions of barangays, and by the peripheral area of the UPD campus. The direct beneficiary of UP support services is the UP population. The level at which the UP population is provided for, through the UP support services, affects the engagement of the UP population in various activi-

ties of academic pursuit. Therefore, the completeness, efficiency of delivery and the level of exclusivity of use of UP support services by the UP population contribute to the quality of the activities that the UP population engages in for the purposes of academic pursuit. Outsiders also benefit from UP support services because of the linkage established by the peripheral area and the presence of barangays oncampus. The UP Administration regulates, to an extent, the activities of barangays and outsiders within jurisdiction, and to a lesser extent to outsiders coming from the peripheral area. UP support services, therefore, are used by both the UP population and by outsiders.

Analytical Framework
The analytical framework, illustrated in Figure 4, shows how the preferences, perception and the city of residence of the faculty, students and staff of UPD were determined. In terms of preferences, the faculty, students and staff were asked what they considered the priorities of academic pursuit. They were also asked their general take on the image that the University projects. In terms of perception, the faculty, students and staff were asked how they perceived the completeness, delivery and level of exclusivity of UP support services. Finally, the determination of the city of residence of the UP faculty, students and staff establishes the general peripheral area surrounding the UPD campus.

Study Findings
A survey conducted in 2007 among UP users as part of the author’s masters’ thesis at UPD’s School of Urban and Regional Planningwas prepared in accordance with the analytical framework presented.

Figure 4: Analytical Framework


The survey’s respondents were chosen from college or academic units only since each contingent of students, faculty and staff per college is directly involved in the generation of knowledge and in the delivery of public service borne out of the academic activities performed. Also, belonging to a particular college is based solely upon academic inclination and qualification and is thus regardless of ethnicity, social standing, religion or place of origin. It is therefore safe to assume that generally, each college is represented by a cross-section of the university’s population. The total valid respondents constituting the sample for this study was 212.

university land and efficiently deploying both UPD Police and security guards oncampus. The survey also revealed that faculty, students and staff more readily recognize the university administration as responsible for providing various services on-campus, rather than the barangays. When speaking of the completeness of a service, the present conditions of that service are compared to an ideal situation. A service is perceived to be complete when the ideal situation for that service is attained. In the study, health and fire protection services were compared against ideal situations, the former in terms of a fullyoperational medical center and medical research institute and the latter in terms of a fully-functional oncampus fire department. For both services, respondents substantially strongly agreed that the ideal situations should be attained but will require time and resources. The perceived level of exclusivity of campus facilities was explored in this study. Level of exclusivity is the perception of UP faculty, students and staff as whether or not campus facilities should be for their sole use.. The results of the survey show that UP constituents consider campus facilities open for use by the public, but only to a certain degree in that activities to be conducted be sanctioned by the university. There is then a limited level of exclusivity in this respect. Finally, green open spaces, the campus’ built environment, the housing and various food establishments oncampus all contribute to the general experience that constituents have of the university. Each contribution affects the conduciveness of the campus environment to academic pursuit. Respondents consider the green open spaces of the university essential to an atmosphere conducive to academic pursuit and recognize that these are part of the larger system of the parks and green open spaces of Quezon City. Respondents apparently have difficulty, however, in conceiving the appropriate ratio between green open spaces and the built environment based on their neutral response to the visual proportion presented by the Academic Oval. It is left to the campus planner, therefore, to properly articulate the correction proportion of green open space to built-up area to create an environment conducive to academic pursuit. On-campus housing is generally preferred by the respondents over off-campus housing and they generally agree that on-campus housing facilities should be for the exclusive use of the University population. Incongruously, however, respondents did not disagree that UP faculty and staff may rent out portions or even the whole of the housing unit awarded to them to anyone interested to live oncampus. This particular response may greatly stem from the need of UP faculty and staff for additional income . In terms of on-campus housing for students, the boarding house is generally preferred over the dormitory. This preference may be greatly due to the deplorable state that university dormitories are currently in. This prefer-

Thrust of Academic Pursuit
The criteria used in this study to define the University’s preferred thrusts of academic pursuit are: (a) bearing of economic status of high school students for entry into the UPS; (b) preferred theme for theses and other forms of research; (c) offering of vocational training courses, and; (d) presence of foreign students at UPD. Generally, UP users prefer to see beyond the economic status of high school students interested to enter UPmeaning, affluence or being less fortunate is not considered a primary criterion for entry into UP. Also, UP users prefer that the theme of theses and other forms of research be of a nationalistic orientation, so that efforts put into academic pursuit can be taken advantage of by the general Philippine population. Vocational training courses, although helpful in giving practical experience especially to UP students, is not seen as an imperative thrust that UP should pursue. Likewise, the presence of foreign students on-campus, even at the undergraduate level, is desirable but not essential to UP. All in all, UP users’ preferred thrusts of academic pursuit in terms of admittance to the University and research was unbiased but nationalistic in orientation.. The various forms of academic activity oncampus need not include the offering of vocational training courses.

The various forms of support services oncampus, in terms of their delivery, completeness and level of exclusivity, all contribute to the experience that the faculty, students and staff have of the campus. Services were grouped according to form and were further arranged in terms of their delivery, completeness, level of exclusivity and general contribution to the university experience. For the purposes of the study, the delivery of a service pertains to whether or not the constituents perceive their needs, particulary for basic needs, safety and security, to be answered by an existing serviceResults show that on-campus, basic needs are adequately available. The delivery of safety and security needs, however, can only be fully experienced through the concerted implementation of both active and passive means of securing the campus. This can be achieved by clearly demarcating the boundaries of


ence may change, however, once dormitories are fully renovated, hopefully reverting back to the stature that these facilities had during the 1950s and 1960s. The food establishments existing oncampus, especially the food kiosks that have become ‘institutionalized,’ are considered part of the campus landscape. Without these, respondents agree that the UPD experience would not be the same. It becomes advisable, then, to improve the existing infrastructure for these food kiosks, considering how they have become entrenched into the university landscape despite being an introduced phenomenon.

This result reveals the importance of the interaction between UPD and Quezon City, whether deliberately or merely as a consequence of the existence of the social milieu of the UP population. In short, the campus cannot be considered a physical unit separate from its city seat. The planning, decisions and resulting actions of the campus, therefore, should take into consideration the effects caused by and the effects created upon Quezon City. Christopher Alexander emphasizes that due to the innate complexity of human activity, “there will always be many systems of activity where university life and city life overlap”.19 There is thus interaction between UPD and its peripheral area – Quezon City. Reciprocally, “[t]he popularity of the campus with the public also impacts nearby areas, encouraging commercial development in surrounding streets and making campus-adjacent areas attractive places to live.” 20 Logically, place of residence would have a significant magnetic effect or pull, in that most activities would be conducted in places proximate to where one lives. Having the place of residence proximate to the place of work or place of study would thus be the height of convenience and practicality. Quezon City is the city seat of the UPD campus. It is no surprise then, that this scenario would have a reciprocal effect: the peripheral area with the most significant interaction with the UPD campus is Quezon City.

as a whole. The results of the survey show that although it is recognized that all autonomous campuses are and should be on an equal footing by virtue of their autonomy, UPD is generally considered the “best autonomous campus.” On the whole however, the UPS, with its seven autonomous campuses, is considered the best university in the country. This however, is not the same assessment with respect to Southeast Asia. As a means of self-assessment, these responses can be considered a gauge as to the imagery of UP as apremier educational institution. As a topic of further study, the aspects which enhance the preferred image of the University can be defined, studied and improved.

UPD as a Dynamic Urban Form Quezon City as the Peripheral Area of the UPD Campus
Based on the results of the survey, almost 30 percent of the respondents live in Quezon City, just slightly more than the approximately 27 percent of the respondents living oncampus. All other respondents are generally scattered across the rest of Metro Manila, as well as reaching further into the neighboring provinces of Bulacan and Laguna. This indicates that, by virtue of residence, the peripheral area that has the most significant interaction with UPD is within Quezon City. The university can be viewed as a distinct urban form within a larger urban framework, possessing its own dynamics within itself and with the urban area of which it is a part. Thus is established the concept of the urban university. Once only an extension of the older UP Manila campus, the UPD campus has become, through time, a dynamic entity with university actions and decisions steered by its academic and nationalistic goals. The benefits of academic pursuit, especially on a national level, were initially only considered consequences of academic activity, namely

Locsin’s UP Chapel in the 1950s

Concio’s Melchor Hall (1950s)

Roof Deck of the Palma Hall (1950s)


study, teaching and research. Later on, however, extension services and researches designed specifically for the benefit of various sectors of society were considered activities almost equal to academic pursuit. Enhancing the dynamism of UPD as an urban form is its entrenchment within Metro Manila, a highly urbanized area of the country composed of several cities. More particularly, the city seat and therefore, the peripheral area of UPD is Quezon City. The dynamism is due to the interaction between UPD and Quezon City, both as a deliberate action and as a consequence of the existence of the social milieu of the UP population within Quezon City. This interaction creates a further effect: that which is called the Knowledge City. “The ‘Knowledge City’ is a term increasingly used to describe cities where innovation and knowledge creation drive the economy. In Europe, the ‘Knowledge City’ is equally focused on the promotion of cultural and civic life and the establishment of a creative class of citizens with access to knowledge, culture and learning opportunities. The quality of life and cosmopolitan nature of these cities give them a competitive advantage.” 21 Quezon City can very likely be classified as a Knowledge City, due to the interaction that it has not only with UPD, but collectively with many other review centers, schools, colleges and universities, which would similarly have their respective levels of interaction.

demic activity are heightened by the intrusion of non-UP users onto university land. This intrusion is greatly due to the existing interaction between UPD and its peripheral area. Intrusion primarily takes the form of main thoroughfares (e.g. Commonwealth Avenue) traversing the campus and the emergence of barangays on university land. These intrusions, however, are relatively irreversible, necessitating evaluation of the delivery, completeness and level of exclusivity of support services oncampus in light of their existence. Based on the survey, the university experience is the combination of the efficient delivery of basic needs and safety and security needs, the completeness of health and fire protection services oncampus, the use of campus facilities for activities sanctioned by the university, whether conducted by UP users or outsiders and the respective contributions of green open spaces, the campus’ built environment, facilities for housing and various food establishments to the general landscape. All these affect the conduciveness of the campus environment to academic pursuit. The perceptions to this university experience from the viewpoint of the university’s faculty, students and staff affect the preferred thrusts of academic pursuit and the projected image of the university as a system of autonomous campuses in general and as a flagship autonomous campus in particular. The faculty, students and staff of the university should distinctly be aware of the great need to maintain the university experience within the dominion of the academe to preserve the university’s image as the premier academic institution of the country. Consider that a particular place can lend a veneer of legitimacy to any act by virtue of that place’s historical significance or reputation. Succeeding revolutions to oust a national president have been held at EDSA, for example, because the first EDSA Revolution was so successful. UP has the same effect, in which case, the University’s name, grounds and reputation should be protected from unscrupulous use. Protection can be achieved by safeguarding the university experience. Proper safeguarding is in turn achieved by maintaining the university’s faculty, students and staff as the primary users of the campus and by keying in the existing interaction of the campus to its peripheral area.

The University Experience
Interaction between UPD and Quezon City has attendant pressures upon UPD to maintain an environment which is conducive to academic pursuit. Creating this environment, and in consequence, creating the university experience of faculty, students and staff, is dependent on the various forms of support services oncampus, especially in terms of their delivery, completeness and level of exclusivity. This university experience, in turn, has an effect on the performance of faculty, students and staff in their various academic activities. Although primarily engaged in activities of both academic and nationalistic orientation, the pressures on UPD to maintain an environment conducive to aca-


Curtis, Michael, ed. The Great Political Theories: Volume 1. New York, USA: Avon Books, a division of the Hearst Corporation. 1961. Driver, Christopher. The Exploding University. Great Britain: Hodder and Stoughton Limited. 1971. Klotsche, Martin J. The Urban University: And The Future of Our Cities. USA: Harper and Row Publishers. 1966. Legates, Richard T. and Stout, Frederic, ed. The City Reader. Great Britain: Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC. 1996.

1. Quick Facts About Quezon City: Present Trends and Emerging Patterns. http://www.quezoncity.gov.ph. Last accessed 10 March 2005. 2.History of Quezon City. Quezon City Public Library. 3. Driver, Christopher. The Exploding University. Great Britain: Hodder and Stoughton Limited. 1971. 4. Alexander, Christopher. “A City Is Not A Tree”, in The City Reader. Legates, Richard T. and Stout, Frederic, ed. Great Britain: Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC. 1996. 5. Ibid. 6. Mumford, Lewis. “What Is A City?”, in The City Reader. Legates, Richard T. and Stout, Frederic, ed. Great Britain: Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC. 1996. 7. Ibid. 8. Goodman, Paul and Goodman, Percival. “A City of Efficient Consumption” from “Communitas: Means of Livelihood and Ways of Life”, in The City Reader. Legates, Richard T. and Stout, Frederic, ed. Great Britain: Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC. 1996. 9. Ibid. 10. Klotsche, Martin J. The Urban University: And The Future of Our Cities. USA: Harper and Row Publishers. 1966. 11. Curtis, Michael, ed. The Great Political Theories: Volume 1. New York, USA: Avon Books, a division of the Hearst Corporation. 1961. 12. Parsons, Kermit. A Truce in the War Between Universities and Cities. The Journal of Higher Education. January 1963. p.18 13. Klotsche, Martin J. The Urban University: And The Future of Our Cities. USA: Harper and Row Publishers. 1966. 14. Commager, Henry Steele. Is Ivy Necessary?. Saturday Review, September 17, 1960, p.88 15. Mumford, Lewis. “What Is A City?”, in The City Reader. Legates, Richard T. and Stout, Frederic, ed. Great Britain: Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC. 1996. 16. Sponsorship speech for the approval of Senate Bill No. 1833 under Committee Report Number 2 entitled “An Act To Strengthen The University Of The Philippines As The National University” delivered by Senator Francis N. Pangilinan, October 26, 2004. http://www.up.edu. ph/sb1833_sfp.htm last accessed January 6, 2005. 17. Ibay, Chi A.. “Senate holds public hearing on proposed UP Charter.” http://www.upd.edu.ph/~updinfo/archives/MayJune2003/articles/ Chacha.htm. last accessed October 9, 2004. 18. Roman, Emerlinda R. The University of the Philippines: A National University in the 21st Century. Investiture Speech as the 19th President of the University delivered 21 July 2005. http://www.up.edu.ph/perr_investiture_speech.htm last 27 July 2005. 19. Alexander, Christopher. “A City Is Not A Tree”, in The City Reader. Legates, Richard T. and Stout, Frederic, ed. Great Britain: Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC. 1996. 20. Panao, Alicor. Managing the Campus’s Multifunctional Space. The University of the Philippines Forum. Volume 8, Number 5. SeptemberOctober 2006. 21. Corneil, Janne and Parsons, Philip. “The Contribution of Campus Planning to the Knowledge Society” in Campus Design: International Symposium on Academic and Corporate Campuses. (symposium handout). 2006.


Transferring the UPIS High School:
A Case for Campus Modernization and More Effective Land Utilization
Armin Sarthou is an assistant professor at the U.P. College of Architecture, where he teaches Professional Practice, Building Laws, Research Methods, and Design. He holds a BS in Architecture and a Masters degree in Business Administration, both from UP Diliman. He is the Vice President for Planning and Development of the UP System.

engineering infrastructure, these revenues do not translate to much-needed across-the-board competitive pay increases for university faculty and personnel. UP has real estate assets accumulated over its many years of existence, some of these clearly marketable assets in what are now highly commercial areas. Among these are the real estate properties along Katipunan Avenue, including the UP Integrated School (UPIS) property, the UP-Ayala Foundation Techno Park, and the thin strip of land straddling Katipunan across UPIS. Converting these into more productive assets may help generate needed funds for the University. The idea may be timely considering that the UPIS High School (UPIS-HS) facilities are in need of upgrading. Its buildings are almost four decades old. Also, the recent widening of C5 has made access to the isolated high school campus less convenient. This study aims to take a look at real estate utilization models which could conceivably allow the university to embark on the road towards self-sustainability, including a glimpse at the corporate vehicle that may bring this vision closer to reality. The UPIS Property, located at the eastern edge of the UP Diliman (UPD) campus along Katipunan Avenue, is one of the more desirable properties in UPD.. Zoned as commercial since 1994, it has consistently generated interest among developers eager to make a presence in this part of the city.

In May 2008, Congress passed the new UP Charter, R.A. 9500, otherwise known as “An Act to Strengthen the University of the Philippines as the National University”. Among the provisions contained therein are those that mandate the University to generate funds to partially finance its operations, especially in light of its desire to modernize facilities and increase its capabilities in teaching, research and extension. Despite yearly increases in operating expenses, funding from the national government remains wanting. Such funds, barely enough to keep the University afloat, do not fully provide the finances are required to expand the University’s capabilities and improve salaries to levels competitive with the private sector. While some bright spots include the inflow of substantial revenues for science and


The recent clearing of the area opposite UPIS further enhanced this interest. Where the subject area used to be just over seven hectares, it has since expanded to close to 10 hectares, with the inclusion of the new land across the high school campus. The University administration had, for many years, considered this parcel a strong potential source of revenue, especially in light of the continued inability of the national government to fully meet the funding requirements of the University. For instance, UP pays its faculty just over a third of the rates paid by other leading universities and faculty migration to other universities has increased in recent years. The University recently proposed an PhP 18 billion budget for Personnel, Capital Outlay and Equipment purchases for 20101 , but the expectation is that government will be able to fund only about a third of this, or around PhP 6 billion. In fact, word has it that Congress is poised to even decrease UP’s current P6.69 billion budget in 2010, despite continuing increases in the University’s costs of operation.

tize access to quality education. This only means that UP has to continue to look for other sources of income to supplement its General Appropriations Act allocation.

Moving to Narra
The UPIS-HS property along Katipunan Avenue was earmarked for commercial development as early as 1994, when the University’s Board of Regents (BOR) approved the UPD Land Use Plan2 . The relocation of the existing UPIS-HS campus to the Education Complex had long been contemplated for two basic reasons: One, it would decrease safety and security risks for students in the University’s laboratory school. Accidents had occurred in front of the UPIS-HS even when Katipunan Avenue was narrower and less busy; it was anticipated that the widening of the major artery may bring about more accidents. The second reason has to do with the fact that the UPIS-HS is an integral part of the Education Complex and as such, more properly belongs inside the campus in the immediate vicinity of the College of Education. Bringing the high school into this cluster would allow more frequent visits and monitoring from the mother college and closer collaboration among the different grade level teachers. The current campus contains four single-storey pavilions, a 2-storey building encircling the flag ceremony grounds, a library, a multi-purpose hall, an open basketball court and substantial undeveloped open parking areas. The original campus used to include the UP Prep School (K-2 Building) which had since been transferred to the Education Complex and the Health Education Center Building. Even the defunct Petron gas station, which used to operate at the junction of Katipunan and C.P. Garcia Avenues, used to be a part of the UPIS campus, which originally covered an area of over 8.5 hectares. Approximate floor areas of the existing buildings are as follows:

Funding Gap
Capital and equipment outlay are badly needed to expand UP’s research and teaching capabilities. Moreover, personnel outlays for faculty and staff have to be adequately increased in order to meet the budgetary requirements for promotions and the scheduled SSL 3 adjustment. Funding for research and development, as well as for the science and arts productivity systems have to be constantly replenished and expanded to ensure the University’s high level of arts and science output. All these initiatives have accompanying funding requirements which are barely being met by decreasing allocations. In light of expected financial shortfalls, UP has embarked on efforts to utilize more optimally its existing resources, particularly its real estate assets. In 2004, the University successfully launched its partnership with Ayala Land in the Techno Hub project, converting about 35 hectares of hitherto unproductive property into revenue-generating assets with the help of the private partner. The alliance has so far produced eight almost fully leased-out science and technology buildings with two more in the works and an S&T incubator situated at the second floor of the central horseshoeshaped building housing support facilities. Over a span of 25 years, the facility is expected to net the University an average of PhP 170 million a year. For reasons obvious to many, UP cannot raise its tuition fees in the same way that other private universities can, even in the face of decreasing government subsidy. UP is, after all, still home to many government scholars and the University’s mandate is to democra-

Table 1: Approximate areas of existing UPIS High School Buildings

The buildings comprising the current UPIS-HS are listed in Table 1 above. Note that these buildings were designed for a much larger student population, which, in previous years, topped over a thousand students in four high school year levels.


In the late 1990s, a hard decision was made to drastically cut enrollment in UPIS, consistent with the UP Administration’s desire to keep the school afloat despite drastically reduced budgetary allocations. From highs of almost 300 per year level in the 1970s and 1980s, only 100 students were admitted into the kinder level for the first time, with the aim of eventually limiting the number of students to this number for all year levels. Since this smaller student population could now be accommodated in a smaller parcel of land, the new situation opened up the possibility of freeing up some prime land in the sprawling campus to generate much-needed funds. The parcel of land presently occupied by the Narra Residence Hall, now in a sorry state of disrepair, was identified as the future relocation site of the UPIS-HS.

Figure 2: Shown are the first levels of 3-storey buildings, clearly showing the four identified clusters – laboratory, arts, the computer building and administration. Aside from classrooms, each building contains support facilities. An essential element in the design is that each room has virtually three open sides, thus assuring the free flow of air inside the classrooms. Orientation is north-south to minimize exposure to direct sunlight.

Table 2: Proposed High School Buildings at the Narra Site

Figure 3: Front elevation incorporates some common elements of buildings on campus, such as the characteristic brick finish. Balconies provide spillover areas for classrooms.

Table 3: Cost of transferring the UPIS High School

Figure 4: Perspective of the proposed buildings of the relocated UP High School

Figure 1: Site Development Plan for the new location reflects the new program four academic / administration buildings and a new multi-purpose hall. An outdoor basketball court is integrated into the plan and perimeter parking is provided. Covered walkways allow for easy access to all buildings even during wet days. An option would be to move the new multi-purpose hall further into the open field to make space for possible revenue-generating projects along Katipunan Avenue.

Relocating the UPIS-HS buildings would require PhP 136.8 million (at a construction cost of PhP 20,000 per sq. m.). Site development would require another PhP 40.5 million, for a total estimated cost of PhP 177.3 million. In early 2009, Katipunan Avenue (now C5) was finally widened, chopping off approximately 20 meters of front-


age from the campus, and decreasing the parcel’s land area by approximately 1.1 hectares. From the original 8.55 hectares, the campus is now just over 7.44 hectares in area, with an effective frontage of approximately 550 meters. Table 4 shows the planned allocations for the projected Master Plan of the vacated UPIS lot. It is recommended that three basic uses be allowed – residential, office, and retail. To ensure uncluttered development and substantial breathing space (consistent with the general character of the UPD campus), a full 40 percent of the lot is left open for roads, pathways, and landscaping. Table 5 shows the gross floor areas and the equivalent net saleable areas for residential, office and retail spaces given an average FAR (OJO: SPELL OUT) of 2 and design efficiencies as stated above. It also shows the presumed construction costs of the new structures, estimated at P20,000 per sq. m. Total built-up cost for all structures is PhP 1.785 billion. Lots in the general Katipunan Avenue area (directly facing Ateneo de Manila University and Miriam College) are currently selling in the range of PhP 70,000 per sq. m.3 The average assumed valuations shown in Table 6 are significantly less than the market rate to make the new development more attractive to either the market or a joint venture partner. Table 7 represents the set of presumptions used in the financial model. Development cost is projected at P3,000 per sq. m., an amount sufficient for well-built roads, pedestrian pathways, water supply and drainage systems, and adequate power supply. Total development cost is computed at PhP 223.2 million for the entire parcel of 74,400 sq.m. In addition to this are other charges which have to be borne by the developer, including design and project management (or PM) expenses (computed at 10% of development cost), and marketing expenses (10% of gross sales). Development costs are projected to increase by 3 percent every year and retail lease prices of lots are expected to increase at the same annual average rate of 3 percent (already inputting periods of boom and recession). Also, it is presumed that an applicable VAT of 6 percent is payable from revenues. Table 8 shows how much UP stands to gain should it choose to pursue the proposed development option on its own. The returns are clearly substantial at a 247 percent return. There are, however, fundamental problems related to this: 1. The 2004 UP Charter does not allow the University to sell its properties. 2. UP is presently not in a position to allocate the funds required to transfer the UPIS High School and to develop the vacated land.

For a parcel this large, development is actually effected on two levels. The primary developer develops the raw land and supplies roads, pedestrian walkways, landscaping, water supply, drainage, power and other site requirements, and subdivides the land into several parcels. A secondary developer then comes in and acquires one or more of the available parcels, building either residential or commercial structures on the same with the intention of selling finished condominium-type units. Table 9 shows the figures for the secondary developer. The assumption is that one lot of average size is to be developed into an office building. Maximizing the FAR limit of 2, the development yields a gross floor area of 9,991 sq. m., which translates to 8,992 sq. m. of saleable space at building design efficiency of 90 percent (see Table 5). Four large office units (corresponding to each of the four available office floors) are made available for sale, each averaging 2,248 sq. m.of finished floor area. Table 10 shows the expenses of UP as the secondary developer of an office building. These include land development costs for the specific site (for the gates, fencing and landscaping work), design and project management, and actual construction of the building. Aside from these are marketing expenses (computed at 5% of annual rental revenues) and administration expenses (also computed at 5% of rental revenues). For purposes of computation, occupancy rate is pegged at an average of 90 percent (or 10% vacancy). Shown in Table 11 are the figures for a residential building. The design efficiency for this structure is lower at 80 percentto account for the larger requirement for circulation space and common areas for the use of the many residents of such a building. While three types of units will be provided (studio units, one- and two- bedroom units), the 100 units provided will have an average size of 48sq. m. From Tables 13, 14 and 15, we can see that there will be significant shortfalls in development funds in years 0 and 1 (initial period and at the end of Year 1) in the amounts of PhP 945 million and PhP 341 million, respectively, after which positive values of PhP 503 million are expected per succeeding year. The patterns hold true for both residential and office developments. While the break-even period for the residential development is much longer at 14.37 years, the combined break-even period is still a desirable 3.55 years, owing to the much larger office building component. Due to the limitations posed by the UP Charter on land disposition, it becomes desirable for the University to go into a joint venture arrangement with an outside party. The sharing between the two parties can easily be established from the Table 16.


* average prices of lots with and without Katipunan frontage ** monthly lease price equivalents (the assumed average prices are NPVs of the monthly lease rate values computed at 10% discount rate over a 25-year span


* no acquisition cost since the land is owned by the University ** marketing costs are equivalent to 5% of annual rentals *** administration expenses are also computed at 5% of rentals

* no acquisition cost since the land is owned by the University ** owing to the lower revenues, marketing costs are computed at 10% of annual rentals *** administration expenses are computed at 10% of rentals



Revenues are initially computed at P 800 / square meter per month for office units, and P 250 / square meter per month for residential units


From the discussions, it is plain to see that the University will indeed benefit from a relocation of the UPIS-HS to the Education Complex, for several reasons: Firstly, such relocation will remove safety and security concerns collateral to the widening of C5, which has led to the increased isolation of the UPIS-HS campus. Secondly, it would bring the UPIS-HS closer to the main hub of the Education Complex, meaning that education majors can now have easier access to the laboratory school. Thirdly, relocation would mean that the UPIS-HS would finally have at its disposal new classrooms and modern equipment, truly overdue in light of significant advances in classroom learning technology in recent years. For the University, the benefits are just as clear. The move would free-up a very important underutilized asset, one which has long been designated as a potential resource generator early on, as contained in UPDs 1994 Land Use Plan. From the figures, the University stands to earn as much as PhP 245 million per annum, starting from the third year of the project (Table 16), gradually increasing as growing demand pushes lease rates higher. These are additional funds that the University can certainly put to good use. The project’s success factors are as follows: 1. Large buildings with wide open floor plates, ideal for business process outsourcing companies (BPOs), can be made available to lessees. These large single-floor configurations are not readily found in the market, and are precisely what the growing BPO industry needs. 2. The site is well situated in the locus of the academe, in the immediate vicinity of three of the best institutions of higher learning in the country – the University of the Philippines, Ateneo de Manila University and Miriam College. For BPOs and other possible locators, this solves their most challenging HR problem, that of being able to hire the best possible employees. 3. Conversely, due to its proximity to the University and the configuration of its space offerings, the proposed project will naturally attract technology-based locators. This will almost certainly promote greater industry-academe linkages that can be tremendously beneficial to both sectors. 4. The joint venture arrangement will ensure that the facility will be managed with private sector expertise coupled with academic discipline and integrity. 5. The parcel configurations in the proposed project will be flexible enough to allow the high school to still be accommodated within the same site, albeit in a more compact location, should this become necessary. For this purpose, two contiguous parcels totaling one hectare may be designated as the site of the new high school buildings. Doing this will however mean that out of the original seven office parcels, only five will be made available for lease. The joint venture arrangement is a management vehicle that can now be employed by the University to more vigorously raise funds in order to fulfill its mandate as the country’s premier and national university4 . In fact, such corporate vehicles (joint venture arrangements, whollyowned subsidiary corporations, or university foundations) are expected to become even more important in the future, as the University continues its struggle to make quality education accessible to the greater majority of Filipinos, despite decreasing subsidies. That remains, after all, the prime objective.
References: Financial Accounting, 2nd Edition. Weygant, Kieso, Kimmel. Copyright © 1998 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Philippine Economics, Revised Edition. Andres V. Castillo. Copyright © 1969 by Andres V. Castillo Marketing Research: Management and Method, 4th Edition. Donald S. Tull & Del I. Hawkins. Copyright © 1987, MacMillan Publishing Company, New York and London. Mathematics of Investment, 5th Edition. William L. Hart. Copyright © 1975 by D.C. Heath & Company Introduction to Mathematical Statistics, 5th Edition. Robert V. Hogg & Allen T. Craig. Copyright © 1995 by Prentice Hall, Inc. One Great Insight is Worth a Thousand Good Ideas. Phil Dusenberry. Copyright © 2005 by Phil Dusenberry Guide to Financial Independence. Charles R. Schwab. Copyright © 1998 by the Charles Schwab Corporation. Published by Three Rivers Press A Primer of Statistics for Business and Economics. Irwin Miller. Copyright © 1968 by Random House, Inc. Strategic Market Segmentation. Dr. Ned Roberto. Copyright © 2002 by Eduardo L. Roberto & Life Cycle Press. Notes: 1. Sectoral Regents’ Seminar on UP’s proposed 18B budget for 2010, Claro M. Recto Hall, 28 Aug 2009 2. Approved during the 1078th meeting of the UP Board of Regents, June 23, 1994 3. Buy & Sell, Friday, August 28, 2009 Edition, Copyright 2006 by Ads Libre, Inc. 4. Republic Act 9500: An Act to Strengthen the University of the Philippines as the National University




The Spaces of Philippine Pornography
Reuben Ramas Canete is currently Associate Professor at the Department of Art Studies, College of Arts and Letters, University of the Philippines (UP), Diliman, Quezon City. He finished BFA, Major in Painting, at the University of Santo Tomas; MA in Art History at UP Diliman; and Ph.D. in Philippine Studies, also at UP Diliman. An artist, writer, and independent curator, Dr. Cañete has contributed numerous articles on Philippine art and culture for various national publications and peer-reviewed journals, such as The Philippine Star, The Philippine Daily Inquirer, The Manila Bulletin, The Manila Times, Lifestyle Asia, BluPrint Architecture and Design Magazine, Pananaw: Journal on Philippine Art, Bulawan: Journal on Philippine Culture, Plaridel: Journal on Mass Communication, The Diliman Review, and Business Day, among others. He has also written several monographs and books on Philippine Modern and Contemporary artists and art collections. He served as President of the Art Association of the Philippines (AAP) from 2000 to 2002. He was awarded the Leo Benesa Prize for Art Criticism in 1996.

the onset, I shall not attempt to frame porn within the debates of community-based morality and suitability by which it has often been linked to, and its existence challenged and negated. Neither is it my intention to privilege the practice and, more crucially, the consumption of porn as a social indicator for individual rights. Rather, it is my interest to see the practice of depicting, seeing, experiencing and/or doing porn as a “presencing”, a productive existence of otherwise suppressed social and sexed (thus erotogenic) spaces. We understand porn to be the means by which a consumer (often ascribed as a viewer¬) obtains sexual stimulus and eventual gratification by means of works that contain erotic images, the passage marked either by the viewer’s masturbation and/or coitus with a sexual partner. It is when we attach specific ideological qualities to this sexual practice2 that (if not its very implication) porn (and by extension, the entire concept of erotica) becomes demonized as “obscene,” “filthy,” “immoral” and “violative.”3 The paper will not tackle the moral implications of porn, which is better left to a debate on theological grounds. Rather, the political economy of “porn space” is here flagged for the purpose of analyzing and throwing light on a suppressed and “underground’ praxis that has so far resisted every means of eradication available to the state since its modern inception in the late 19th century: the relationship between sexual practices and architectural spaces, and the role of urbanism and capitalism in foregrounding their interactions in the present.

Pornography, as a suitable subject for the exploration of architectural spaces, necessitates the discussion of at least three levels of consideration: the conceptual space of porn itself as a (notably serious enough) subject for study; the physical spaces that this subject and its audience are framed within, and; the often conflicting spaces of power that circumscribe the relationship between actors, producers, and audiences.1 The study assumes that spaces are “not ‘empty’ or ‘neutral’ that facilitate the free interaction of bodies with space.” Rather, the study looks at space as “mechanisms of representation, and as such they are political and ideological” (Lico 2001: 31). At


Advertisement of sex-themed movies from the bomba era of the 1970s to the 1980s

Crucial to the conceptual space of porn is its desirability to the viewer: its ability, you might say, to “turn you on.” Subsequently, if the depicted sexual activity, or the nature of its performers, does not conform to the viewer’s erotic desire, then it does not achieve its goal. In the words of film critic Richard Dyer: “There’s nothing more boring than porn that doesn’t turn you on.” Dyer, in fact, makes the correlative term “exciting” as a necessary appendix to the desirability of porn to its viewer, a significant pointure that posits the necessity of the interaction between art form and consumer in order for the whole thing to work (Dyer 1998, 504-514). It is this specificity that brings out the complex topography of porn as being audience-specific, there being many categories and genres, each tailored to a particular segment of the porn-consuming public: soft core or hard core, straight or gay, anal or oral, body worship, masturbation, S & M, bestiality…the list goes on. Crucial to our understanding of porn space as an aspect of everyday human concern is Michel de Certau’s notion of sens practis, or “practical sense,” in foregrounding the practices of porn as part of the “normal” (if not suppressed) modes of modern everyday life in capitalist societies. Although Theodore Adorno famously dismisses the notion of film (and its more viral contemporary incarnation, video) as part of the capitalist-driven “culture industry,” where base desires and formulaic solutions typify the “entertainment” of publics as its use value to allow the rationalization of mass consumption to interlink with capitalist overproduction, de Certau’s notion of a “tactical” approach to the utilization of everyday products as part of a strategic resistance to domination should be considered as a reinvigorating heuristic practice that denies the monolithic oppression of state/religious authority, as well as the exhausting grind of capital-dominated labor, and replaces it with a contingent—and thus pleasurably “useful”—practice of “releasing one’s carnal urges” through

porn. Since porn, especially in the Philippines, functions as part of a prohibited sphere where state authority imposes its invisibility in the public realm, the necessity to investigate the nature and articulation of such suppressed practices within architectural space allows us to realize the spaces of porn as the interstice where state authority fails, the (underground) market flourishes, and the private nature of individuality re-functions its agency in determining what constitutes the “personal good.” Within the Philippine context, porn (particularly in its filmic or video aspect) is a fairly recent development, arising only since the early 1970s. Perceived as a device of mass pacification (entertaining a public previously devoid of such stimuli at a time of intense political and economic crisis), as well as a means of denying the institutional power of its moralizing other, the Marcos government’s willingness to look the other direction while the infant “bomba” industry seized the public consciousness was, to many, a sign of the increasing multi-polarity of the institutional apparatus, specifically the separation of political priorities between a consolidating authoritarian state and a dominant but vulnerable church. This secular consolidation, arising in an ironic disposition of priorities (the state as placidly pro-porn, but virulently anti-subversive), does little to clarify the conceptual space of porn in the Philippine situation, but nonetheless essentializes the artificial dichotomy between morality and power. This institutional uncertainty would grow to absurd extremes by the early 1980s, when the value of porn as political placebo would be championed by the state-controlled Film Center, and the productions of the Experimental Cinema of the Philippines, to the virulent opposition of the Catholic Church and its supporters within the (ironically state-supervised) Board of Censors. In the post-EDSA era, bereft of state “interest,” the porn industry embedded itself deeper into the substratum of the underground market following its


official ostracism under increasingly ultra-conservative censor boards, appearing as highly lucrative “XXX” videotapes that could only be bought at selected (but not secret) locations. In this paper, we shall take as samples developments of porn scenes from Philippine films in the 1980s and early 1990s, some of which date to the height of the Marcos-induced International Filmfest sex films and straddle into the post-EDSA period of more slickly-produced (if better-marketed) sex videos from 2004. The technological formats of these videos also follow the historical progression of home video technology, starting from the VHS/Betamax tape formats of the 1980s, or the digital-burned video compact disc (VCD) during the 1990s, and digital video disc (DVD) and the most recent high-capacity Blue Ray discs since 2000. Peculiarly, the phenomenal development in the market of mass-consumption DVDs in the past 10 years have allowed this back-tracking to be condensed into a series of montage tracks on the newly popular and inexpensive de rigueur mass entertainment machine, the DVD/MP3 player.4 Not only shall we take into account the literal space of porn as viewed, but also its site of consumption, retail and display. The paper therefore traverses the urban spaces of circulation and consumption that such videos are situated in, so as to expand the scope and project of this paper from a mere reading of spaces within Philippine video pornography to a siting of the videos’ socio-economic setting that encompasses the spaces around and outside these videos. What strikes me about the spaces in which porn videos are sold in Manila is its enforced invisibility and quasicriminality: the sources of porn VCDs/DVDs are to be found in the various bazaars that retail often pirated software, of which the Virra Mall complex in Green-

hills used to be the most public during the 1990s. This has been superseded since the millennium by the emergence of porn DVDs in many sidewalk stalls throughout the metropolis, in particular, the various transport route junctions that disgorge large numbers of people from the elevated trains, buses, and jeepneys, and who congregate at these bottlenecks to shop and transfer to feeder routes between the home and office, such as Alabang, Quiapo, Avenida-Recto, Cubao, Crossing and Monumento. Wading through narrow alleys filled with techno-merchandise, kitchen and hardware equipment, ukay-ukay clothes and siomai-fishball takeout, one comes upon the video hawkers, who whisper their wares to you conspiratorially (“Boss… X, boss?”) and lead you to their cramped stalls overflowing with pirated films and software, proffering cardboard boxes full of the stuff. That this video genre should be concealed in an area that publicly retails equally illegal pirated merchandise is itself symptomatic of the conceptual power structure that has confined Philippine porn to the deepest pits of the epistemological underground—patronizing porn video is more “sinful,” apparently, than pirated versions of PC software and Hollywood films. This is especially so when one’s object for purchase is “m2m” or man-to-man video (shorthand for gay porn). That category is often to be found “at the bottom of the pile,” shunted out as the darkest of the dark—if not deepest of the hidden—desires of this cramped, sweaty bazaar swarming with customers, hawkers, and hustlers. The sense of occlusion and seeming claustrophobia extends into its space of consumption as well. The most common practice is to lock oneself in a room (bedroom preferably), turn down the lights, and load the VCD/DVD or the older VCR player. Often, this is done alone, or with close companions at home. Sometimes, the audiences of these videos are couples, who purchase these items as sexual stimulants in aid of lovemaking. More often, indi-


vidual male consumers who purchase porn based on their sexual orientation (heterosexual or homosexual) constitute an unstated majority of this market. Again, the spaces in which Philippine porn is viewed is set within a defined closed/closeted space, relatively cramped and isolated from the rest of the social space of either the household or its neighborhood. The closure of physical spaces in both purchase and viewing is telling: as an object of virulent protest from morality groups, and subject to erratic surveillance and seizure by law enforcement, porn video in this contemporary time is still treated as a social taboo, an item best left under the covers in the singular privacy of one’s bedroom, along with its attendant “aberrant acts” like jacking off (jakol, in local parlance). This suppression and semi-invisibility of an erotically desirous—but trans-socially iffy—product, which plays out even in the Philippine marketplace,5 becomes a complex intersection of multiple traces of signification: sex sells, but “publicly” showing it is undesirable; porn videos are not as “displayable” as pirated software; that purchasing “straight”/heterosexual porn wouldn’t bat an eyelash, but purchasing m2m porn would cause smiles and furtive glances to light up in vendor’s faces; and that porn is bought for private (read: individual) consumption, and viewed within the private-d spaces of the bedroom, but could be acquired surreptitiously in crowded, public places. This seeming dichotomy between public and private, porn space and social space, is at the heart of the irony of Philippine porn dissemination and consumption, one which can be explained through the notion of public anonymity: crowded places are among the best sites to conduct surreptitious purchases due to the noise, volume of human traffic and compactness of the site of dissemination. Informal urban Philippine markets, such as the talipapa, maximize this phenomenon by intentionally occupying public spaces, such as sidewalks, roads right-of-way,

and (supposedly) open plazas. The vendor’s strategy here is not so much as to assist the consumer in disguising their purchasing patterns/preferences, but rather, to maximize possible retailing exposure by literally throwing up their wares at people’s way, blocking their movements, catching their visual/auditory/olfactory attention, and making enough of a blurred impression to persuade the pedestrian-cum-potential shopper to stop, look and ask. These result in snaking, overlapping patterns of looking/ asking/choosing humanity gridlocked within the overall public space. This strategy has been the case in most unregulated market spaces in Metro Manila, whether it is a back alley in Pasay or Caloocan, shopping mall corridors in the more upscale Green Hills Shopping Complex, or in the vast bazaars of Divisoria, Quiapo and Baclaran. It is easier to lose oneself in a crowd (just in case the police are watching). Within a crowd, it is also easier to conceal identities: purchases are made with prompt, verbal cues; there is minimum eye contact, and; the customer’s name is often not revealed (unless you are a suki, by which time an alias would usually do). Hence, public space becomes privatized, deconstructed into a virtual simulation of domesticity and individual privacy, a “reality” which is broken only by (intruding?) glances of your fellow shopper. This notion of multiple “tactical” uses of public space to function as a “strategic” liberative space through occupation, occlusion and multiple-coding is what Edson Cabalfin determines as “multifunctionality.” Cabalfin’s notion of public space as an extension of gender identification and tactical projection is intuited by him from Aaron Betsky’s notion of “queer space,” but re-functioned by expanding the notion of queer-ness (or in Cabalfin’s Filipino transliteration, “mala-bakla”), to typify a classification of the use and nature of space, rather than its simplistic determination of gendered (and sexed) space as belonging to one or another (Cabalfin 2003, 195-198).

Video grab from the recently released films of the pink genre or M2M


Once the public-but-surreptitious purchase of porn is made, the wares are then brought back to its naturalized space of viewing-the bedroom. The physical enclosure of the bedroom walls, completed when one draws the drapes shut and locks the door, becomes a defined barrier beyond which “outer” society is perceived not to enter. The bedroom then becomes a symbolically delimited, primally uterine (thus feminine) refuge, and a site of political defiance on the part of the porn consumer, who may be aware of the legal and/or moral gray area that porn inhabits in Philippine culture, but nonetheless has decided to partake of his/her right to selfinflicted “sodomy.” There is, therefore, a crucial point that should be made: contemporary porn, as a commodity phenomenon driven by the industrial mechanisms of capitalist production, is often assumed to be viewed within the confines of private spaces, where state authority cannot intrude without a court order or arrest warrant. The bedroom thus also becomes, in effect, capitalism’s (as autonomous individuality’s) ultimate site of consumption. Although porn also exhibits a public cinematic persona, notably in its early stages during the 1970s, such has been rendered mute in the Philippines by the draconian censorship laws, which virtually prohibits any public cinema from screening X-rated films. What happens, of course, is the wholesale illegalization of the porn industry at the surface, and its thriving underground nature in the form of black market software and risqué public cinemas often patronized by homosexuals—a scenario graphically illustrated in the 2006 film Serbis. The films themselves are the most intriguing aspect of this practice, for they seem to mirror the sense of spatial closure and privatized locus that hegemonizes local porn discourse. The majority of sex scenes filmed is in household spaces. This is the case in straight “compilation videos”, such as Manila by Night and Mahal, Idiin Mo, which take scenes of sex films from 1982 to 1998 and pastes them in succeeding series of montage shots, as well as the straight film Camp 69 (1983). Much is also the case of two gay videos, Spadahan (Boy in the Mirror) and ColeBoyz, produced

in 1990 and 1991, respectively. However, in Manila Scandal (2004), we see a variation in the form of both private as well as public space. The depicted spaces for the films made before 2000 are most often well-furnished but medium-sized bedrooms, study dens, or bathrooms—with a design sensibility akin to, if not reflective of, the retailed urban spaces of illicit sex, such as motel rooms. Often, these rooms have no view of the outside, their windows shuttered and curtained off from prying eyes. Only in one scene in Manila by Night is a view to the outside open, a glass curtain wall of a seaside villa that opens out into a deserted beach—which thus plays on the second aspect of porn’s appeal, its fantasy of sexual release in exclusive and elite spaces. There are some public spaces that are depicted, but these are done in areas that are isolated from other people, such as a country farm or rocky beach (Mahal, Idiin Mo), where, for example, a heterosexual couple can theoretically copulate without fearing exposure to anyone except the camera crew—and its intended audience. The two gay copulation scenes reviewed, one for each of Spadahan and ColeBoyz, occur within internal spaces that can be characterized as that for medium or upper-end income users: one is a well-furnished bedroom, with wooden bookcases, shaded table lamps, framed paintings, and Philippine or Southeast Asian table top antiques; the other is a luxuriously appointed private exercise gym, with mat carpeting, wall-to-wall mirrors, and leather benches. In almost all cases, there are no other “actors” in the scenery except for those engaged in the sex scenes. This elite privatization of either domestic or outdoor space is telling: the public vacuum of the scenery becomes the private bordello upon which the erotic desire of the viewer is transposed across the medium of the screen. Hence, the viewer becomes the voyeur looking at, and being aroused by, the sex scene. There is also a matter of identity migration to consider: that those actors (assuming that the viewer is male, which is the tendency for most individual viewers of porn) engaged in the sex scenes are often identified by the viewer as themselves, hence, completing the virtual reality of video sex: viewer becomes (sex) actor.

Posters and movie stills of the award-winning film, Serbis (2008)


It is not only a question of “copulatory space” that is explored by these videos, however. There are also the spaces reserved for male masturbation—an index of the primary socio-sexual hegemony of the phallus6 in defining the identity of its (mostly male) consuming public, and reflecting the sexually-specified nature of filmic and real spaces. This is especially the case of the two gay videos mentioned earlier, in which young models take turns jacking off in front of the camera. In Spadahan, the space of choice is the bedroom, often simple affairs that include a single-person capacity bed, an electric fan, and a mirror. In ColeBoyz, the spaces vary from the study den (which segues into oral sex between partners) to an outdoor mini-pool, where three models masturbate separately. This unique characteristic of gay video to be self-reflexive, often engaging oneself in a visual and spacio-temporal play that invite a viewer to maximize the scenic stimulus, makes it more dynamic in form and content than straight video, which is often encumbered by a canon of heterosexual processual stages (kissing and tit play, followed by fellatio, then by intercourse, and finally orgasm), scenes often stretched out via multiple camera placements. The series of the heterosexually-oriented Scandal porn videos done between 2004-2005 also play in this privatized environment of bedrooms—in one scene of Manila Scandal, for example, two couples have sex on a queensized double-bed, situated most likely inside a motel room. However, a third aspect of porn’s appeal, the thrill of risqué sexual acts done in public spaces, with the added drama of being seen and “caught in public,” also becomes a dominant strain. Two such spaces are seen in Manila Scandal: a rice granary warehouse, where the two straight couples undergo sex among the rice sacks; and a horse stable, where the walls open up to the surrounding countryside, inviting everyone to ogle at the sexual antics between the “stable boy” and the “water girl.” Finally, the spaces between the video and its audience should be traced, for an understanding of the relationship between being there, seeing it, and (probably) doing it is what makes “porn” porn, that is, having the ability to stimulate the viewer sexually. The affinity of private—specifically domestic—spaces conducive to sex, such as the bedroom, private study or bathroom, is most often reflected in the actual physical environment by which its audience is implicated - the privatized spaces of the domicile. The utilization of the outdoors as venue for filmic, if not actu-

al, sex increases the level of audience interest by imputing the (indeed, exciting) possibility of being discovered and watched, as well as the prudent realization that such a space has also been over-determined by notions of spatial semi-privacy (a honeymooner’s beach or pool resort, perhaps, or an isolated farm in the countryside). This affinity for congruent space materializes the visual linkage made between watching porn and doing porn, one often being a precursor to the other. What is more, the visual bond between the display of sex, as observed in the various camera angles that maximize the (often multiple) view of the act, and its consumers, is strengthened by this affinity of space and practice, especially when the distance is closed by the self-reflexivity of the actor/actress to the viewer on a one-to-one basis. Jacking off alone in a room while seeing someone jack off in a filmed room, or performing sex at home while viewing a couple having coitus at a set, binds viewers and actors together in a mesh of erotogenic practices that provide both pleasure and entertainment to its public. The utilization of such privatized spaces in porn, therefore, acts to propel, sustain and climax this excitation. It is this synchronicity between filmed and actual spaces of sex that delineates porn as a special area of problematizing Filipino notions of space as either public or private, virtual or real. In a sense, it also mirrors the general issue of pornography as an individualized space within which personal desire—and power—is produced versus attempts of institutions to hegemonize individuals into obedient servants. In a sense, porn space is a space of resistance, characterized by fantasy and verisimilitude, desire and fulfillment. The usage by porn videos of interiors that signify upper-income gentility serves as device simulators in aid of excitation, both on the level of the sexual, as well as that of the economic. The architectonic fantasies of VIP motel rooms, for example, which carry design themes like a videoke bar, a Swiss chalet, a Japanese tea house, or even an African safari house are calculated to maximize the imaginary of its “classiness” as well as its being sexually “kinky,” categories of desired intimacy that cater to its clients’ notions of psychosexual, as well as socio-economic, satisfaction. This over-determination of social fantasy around sexual fantasy is what continues to make porn space a serious topic for cultural critique, as well as an admittedly vigor-

The x-rated Manila Exposed DVDs are released internationally but bootleg copies are openly sold in the sidewalks of Quiapo


ous economic practice. What these fantasy interiors also elicit, however, is the simulation of wealth and power that goes with the activation of erotica in the tactical disposition of sexual and gendered relations between partners, individuals, and in some cases, even “groupies.” This simulacra of privilege, accessed through the rental of rooms on an hourly basis (“short time”, measured as three hours long, being the universally understood minimum block rate for such rooms, as well as the flagrant intention of quick sex for blocking such short room rents), is what also reconnects desire and power in subtle, even subversive ways.7 The spaces of porn, therefore, are also the spaces of political resistance, the demarcation made between the public and the private as resolved into life practice and consumption. This “sexscape,” resolved by the XXX cipher, is what constitutes the ultimate domicile of person versus group, individual versus communal. This transaction of spaces linked together by desire is also the last barrier in which the “free will” of one to indulge in such “aberrant behavior” would have to shield itself from the surveillance of the suppressing other.

case is the City of Manila, which passed an ordinance banning “short time” in motels to discourage the practice of “illicit sex” in just such establishments.

Adorno, Theodore & Max Horkheimer. The Dialectic of Enlightenment, ed. Gunzelin Schmid Noerr. Translated by Edmund Jephcott. Palo Alto, California: Stanford University Press, 2002. Betsky, Aaron. Queer Space: Architecture and Same-Sex Desire. New York: William Morrow, 1997. Bourdieu, Pierre. The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature, ed. Randal Johnson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. Cabalfin, Edson G. “Mala-Baklang Espasyo sa Arkitekturang Filipino: Estetika, Morpolohiya, Konteksto”, in Tabi-Tabi sa Pagsasangtabi: Critical Notes by Lesbians and Gays on the Arts, Culture and Language, ed. Eugene Evasco, Roselle Pineda and Rommel Rodriguez. Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 2003. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Translated by Steven Rendall. University of California Press. 1984. Dyer, Richard. “Idol Thoughts: Orgasm and self-reflexivity in pornography”. In The Visual Culture Reader, ed. Nicholas Mirzoeff. London: Routledge, 1998, 504-515. Lico, Gerard Rey A. “Architecture and Sexuality: the Politics of Gendered Spaces.” Humanities Diliman 2/1 (January-July 2001): 30-44. Nead, Lynda. The Female Nude: Art, Obscenity, and Sexuality. London: Routledge, 1992.

1. This insight is derived from structural notions of production and agency in the studies of Pierre Bourdieu, especially his notions of “field” and “habitus.” See Bourdieu1993, 29-73. 2. This is the case, traditionally, when orthodox religious patriarchal impositions that refuse the bodily nature of human existence as abhorrent and “paganistic”—that is, nature-oriented and thus feminine—condemn publicly-viewed sexual interaction as “aberrant” and “obscene”, because its ideological function of openness, equality, and pleasurable interaction threaten to displace the individualist, dominant oppression of celibate male power. 3. Lynda Nead specifically critiques these categories of defining pornography. In The Female Nude: Art, Obscenity, and Sexuality (1992), she deconstructs how cultural notions of making distinctions between what is acceptable behavior and what is illicit are translated into forms of controlling social behavior, and are conformed by the moral requisites of the state, thus producing censorship. The difficulty in defining such terms as “obscene” and “immoral” in pornography, such as the celebrated 1961 court case versus Penguin Books for its republishing of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, showed how artistic merits are often confused for moral demonization when “it falls into the wrong hands.” 4. Considering the economics of purchasing both (pirated) hardware and software in the VCD format in the currently uncontrolled black market, with VCDs to be had for as little as 30 pesos a piece and players for as little as 1,000 pesos, this issue takes on a massive dimension in the cultural and spatial visualities of millions of everyday Filipinos. 5. Porn videos in Manila are often never reviewed on a monitor before purchase for fear of being “caught”—by whom, considering the very illegality of the vendor’s existence, is a very good question. 6. Extended scenes devoted to masturbation indicate the source of porn’s “empowered public” as well as its inclusion within the general outlines of acknowledging the dominant sexed being in the socio-sexual (and thus socio-political) context. Thus, by extending the pleasure and fetishism inherent in stroking and exciting the penis to a hardened and ready-toejaculate state, such scenery provides copious proof of both patriarchal as well as fraternal hegemony. 7. The subversive usage of “short time” has been identified by some state organs, which now regulate such practices in certain places. One recent


Imperial Manila:
Dr. Gerard Lico is an architect and art historian. He teaches at the College of Architecture University of the Philippines at Diliman and practices architecture as the Campus Architect of the same institution. He is a multi-awarded author books dealing with architectural history, theory, and criticism. He is currently the Executive Director of the Professional Development Commission of the United Architects of the Philippines.

Empire Building and the Ideology of American Colonial Architecture and Urban Design (1898 - 1936)

Abstract Manila, as a new American colonial city in the first decade of the 20th century, underwent a massive urban transformation aimed at concretizing America’s imperial imagination in the tropics. This imperial ambition drove the colonial authorities to structure Manila’s urban built environment as a model colonial outpost. The urban revision was initiated to facilitate efficient colonial governance and to signify the power and prestige of the new colonial order. Manila, perceived by the colonist as a pathologic space, became the vortex of colonial urban reengineering that systematically transformed the city into a sanitized, ordered and regulated domain so structured to enhance the flow of economic activities. Through the lens of critical post-colonial architectural historiography, this article is a formal and discursive analysis of the power inscribed in the architectural and urban aspects of American colonialism in Manila from 1898 to 1934. It also seeks to investigate how colonial urban space was effectively reorganized and restructured

using new modes of monitorial methods and disciplinary tactics that replaced the harshness of military force and brute coercion yet nevertheless generated an effective means of panoptic control over the natives. Implicated by the new spatial order were the negotiations of power between the municipal authorities and the native populace in shaping, representing and using the urban built environment in colonial Manila. The ordering of the built environment in the Philippines under the American colonial authorities necessitated a radical approach to social and urban planning policy, the implementation of which was directed towards sanitation, mass housing and urban aesthetics–all the physical consequences of colonialism’s tactic of enframing colonial subjectivity and installing the infrastructures of colonial modernity. These strategies maneuvered in the language of reform that included sanitary surveillance, the modification of the domestic spaces, the introduction of a modern utilities system, the establishment of zoning regulation and control in the use of public space, and the gardenesque transformation of Manila from the new colonial master’s perception of Hispanic medieval squalor to a neoclassic imperial imaginary guided by the principles of Daniel H. Bunham’s “City Beautiful” master plan. Colonialism and Space At a basic level, colonialism implies a condition of domination that expansionist foreign power instantiates, engendering hegemonic relations between them and the resisting peoples who defend their undisputable interest for a contested space. Since colonialism is a political, cultural and economic process and a vehicle by which urban plan-


ning was exported to non-western territories, it is perhaps not surprising that spatiality and geography have come to be central issues in post-colonial theory. The production of colonial space or colonial place-making does not merely implicate the establishment of colonialist’s presence in the domain of the subjugated but also involves the judicious planning of the contested domain where social reengineering schema and regulation of spatial practices are to be cogently implemented. Urbanism or the physical planning and design of urban space underscores the symbiotic relationship between material and spatial dimensions of cities, their built environment and architectural form, and the social, economic and cultural systems of which they are the constitutive elements. Thus, colonialism creates a political economy of dependency, a means by which colonial power extends its markets for manufactured goods and by which the colonies, in turn, supply the raw materials to the industrial metropole. The economic institutions of colonialism are transcoded spatially, in the form of expansion of finance capital in the construction of banks, commercial buildings, multinational corporate headquarters in the urban core; in the concentration of labor power in the establishment of peripheral native settlements and barrios obreros (workers’ villages); and in the establishment of necessary infrastructure to sustain an externally oriented port city through which raw materials are exported back to the metropole and then returned to the colony as processed commodities. Being an extension of metropolitan space economy, the space of colonial cities like Manila is reframed and reconfigured along an urban form based on the inherent, economic and social principles (i.e., transplanted from the metropole) such as the concept of property, notions of real estate markets, prevailing levels of technology and transportation and cultural and social assumptions regarding the use of space (King 1990, 60). This essay is concerned not only with the social production of the designed environment but also with how built environments in the colonial context represent, appropriate, regulate and control the spaces of the native subjects in the service of imperial imagination. Moreover, the implementation of urbanizing spatial framework installs a political order that inscribes in the social world a new conception of space, new forms of identity and new modes of controlling everyday experience.

Architecture, in this case, acts as an intimidating and disciplining space. It is a perfect example of Foucault’s panoptic technique aimed at disciplining the subjects of the entire colonial society. This article seeks to investigate the vortex of architectural and urban production–the colonial city–particularly the city of Manila. This city is imagined as America’s new tropical frontier in Asia and a colonial urban laboratory to be transformed into a model urban outpost and colonial metropolis that is to embody and celebrate the role of America as a new world superpower. Thus, the analysis will also probe into the discourse of how power is mediated through the creation of an overseas imperial space as an extension of the territorial domain. This paper will also investigate how spatial intervention and zonal imposition in the colonial space refashioned the city as a hygienic site for colonial habitation and served as panoptic site for the perpetuation of a scopic regime of colonial control. Spatial restructuring itself establishes a political principle of order which spread over the entire surface of colonial society. For the purpose of this essay, certain critical terms need further elucidation. Colonialism may be understood as a set of interactions between the colonizer and the colonized in a complex relationship based on the imposition of political control of powerful states over weaker ones. Colonial space is an agonistic multidimensional space where the colonial encounter takes place and where colonized peoples cope with the imperial presence. Colonial space thus plays host to relationships between the colonizer and the colonized that are characterized by a “constant, if implicit, contestation and opposition” (Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin 1995, 9). Colonization does not only manifest itself as a mere political strategy, but also doles out its myriad consequences on life and culture which are put into operation via the logic of space. Space, the arena of spatial practices, becomes a unique instrument of thought and action since it works in two dimensions of layers: real and abstract space. Taking off from Henry Lefebvre (1991) in describing this dialectic, the spatial character of the locus of colonial spatial production–the colonial city–can then be understood using his distinction between representations of space and

Figure 1: Tourist guidebook to the city of Manila circa 1930

Figure 2: The bahay kubo as the object of American sanitary gaze


Figure 3: A physician of the Manila Board of Health performing inoculation against the bubonic plague in 1902.

Figure 4: House-to-house disinfection against the cholera epidemic

representational space. Representations of space are conceived; they are those spaces conceptualized and planned by architects, town-planners, the state apparatus, etc., and they represent the dominant ordering of space in any society (or mode of production). Representational space is space that is actually inhabited by dwellers in cities and nations; “it is the dominated space which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate” (Lefebvre 1991, 38). The colonial city is defined here as the urban area in the colonial society characterized by segregational zoning of the racial, social and cultural components of its populace, which was brought about by the processes of colonialism. Colonialism in this context suggests the establishment and maintenance of an order imposed by a migrant ruling power on a people separate from and subordinate to them for a long period of time. Urbanism is used in this study to describe a planned or directed progress, in contrast to one which is unplanned and an organic agglomeration. It refers to the physical planning and design of urban space, which emphasizes the symbiotic relationship between the spatial, economic, institutional, social and cultural relations produced in the city. The physical-spatial dimension of urbanism includes the actual built forms of the urban area, housing basic human and social activities (such as habitation, commercial activities, recreation, government and religion) and necessary infrastructure for efficient operation of the city (e.g., road and bridge network, transport and communication system, sewage disposal and water supply system and power distribution systems). Urbanism as a positivistic human science endeavors not only to study the physical structures of the city, but also the lived life that flows within it. Urbanism may therefore be seen as a set of clusters related to each other and to the population (their content) through a system of infrastructures, where we consider infrastructures as devices for social reproduction.

Architecture constitutes the material dimensions of culture that humans construct to provide shelter to protect themselves from the elements, to enclose activities within physically defined or demarcated spaces and to express symbolic meanings and communal values of a particular culture or society. In this study, the terms “built form” and “built environment” are used to refer to all human-constructed shelters, including ephemeral and structurally insubstantial forms (Oliver 1997, xxi). The cultural evaluation and analysis of urban architectural forms and spaces necessarily incorporate historical dimensions, such as Foucault’s concept of architecture as a political technology rising to full power in the modern era. Foucault maintained that modern institutions combine special knowledge and power to subjugate and segregate the individual subject through enclosure and segmentation. In the panopticon prison, the hierarchical spatial ordering and control of the individual are achieved in a single architectural form that simultaneously allows surveillance, regulation of bodily movement and isolation of prisoners (Foucault 1977). As such, architecture functions as an institution for maintaining the power of one group over another and serves as a mechanism for coding reciprocal relationships. The colonial landscape is not simply a palimpsest reflecting the asymmetric power relations undergirding colonial society; it is also a terrain of discipline and resistance. It embodies the negotiation of power between the dominant and the subordinated in society, each with their own version of reality and practice. Forms of resistances against colonial authority are more commonplace than organized revolt because “they require little or no coordination or planning; they often represent a form of individual selfhelp; and they typically avoid any direct symbolic confrontation with authority or elite norms” (Scott 1985, 29). Compliance is withdrawn unobtrusively, without calling attention to the act itself or upsetting the larger symbolic order of dominance and dependence prescribed for the colonial world.


Setting the Institutions of Control over the Urban-Built Environment
The ambitious imperial venture of America to colonize the Philippine archipelago commenced in the city of Manila at the turn of the century. After the surrender of Manila in August 1898, the Americans took their position in the city and commenced to govern it. The administration of municipal operations was assigned to the provostmarshal-general, whose executive function branched to the various municipal departments. These departments were entirely headed by military officers. In preparation for civilian rule, a charter for the city of Manila was drafted, patterned after the charter of the District of Columbia in Washington. This charter placed Manila under the direct control of the central colonial government. The blueprint, however, deprived the native inhabitants of a voice in conducting local affairs. In this quasi-military municipal setup, martial imposition prevailed without the benefit of public consultation. The residents of Manila had no voice whatsoever in the conduct of municipal affairs, moreso in the central government. The absence of native representation in government prompted the United States Philippine Commission to firmly endorse the institution of a civil government as soon as possible. When the civil government was established, enormous power to shape the urban space was concentrated in the hands of the municipal board. As a legislating body, it was constituted of colonial agents charged with deploying the technologies of power such as town planning regulation and police supervision to categorize and control the indigenous population. In such a process, urban planning became the mechanism by which colonial adjudications of cleanliness, civility and modernity were realized. The municipal board’s vision of urban life was strictly guided by a mandate codified in detail in the City Charter of Manila, which conjured spatial and environmentalist metropolitan strategies that mimicked those from the metropole. These ranged from the prevention of conflagrations to the construction of public infrastructure; from abating public nuisance to maintaining social hygiene. Under the charter’s provision, the board was empowered to take on the supreme role of a social architect responsible for shaping the urban-built environment of the colonial metropolis. The sense of entitlement of the colonialist/colonizer to transform the space

was driven by the rhetoric of Manifest Destiny, an idealistic and “benevolent” rationale to establish freedom and democratic order across the globe. With this belief, the colonial municipal authorities initiated an extensive site clearance and urban cleansing of spaces in Manila. This was a harsh prerequisite which the Filipinos had to endure so the site could be prepared for the building of monumental edifices that signified the American democratic and civilizing mission.

Urban Cleansing and the Medicalization of Space
In the period’s medical texts, the image of the Filipinos was constructed as subhuman and the reservoir of latent infection. Through the lens of the American sanitary gaze, Filipinos were viewed as brown, lumpen filth which Americans must necessarily avoid. The sanitary measures encouraged by colonial authorities focused on cleaning up the islands and reconstructing the image of the Filipino as a clean, white individual. The colonial officials aimed at submitting the social body to an encompassing administrative gaze that was to discipline the physical body and the people’ s life, as well as supervise the native’s physical reproduction in view of labor force and colonial productivity. The colonial bureaucracy fostered the systematic “washing up of the orient” (Heiser 1936, 59), intertwining the notions of modernity and hygiene under the authority of imperial medical men like Victor Heiser, the authoritarian director of the Bureau of Health. Heiser identified the Filipino masses as primary hindrance in the road to better sanitation and hygiene in the Philippine Islands. In his racist remark, he maintained: We have first poverty-stricken people with a poor physical inheritance, a people strongly imbued with superstitions and habits the antithesis of the simplest health doctrines and practices, a people lacking ambition productively to till the fertile soil, a people the masses [sic] of whom are apparently content in their ignorance and poverty resigned to and uncomplaining of their many ailments. (Heiser 1910, 171) Enlightened by rationality of the science of tropical medicine, the colonial sanitarians like Heiser saw themselves as benevolent hygienic reformers, bringing the gospel of cleanliness to ignorant Filipinos whose bodies they saw as

Figure 5: Sanitary pails introduced by American sanitarians to control Filipino excremental practices

Figure 6: The burning of the Farola district to quarantine the cholera epidemic of 1902

Figure 7: The new public building prototype invented by the Americans, combining the functions of toilet, bath, and laundry.


reservoirs for tropical pathogens and whose filthy habits and customs provided an auspicious condition for the proliferation of disease. These suspect bodies would be the subject of biopolitical strategies of surveillance, allowing the colonial state to deeply infiltrate the intimate detail of everyday spatial practices. The creation of a healthful colonial city necessitated not only the physical intervention of the colonial environment, but also the mobilization of sanitary surveillance of the colonial bodies via the lens of imperial medicine, so that new spatial forms and architectural models could be prescribed as spatial prophylaxis guaranteeing the survival of white men in an “esoteric” colonial ecology. Deriving their knowledge from the medical men working in colonial settings, the colonial sanitary officials, in turn, unleashed a battery of hygienic reformation, preventive tactics, and sanitary infrastructure – all adhering to western scientific rationality–designed to spatially conquer and control the threat of epidemic disease. In the process, they became fundamental agents in the medicalization of the colonial urban space, gaining control over the potential climatic, biological and environmental hazards prevalent in the tropical archipelago, and at the same time, ennobling imperialism as a benevolent interventionist enterprise. At the core of sanitary science is an environmentalist’s premise espousing the belief that by managing the environment and restructuring the space through scientific interventions, it is possible to eradicate disease and enhance health. In this light, sanitary reformers demanded a fundamental reformation of the physical and spatial basis of urban life. According to Foucault, “disease is circumscribed, medically invested, isolated, divided up into closed, privileged regions, or distributed throughout cure centers, arranged in the most favorable way.” The medicalized city is the place of political struggles, economic constraints,and social confrontations. It is here that the changes leading to a reformulation of medical knowledge occurr (Foucault 1973, 14-5). The science of sanitation examined the urban distribution of disease through demographic cartography to establish the relationship of disease with the local environmental conditions and the location, distribution and migration of population. Medical geographies were written to describe the newly encountered environment and document attendant effects on the colonialists’ wellbeing. As such, colonial hygienist, imperial doctor, urban planner, engineer and architect were, in Foucault’s words, “specialists of space” (1980, 150) who collaborated to design an urban geometry in accordance with the fundamental spatial preoccupations: “that of local conditions such as climate and soil; that coexistences between men themselves and between men and things, such as questions of density and proximity, water, sewage and ventilation; that of residences including environmental issues; and that of displacements such as

propagation of disease” (Foucault 1980, 150-51). Through the hygienist discourse, the city with its “principal spatial variables” such as the “disposition of various quarters, their humidity and exposure, the ventilation of the city as a whole, its sewage and drainage systems, the siting of abattoirs and cemeteries and the density of population” became a medicalized object of scientific mapping, scrutiny and manipulation that played a “decisive role in the mortality and morbidity of the inhabitants” (Foucault 1980, 175). A sweeping colonial urban program was designed by the American colonial authorities conscripting the expertise of imperial physicians, sanitarians, planners, engineers and disciplinary strategies to “cure” the unhealthy colonial environment by excising its dangerous and disorderly elements and reforming the unwholesome native spatial practices. Epidemics justified the medicalization of space. This reminds us of Foucault’s analysis: “plague gave rise to disciplinary diagrams” (Foucault 1975, 231). These diagrams require rigorous spatial partitioning, careful surveillance, detailed inspection, and order. Such mode of dealing with the pathology was not “a massive, binary division between one set of people and another”; it was rather one that required “multiple separations, individualizing distributions, an organization in depth of surveillance and control, an intensification and a ramification of power” (Foucault 1975, 231). This involved the minute control and division of space—towns into districts, district into quarters and quarters into isolated roads and individual houses. The technology of medicine allowed both the individual and the population to become objects of knowledge and hygienic intervention. Medicine through sanitary intervention, by its utilization of space, became an apparatus of both discipline and cure. In this sense, the medicalized urban planning created the ideal regulator of the modern colonial society via reason, science and technology. Creating geometry of spatial regulation, American colonial urbanism played a pivotal role in the development of colonial discipline by creating new technologies of pacification achieved through the modulation of social behavior by means of spatial and built forms. One of the primary objects of discipline in the context of urbanism was to fix the population into planned settlements. This was accompanied by a hierarchized, continuous and functional surveillance that was epitomized by the ideal model of geometric architecture–the panopticon–and spatial form of normalizing power. The panopticon paradigm in which built form was overtly linked to the inculcation of regulatory social norms and achievement of social reform was a colonial urban strategy aimed at creating obedient colonial subjects through knowledge of surveillance. Planning was aimed at bringing an entirely new “sociotechnical environment” (Rabinow 1994, 407) to the city, shaping the urban realm into a paradigm of new, efficient, and disciplinary apparatus. The conflation of spatiality and surveillance in “modern planning” gave rise to what Foucault describes as the concept of “disciplinary society.”


The alliance of tropical medicine, sanitary science and urban design in the American spatial schema assumed a specific form of domination, deploying the medical disciplinary gaze and legitimizing the exercise of biopower to reinvent the norms of human behavior and regulate the quotidian aspects of human existence. Biopower is a form of dominance capable of penetrating into the minutest and most mundane detail of the everyday life of the colonial subjects (Foucault 1978, 139). In the context of Manila’s epidemic-stricken urban terrain, “filthy” native customs, habits and spatial practices were blamed as the causes of the proliferation of various tropical diseases which threatened the equilibrium of the hygienic colonial order. American colonial urbanism crafted the geometry of spatial regulation, instilling new disciplinary technologies by controlling social behaviors through indirect impositions encrypted in spatial and built forms. Epidemics justified the medicalization of space, both public and private, and the biopolitical reinvention of native spatial behaviors through the alliance of tropical medicine, sanitary science and urban design. The native body thus became a biopolitical object of constant surveillance, submitting itself to the supervisory actions of colonial state which infiltrated the private and the most intimate aspects of the native’s everyday spatial practices in the semblance of sanitary activism and reform. The logic of the new colonial order administered by the American authorities demanded vast urban cleansing, the creation of new modern space, a sterile, rational space, over and against the “bleak” and “filthy” spaces of the “unenlightened” past. Much more, the onslaught of epidemics had major architectural implications which brought many technological changes to Filipino domestic space to minimize the indoor pollution it generated. The municipal imaginary of salubrious urbanity implicated the native nipa houses as foci of potential infection and launched an invasive system of policing, which encroached on the bounds of domestic privacy to expose the filth, dark, claustrophobic and disease-harboring domesticity concealed from the imperial sanitary gaze. The architecture of the native dwelling was radically overhauled by the municipal and health authorities who ordered the installation of latrines and other domestic services and

the structural modification of other internal features of urban nipa houses through military orders and ordinances. Structures were ordered rat-proof in response to plaguecarrying rodents. In 1905, the city’s Building Ordinance, brimming with provisions against house infections, was passed. The ordinance stringently fixed the minimum standards and stipulated medicalized guidelines for house density, illumination, ventilation, and waste disposal (Annual Report of the Municipal Board of Manila 1906, 10). The concept of the “toilet” was introduced in 1902 among dwellers of the bahay kubo in Manila by way of the pail system or cubeta. Public toilet sheds were also installed in congested nipa hut districts where the population was too poor to afford pails (Annual Report of the Municipal Board of Manila 1903, 9). In 1905, a latrine system was also developed based on toilet structures prevalent in the town of Antipolo. This meticulous domestic surveillance and sociospatial regimentation was conducted to effectively cordon off the potential pathogens discharged by native bodies and prevent them from spreading to a larger area of the city (Report of the Philippine Health Service 1916, 56). The sanitary maneuvers undertaken by the American regime consisted primarily of demolishing, burning, and disinfecting existing pathogenic sites. The network of surveillance took effect on a day-to-day basis under the watchful eye of municipal officers and sanitary police who conducted their house-to-house inspections to apprehend the sanitary transgressors within the domestic and public spaces. Each encounter was gripped with tension and constant friction as residents of communities suspected of harboring infectious diseases fought with counter strategies to insist on their rightful place in the colonial spatial order. The extreme manifestation of this urban cleansing and American sanitary syndrome was the unnecessary burning of the Farola district in 1902 at the height of the cholera epidemic. The severity and invasiveness of the sanitary policy fueled much hatred towards the Americans, who later abandoned houseburning tactics in favor of the compulsory disinfection of houses and chemical spraying of residents when officials encountered native resistances (McLaughlin 1909). The implementation of regulatory schemes provoked a range of native responses, often in the form of nonconfrontational resistances, articulated through counter-

Figure 8: The prototype Ideal Sanitary House of 1917

Figure 9: Perspective of a Sanitary Barrio

Figure 10: The plan of a concrete tsalet endorsed by the Bureau of Health


strategies of flight, evasion, non-compliance or even sabotage. Political distrust, differing cultural values and lack of awareness of hygienic principles and disease etiology caused Filipinos to oppose the American fiat of sanitary regulation. The asymmetric power relations in the colonial laboratory forced Filipinos to take counteraction, not through confrontational actions, but via everyday technologies of nonviolent forms of subversions. As a form of compromise, the pathogenic neighborhoods slowly gave way to the Sanitary Barrios where the new domestic prototype, a hybridized form of nipa house known as the “Sanitary Model House,” was massproduced for the working class. The building of these model communities marked the shift of American urban policy, which recast the image of the colonial authorities before the eyes of the Filipinos from ruthless demolition teams of indigenous neighborhoods to altruistic community developers and urban benefactors (Health Bulletin No. 10; Health Bulletin no. 16). After the development of the sanitary barrios, the American authorities focused their efforts on modernizing the Filipino urban house. The colonial architects and sanitary engineers successfully evolved a new kind of architecture that crossbred the tropical features of vernacular buildings with modern materials and architectonic principles of hygiene. This innovative hybrid house was called tsalet. In 1912, a scheme was drawn by the Bureau of Health for the general types of urban house and the Bureau assertively campaigned for the adoption of these plans by the public (Health Bulletin No. 10 Philippine Habitations, 1912). New materials were developed to replace the highly flammable nipa as the staple material for urban construction, especially after the Great Fire of Manila in 1903. Philippine Assembly Act No. 1838 sanctioned the banishment of the nipa roof with the invention of incombustible material as substitute. The pinnacle of these experimentations with materials was the “Ideal Sanitary House” of 1917 (Health Bulletin No. 16 Plans and Instructions Relative to the Construction of Sanitary Model House 1917).

of Manila, especially to foreigners and capitalists, as one which engendered civic pride and municipal vivacity. Behind the façade, the imperial iconography and colonial modernity that the Burnham plan—designed by the foremost Beaux Art American architect Daniel A. Burnham in 1905 — sought to erect in Manila was an urban “cure” conceived in the language of geometry, function, hierarchy and pathology and driven to regularize the colonial space and facilitate the orderly arrangement of native bodies within that space. Hence, embedded in the sweeping master plan for Manila was a covert disciplinary schema which institutionalized differentiation and control within a colonial society by means of distinct and separate urban functions created by zoning. Zonification dissociated the contaminated parts of the city by the erection of discrete boundaries and regulated the circulation of bodies in imposed directions. In this scheme, the chaotic patchwork of unhygienic and fire-hazardous native communities was demolished to fulfill Manila’s urban destiny as a wellordered beautiful city nourished by the Cartesian logic of geometry and reason prescribed by Burnham. Such a procedure necessitated the subjection of the urban body to an agonizing but modernizing surgery to remove the tissues of the slums, decongest the clogged arteries and lungs, and eliminate diseased spatial cells from the metropolitan corpus. The resuscitation of the ailing urban body and its ability to sustain modern life was dependent upon the propellants of technological urban machineries. Manila’s urban physiology was to be fitted with cuttingedge technology and supplied with the necessary infrastructural appurtenances to reinvigorate its cosmopolitan aura. Aside from linking the various zones of the city, the new street system, bridges and transportation network were built to encourage a new kind of mobility, which in turn catalyzed the suburban migration that decongested the city core. Residential suburbs grew along with electric trolley lines which connected them to the urban core. The perennial sanitary problems were addressed with technological systems such as piped water supply and sewerage, to which water closets were connected in order to convey fecal matter and waste outside the city. The installation of underground gas lines was contemplated to reduce domestic pollution arising from household stoves. Electrical current was supplied to a wider area of the colonial metropolis. The wholesale transplantation of these cosmopolitan technologies from the metropole at breakneck speed was unprecedented in the history of the city, elevating the standards of urban life to the plane of American civilization, the alleged paragon of colonial modernity. The metropolitan transformation of Manila into a modern capitalist city was facilitated by and a product of technoscience which enabled American settlers to live comfortably in a domesticated colonial environment. Medical science controlled disease, engineering supplied clean water and designed hygienic sewage systems, and new forms of transport and communications allowed residents to be moved, fed and employed on a mass scale. Novel materials and building technologies–such as ferro-concrete, iron, steel, multi-storey structures, prefabrication and

Technocosmopolitanist Transformation and the City-Beautiful Aesthetics
The field of vision of this domestic sanitary surveillance soon expanded its coverage to include the larger public environment, propelling a systemic urbanistic change that converged both in civic design and public policy. Since colonialism was primarily about economic gain, the urban landscape was radically transformed in order to yield greater profit. The urban makeover emerged from the philosophy of City Beautiful planning whose ontological basis professed that physical beautification of the city and the dispensation of urban aesthetics would breathe new life into Manila’s presumed diseased-urban condition and bring about instant social recuperation as well. Cleanliness of public environment was crucial in representing the image


modularization–all helped to produce an urban morphology “based on particular forms of energy and assumptions about accumulation of capital” (King 1990, 38-39). Providing new urban technologies and other metropolitan services was not exclusively a gesture of colonial benevolence to ameliorate the backward lives of natives. It was a “tool of conquest” facilitating the “creation of colonies politically submissive and economically profitable” to the urban metropole (Headrick 1981, 11). Of course, this innovative network of technologically driven colonial infrastructure allowed for the development, extraction and exploitation of resources, which were funneled to the colonial capital to sustain the status of Manila as a seat of colonial power and a significant commercial entrepot of the American empire. Ironically, the capital invested for the construction of urban infrastructure was “raised by taxing the Filipinos” who bore the burden of expenses of urban improvements that “would facilitate their own exploitation” (Constantino 1975, 301). To sustain the colonial building spree, export tariff rates and land taxes were recommended by the Philippine Commission. This generated revenues that enabled the colonial government to undertake the construction of necessary public infrastructure. Moreover, to supplement the fund for public works, the insular government was authorized to issue financing bonds for the construction and improvement of Manila’s water supply, sewerage, and drainage systems. In order to encourage investment in railroads, the Commission guaranteed a profit not exceeding four percent of the investment in railroad ventures it franchised (Corpuz 1997, 222-23). Such urban reformation relying heavily on technological apparatuses is referred to by Paul Rabinow as technocosmopolitanism or “the attempt to regulate history, society, and culture by working over existent institutions and spaces—cultural, social, and aesthetic—that were seen to embody a healthy sedimentation of historical practices. Its technological operations were applied to specific customs, cultures and countries—hence, cosmopolitan” (Rabinow 1992, 52). Urban technoscience and infrastructure of development were not neutral as they were co-opted as

tools or methods for achieving the objectives of the colonial institutions and municipal bureaucracy. Operating in concert with the force of law, techno-scientific urban infrastructure was designed to regulate and “normalize” those zones in the colonial space that deviated from “social and scientifically derived norms” (Rabinow 1989, 169). Public works and technological infrastructure, though requiring a huge capital outlay, were pursued on the grounds that as instruments of discipline, they involved a lesser degree of harshness (of military coercion) yet yielded similar effects. The imposition of urban regulations and colonial disciplinary tactics was easily transcribed in the inert infrastructure of public improvements where power remained latent. To be truly efficient, force operated under the cloak of volunteerism and civic pride but the latent disciplinary power remained intact and reactivated by means of implied sanctions. For this reason, urban technologies assumed the function of an apparatus of governance “imbued with aspirations for the shaping of conduct in the hope of producing certain desired effects and averting certain undesired events” (Rose 1999, 52). Nicolas Rose perceived this technological system assimilated within the urban landscape as an “assemblage of forms of practical knowledge, with modes of perception, practices of calculation, vocabularies, types of authority, forms of judgment, architectural forms, human capacities, non-human objects and devices, inscription techniques and so forth, traversed and transected by aspirations to achieve certain outcomes in terms of the conduct of the governed” (Rose 1999, 52). The establishment of colonial modernity of public space began with the re-planning of Manila. This expanded the Spanish zonification paradigm and served as a dichotomizing scheme which plainly divided the city into two districts according to building materials. A fire line break known as Divisoria was created for the prevention of largescale urban conflagration. This episode also recounts the preliminary stages of urban redevelopment undertaken by the colonial authorities without the benefit of a general master plan to systematically bring piecemeal improvement and ad hoc construction to a holistic order and

Figure 11: Daniel H. Burnham

Figure 12: Burnham Plan for Manila (1906)

Figure 13: Taft Avenue, Manila’s main thoroughfare, in the 1920s


coherence. This included the reclamation of Manila Bay for the expansion of the port of Manila and the development of bayshore parks, the filling out of low and marshy land for residential subdivision development, the rehabilitation of the existing street system and the laying out of new streets in subdivided enclave neighborhoods, the demolition of certain sections of Intramuros walls for intramural ventilation and traffic circulation, the dredging of canals and esteros to open them to both commercial traffic and drainage, among others. Of course the public space had to be guarded against social pollutants–prostitutes, vagrants, criminals and peddlers of offensive trades–and social hygiene and public order in streets of Manila were held under control through a string of ordinances (Macaraig 1929). These preparative episodes, operating under the umbrella of the urban reform movement, anticipated a revolutionary metropolitan intervention heralded by an urban designer who would assemble the urban miscellany under a singular aesthetic geometry of a metropolitan master plan, where the ideologies of discipline and style coalesced. Unknown to many scholars of Philippine architectural history and urban design, the credentials of Fredrick Law Olmstead were a perfect match to the urban vision of the colonial government in Manila which sought his professional advice regarding matters on city improvement. But circumstances conspired and led to the official appointment of Daniel H. Burnham, who collaborated with Olmsted in designing the 1893 Columbian Exposition. The collaborative design for this ephemeral event was the genesis of the City Beautiful Movement. This urban ideology that revived Greco-Roman presence in the context of 20th century industrial capitalism and technological modernity was conveyed in Burnham’s design concept for Manila in 1905 (Burnham 1906). Under the guidance of this master plan, the American proconsuls in Manila sought to revitalize the capital city through the monumental forms of the Beaux Arts style which worked to enhance native discipline and colonial commerce. In the pursuit of colonial modernity and scientific progress, it was necessary to install and overlay the City Beautiful master plan with technological systems such as piped water, sewage, and electricity, transportation network and public infrastructure. These technologies were not merely a material element in the production of the urban image of a rapidly-advancing American imperial city, but also constituted a critical dimension to the social production of space, implying connectivities between the native body and the city, between the social and bio-physical systems, and between the invisible and visible aspects of the urban space. For instance, the hydrological transformation of the city represented by the synchronic construction of a modern sewer system and piped water distribution system in Manila was both a process of physical reconstruction and social engineering within a modernizing city, marked from the very beginning by a tension be-

tween the punitive and progressive hygienist discourses. The evolution of modern technological systems could thus be conceived in Foucauldian terms as part of a biopolitical dynamics wherein social relations and codes of bodily conduct were increasingly subjected to indirect modes of social disciplines and managerial techniques of colonial urban governance (Foucault 1978). Moreover, the employment of these technologies ensured not only the production of a hygienic classicist city and effective modern urban machinery but also facilitated the efficient movement of material and capital flows within economic networks. The urban incarnation of the imperial imagination became a commodity in itself facilitating colonial commerce and further accumulation of capital. The cleared sites of pathology provided an empty anachronistic space where ceremonial straight avenues, right angles and functional zoning prescribed by the City Beautiful master plan of Burnham were to be laid and made available for imperial place-making. Burnham recommended detailed urban procedures: the development of the waterfront and the location of parks, playfields and parkways so as to promote sufficient opportunities for urban recreation to every quarter in the city; the establishment of a street system which would establish direct and convenient communication from every part of the city to every other sector or district; the zoning of building sites for various functions; the development of waterways or esteros for transportation; and the provision of summer resorts within an accessible distance from the city. The space had a central civic core: radials emanating from this core were laid over a gridiron pattern and large parks interconnected by parkways. The centerpiece of the Burnham Plan was the civic core where a grand concourse emanated from the bay and terminated in an arc further inland. Here, Burnham envisioned a national capitol complex where colonnaded buildings were formally arranged around a rectangular plaza. Radiating from this civic core was a series of tree-lined boulevards superimposed on an efficient gridiron street system. These radials divided the city into five sections and produced a street system that directed traffic efficiently up to a point where diagonals were introduced as a continuous connection between sections (Burnhan, 1906). Overall, what Burnham prescribed was an urban cure rendered in the grammar of geometry, function, hierarchy and zones to arrange unruly native bodies in a new civilized space of enlightenment exposed to panoptic vision.

Architecture, Discipline, and Imperial Spectacle
The rationalization of urban space paved the way for the regime of order and, above all, imperial display made more visceral in the architecture of colonial presence. It was at this juncture that urbanism and architecture replaced physical force and coercive strategies with rituals of civility and governmentality to solicit native obedience to the colonial state. The styling of architecture paralleled the styling of native discipline.


Figure 14: Model of the proposed Capitol Complex in Luneta

Figure 15: Edgar K. Bourne’s Insular Ice Plant, completed in 1902

Stylistic experimentation was undertaken by the colonial architects in search of an official style that embodied the grandeur of American imperialism in a tropical environment. The colonial architects initially drew inspiration from American experience in the Southwest United States and developed a simplified pseudo-Hispanic and Mission Revival that harmonized with the extant architectures of Manila and then immediately shifted to neoclassical style that communicated the Republican ideals in the colonial society. American colonial architecture was thus rendered in a style that conjured “expansive republicanism” rather than imperialism, tutelage in self-government and benevolent assimilation rather than colonial rule–an architecture that dispensed a democratic façade. Initially, Insular Architect Edgar K. Bourne, chief of the Bureau of Architecture, designed set-piece architecture that mimicked the styles of Spanish colonial buildings— the Spanish Mission Revival (Report of the Governor General of the Philippine Islands 1902, 890). The curvilinear parapets, round-arched entrances, white-plastered walls, pyramidal terracotta-tiled roofs and dominant mirador towers were architectural elements transplanted from the American Southwest which adorned the early architecture of American rule. For the implementation of Burnham’s urban directives, Beaux Arts-trained William Parsons came into the picture. He was appointed Consulting Architect, a new position that replaced the Insular Architect. Parsons served as the longest consulting architect of the Bureau of Public Works (BPW) from 1905 to 1914. During his tenure, he was responsible for the design of all the public buildings and parks for the entire colony (Report of the Governor General of the Philippine Islands, 1915, 172). Under the guidance of the masterplan, neoclassical monumental structures slowly rose in the landscape, working to enhance the imperial image, colonial commerce and native discipline. The plan also stimulated the adoption of Beaux Arts as the official style of the colony for the next three decades. Neoclassical capitol buildings, the embodiment of American republican ideals, also rose in every provincial urban center. And it was through this style that

the processes of democratic apprenticeship were made more tangible in modern-reinforced concrete buildings sponsored by the colonial state. Parsons followed Burnham’s advice to learn from the extant Philippine-Spanish sources (Burnham 1906) and consciously orchestrated the fusion of locally derived architectural forms and the neoclassical idiom to dramatize the encounter between and coexistence of two cultures. The extensive appropriation of familiar local motifs made colonialism appear as a civilizing continuity rather than a disruption of native civilization. Parson’s contribution to local architecture and building technology was the improvement of the quality of construction materials and technique of construction. This was achieved with the importation of building technologies from the United States such as reinforced concrete, concrete hollow blocks and the Kahn Truss System. Perhaps, the most pervasive legacy of Parsons, which lent itself to massreproduction, was the standardization of building types and plans for schoolhouses, markets, tiendas, and municipal buildings (Bureau of Education 1912; Bureau of Public Works 1914). Aside from Parsons, there were other American architects like George Fenhagen and Ralph Doane at the Bureau of Public Works who contributed to the propagation of neoclassicism. The influx of American capital and assimilation of the new culture allowed new building types to flourish. The Americans who found no coherent architectural style in the Philippines felt that Filipinos needed the aesthetic guidance of America, an imperial obligation dispensed to its colonial subjects who “lacked a great artistic tradition.” As critic A.N. Rebori’s ethnocentric comments reflect: Some time in the future, when the Filipino finally settles down seriously to the development of things artistic, we [Americans] may look for the creation of an indigenous architecture expressive of the country and its people. Until then very little can reasonably be expected from a race without deep artistic tradition or scientific knowledge. In the meantime, the


buildings erected and the city plan improvement executed by our Government, will stand as worthy examples, setting high standard from which in the coming years native architects can derive abundant inspiration. (434) Colonial architects provided the architectural benchmark from which Filipino architects were expected to derive their design concepts, mimicking and improving these precedents of colonial-designed environment. American incursion into the evolution of Philippine architecture was viewed as a magnanimous and propitious opportunity on the part of the colonizer to enhance the global image of the colony. According to Consulting Architect Ralph Harrington Doane who narrated the development of American architecture in the Philippines in the February 1919 issue of The Architectural Review, Here lies an opportunity as a great nation [America] to inaugurate a real colonial architecture. That the [colonial] Government in this remote insular possession of ours has been developing such style with creditable rapidity by means of a well-balanced architectural and engineering organization of very considerable proportions, and that the Philippine Islands afford an inspirational field for such development is not realized by a profession which this fact would fail to interest in the ordinary times, for reasons to be subsequently set forth, much less in these days when our sympathies have broadened and our considerations easily reach the uttermost parts of the civilized world. (Doane 1919, 25) In the quest to rebuild Manila within the framework of imperial imagination, the Philippine Commission created the Bureau of Engineering and Construction of Public Works and the Bureau of Architecture and Construction of Public Buildings to oversee the production of colonial infrastructures and architecture. Through these agencies, which later merged as the

Bureau of Public Works (BPW), the American regime deployed its resources to build public architecture such as markets, slaughterhouses, power plants, crematories, fire stations, public toilets and baths, prisons, ports, bridges, roads, public parks, transit stations, hospitals and asylums, science buildings and laboratories, exposition grounds, schools, official residences and capitol buildings–all suffusing the landscape with an aura of colonial modernity. It was also within the institutional framework of the BPW that Filipino pioneer architects received their architectural tutelage (Far Eastern Economic Review, February 1905). This architectural development necessitated a form of tutelage and through the pensionado scholarship program initiated by the colonial government in 1903 and the office apprenticeship offered by the Bureau of Public Works, Filipino pioneer architects like Juan Arellano, Tomas Mapua and Antonio Toledo, who worked for the Bureau initially as draftsmen, received a kind of architectural tuition enmeshed within the matrices of Beaux Arts neoclassical pedagogy. The pensionado architects received their academic training from the American East Coast, the bastion of Beaux Arts aesthetics in the United States. Their homecoming propelled the establishment of architectural schools such as the Mapua Institute of Technology, where they were recruited as faculty members and consultants. Their influence both in education and practice signaled the remarkable surge in the number of structures in the neoclassical style, more ornate than those of Parsons (The American Chamber of Commerce Journal November 1940, 10-11). When Parsons left the Bureau, the pensionados gradually took over its key positions as the government launched its Filipinization policy as authorized by the Jones Law in 1916. The training of Filipino architects, in theory and in praxis, in the Beaux Arts system ensured the continuous production of neoclassic-reinforced concrete buildings even after the bureaucracy of architectural production had been turned over to Filipinos (I.V. Mallari 1930, 156). These white edifices, influenced by Greco-Roman monumentality stoodout in the colonial landscape, bearing witness to America’s altruistic building program, colonial tutelage, and technological progress.

Figure 16: The Bilibid Prison Hospital exemplified William E. Parsons hybridic colonial style.

Figure 17: The hollow block machine


Figure 18: Poster of the Bureau of Public Works

Figure 19: The Bureau of Public Works Quarterly Bulletin, 1927

Figure 20: Pensionado architect Juan Arellano at work

The neoclassical edifices existed in a spatial logic in which imperialist time dwelled, where hybrid forms emerged from the tumult of cultural change brought by techno-science, capitalist development and colonial practice. Architectural hybrids—such as those developed by William Parsons–were ambiguous, neither indigenous nor American, and neither local nor metropolitan. Adaptive strategies and cross-breeding of styles in the official public architecture were not accidental and arbitrary. They were conscious efforts orchestrated by the colonial architects and their Filipino apprentices who continued such practices even after the former returned to the United States. Such an aesthetic strategy conveniently cloaked the tensions and asymmetric power relations in colonial society and at the same time fabricated a semblance of harmonious and unproblematic coexistence of native and foreign cultures. Through stylistic cross-wiring, the familiar icons of nativism were accommodated and allowed to freely intermingle and fuse with the imported idiom of neoclassicism, an imperialist strategy not only buttressed by pastoral nostalgia and Orientalist consumption but also strengthened by the authority of the status quo as well. As colonial built forms, architectures sponsored by the Americans also celebrated the accomplishments and benefits of colonization that resulted from the United States’ “benevolent” intervention. The neoclassical architectural spectacle and urban theatrics were carefully designed to mobilize mythic images—these inspired, suspended disbelief, solicited legitimation, engendered loyalty and projected the illusion of liberty and progress—overwhelmingly masking the contentious social forces and the violence wrought by colonialism. The manufacture of colonial architecture under the American regime was motivated by a hybridic framework, which consciously appropriated and integrated locally derived building motifs. This was a semantic ideological act of architectural associationism which projected an aes-

thetic reconciliation, the non-imposition of alien styles, and the unproblematic coexistence of indigenous and American influences. This appropriation of local motifs was rendered safely within the bounds of neoclassicism to generate a genius loci that visibly expressed flexibility and accommodation of cultural differences as well as the respect for the indigenous architectural knowledge. For almost half-a-century, the implementation of colonial urban design and production of architecture created a metropolitan imagery for Manila that bore witness to America’s altruistic building program, colonial tutelage, and technological progress. On the eve of the Pacific War, Manila’s cosmopolitan presence made the American imperial imagination tangible and real. References
American Chamber of Commerce Journal. November 1940. “Hope in municipal architecture.” Vol. XX, No. 10. Anderson, Warwick. 1995. “Excremental colonialism: Public health and the poetics of pollution” in Critical Inquiry, 21: 640-69. Annual Report of the Municipal Board of the City of Manila, 1902-1906, Manila: Bureau of Printing. Aschroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths & Helen Tiffin, eds. 1995. The Postcolonial Studies Reader. London & New York: Routledge. Bureau of Education. 1912. School Buildings and Grounds. Manila: Bureau of Printing. Burnham, Daniel H. 1906. Report on Proposed Improvements at Manila. Washington:Government Printing Office. Constantino, Renato. 1966. The Filipinos in the Philippines and Other Essays. Quezon City: Malaya Books. _______. 1975. The Philippines: A Past Revisited. Quezon City: Tala Publishing Services. Doane, Ralph Harrington. July 1, 1918. “Architecture in the Philippines” in Quarterly Bulletin of the Bureau of Public Works, Volume 7, Number 2. _______. February 1919. “The story of American architecture in the Philippines Part I” in Architectural Review, Volume 8. Foucault, Michel. 1973. Trans. A. Sheridan. The Birth of the Clinic: An Archeology of Medical Perception. London: Routledge. _______. 1978. History of Sexuality: An Introduction. New York: Random House. _______. 1979. Discipline and Punish. New York: Vintage. _______. 1980. “The eye of power,” in Colin Gordon (ed.). Michel Foucault: Power/Knowledge, Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Brighton:Harvester Press. _______. 1994. “The subject and power” in Michel Foucault: Power (Volume 3 Essential Works of Foucault 1954-1984). Edited by James Faubion. New York: The New Press.


_______. 1994. Dits et ecrits 1954-1988. Edited by D. Defert and F.Ewald. Paris: Gallimard, Four Volumes. _______. 1997 a. “Space, knowledge and power,” “Panopticon,” “Of other spaces: Utopias and heterotopias” in Rethinking Architecture: A Reader in Cultural Theory. Edited by Neil Leach. London and New York: Routledge. _______. 1997 b. “Of other space” in Roland Ritter and Bernd Knaller-Vlay (eds.) Other Space, the Affair of the Heterotopia. Graz: HDA Dokumente zur Architektur. Headrick, Daniel R. 1981. The Tools of Empire: Technology and European Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century. New York : Oxford University Press. Health Bulletin No. 10. 1912. Philippine Habitations. Bureau of Health Manila: Bureau of Printing. Health Bulletin No. 16. 1917. Plans & Instructions Relative to the Construction of Sanitary Model House. Manila: Bureau of Printing. Heiser, Victor G. 1910. “Unsolved health problems peculiar to the Philippines.” Philippine Journal of Science 5B: 171-78. _______. 1936. An American Doctor’s Odyssey: Adventures in Forty-five Countries. New York: W. W. Norton and Co. Hines, Thomas S. February 1972. “The imperial façade: Daniel H. Burnhan and the American architectural planning in the Philippines.” Pacific Historial Review, Vol. XLI, No. 1. _______. December 1973. “American modernism in the Philippines: The forgotten architecture of William E. Parsons.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. XXIII, No. 4. King, Anthony D. 1990. Urbanism, Colonialism, and the World-Economy: Cultural and Spatial Foundations of the World Urban System. London/New York: Routledge. Lefebvre, Henry. 1991. The Production of Space. Oxford, UK, and Cambridge, Mass:Blackwell. Macaraig, Serafin. 1929. Social Problems. Manila: The Educational Supply Co. Mamari, I.V. August-October 1930. “Architects and architecture in the Philippines.” Philippine Education Magazine. “Manila’s public improvements”. February 1905. Far Eastern Review. “Market construction program”. October 1914. Bureau of Public Works Quarterly Bulletin, 9-15. McLaughlin, Allan. 1909. “The supression of cholera epidemic in Manila.” Philippine Journal of Science 4B. Oliver, Paul (eds). 1997. Encyclopedia of Vernacular Architecture of the World. UK:Cambridge University Press. Rabinow, Paul. 1989. French Modern: Norms and Forms of the Social Environment. MIT Press. _______. April 1992. “France in Morocco: Technocosmopolitanism and middling modernism” in Assemblage 17, 52-57. Rebori, A.N. July 1915. “The work of Burnham and Root, Burnham & Burnham & CO., Grahm & Burnham & Co.,” Architectural Record, Number 38. _______. April 1917. “The work of William Parsons in the Philippine Islands Part I” in Architectural Record, Number 41. _______. May 1917. “The work of William Parsons in the Philippine Islands Part II” in Architectural Record, Number 41. Report of the Philippine Health Service for the Fiscal year 1915. 1916. Manila: Bureau of Printing. Report of the Governor General of the Philippine Islands, 1902-1916, Manila: Bureau of Printing. Rose, Nikolas. 1999. Powers of Freedom: Reframing Political Thought. UK: Cambridge University Press. Said, Edward. Summer. 1978. Orientalism. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. _______. 1990. “Narrative, geography and interpretation,” New Left Review. _______. 1994. Culture and Imperialism. Vintage Books: London. _______. 1998. “Panics of the visual,” Boundary 2, Volume 25, Number 2. Scott, James C. 1985. Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New Haven: Yale University Press. Tiongson, Nicanor, ed. 1994. Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) Encyclopedia of Philippine Arts, [CD-ROM]. Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines.




Modern Architecture and Landscapes:
A Review of the 10th DOCOMOMO Conference and Proceedings
The year 2008 marked two decades since the establishment of DOCOMOMO International, a non-profit organization whose acronym stands for Documentation and Conservation of buildings, sites and neighbourhoods of the Modern Movement. The Modern Movement is primarily associated with the spread of modernity to various places in the world, including the phenomenal change in the built environment that accompanied it. It is important to point out that there is no strict time period that is, or can be, applied to the Modern Movement. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), an international institution concerned with the conservation of the cultural and natural environments has, for example, initially proposed a 71- year historical period to encompass this period. This began with the passing of the Victorian Age in British history from World War I (1918) up to the fall of the Berlin Wall (1989) at the end of the Cold War. 1 Modernism arrived on Philippine shores with the second wave of colonization, justified with a mission of benevolent assimilation and accompanied by a program of modernization. The early Philippine modern heritage includes not only the large reinforced concrete structures of the early 1900s, but also the small, lightweight timber buildings of the era, including clinics, dispensaries and model housing. Conservation becomes more and more crucial because many of these early modern structures are now obsolete. The state of becoming obsolete however, not only has an important material reality, but also aesthetic criteria attached to it. The Philippine tropical and marine climate has not been kind to these modern structures but architects, building specialists and other technical professionals can determine whether a structure is reparable, adaptable to or sustainable with respect to the functional and environmental demands of the next hundred years. However, the more difficult and sometimes less carefully considered undertaking is deciding whether or not a structure should be saved at all. This cannot be determined by science alone. It is a problem that is especially true of gardens, parks and the spatial integrity of building complexes. Estimating their value today requires a careful recognition of their symbolic value, the functions they served in the past, and their role in the present and future. It is this task of safeguarding this legacy that DOCOMOMO has taken up, providing Modernism with an unforseen reflexive capacity. DOCOMOMO shows that it is only in embracing the ‘imperfect fragments’ that they can continue to exist in the next century. We become poorer in many ways for not recognizing this, for regret cannot bring back what is lost after drawings have been discarded or sold to covetous collectors, buildings cannibalized beyond recognition and structures demolished indiscriminately or entire sites flattened and built over indifferently.


Modernity, modernization and modernism
Before examining DOCOMOMO’s history more closely, it is useful to define three interrelated terms: modernity, modernization and modernism. These terms are crucial to understanding DOCOMOMO, its core objectives and its relation to other institutions. Modernity commonly refers to interwoven economic, political, and social changes from late 15th through to early 19th century Europe. In addition to this, Anthony King has emphasized in his analyses of non-Western cities the moral and philosophical dimensions of ‘the modern’ as an idea, arguing that colonialism sanctioned the means for ‘materializing’ and ‘visualizing’ the abstract modern. He goes on to say that while notions of modernity are generally used with regard to Europe and North America, especially with reference to the ‘modern metropolis,’ the colonies in the periphery were an essential variable in the equation.2 Modernism, or the Modern Movement in DOCOMOMO’s acronym, is a more limited term usually applied to the intellectual, artistic, architectural and cultural movements of the early and mid-20th century that aimed to break off with the past. Modernism, in this discussion, refers to the consciousness that produced a form of architecture based on the industrial principle that organized labor would revolutionize the way humanity inhabited the world and then evolved into something new. Historians have noted that Modernism has been interpreted differently in Europe and in the United States of America social and ideological issues remained at the core of modern architecture in Europe, whereas technological and formal concerns dominated in America.3 Some of the world’s most iconic modern architecture includes Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye (Poissy, France), Aalto’s Paimio Sanatorium (Paimio, Finland), Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram Building (New York), and Wright’s Falling Water (Pennsylvania). Then there are the theories on modernization. It was previously assumed that societies and cultures progressed differently such that one group was either more or less advanced than others. But recent studies challenge this view of modernity as a linear unfolding of progress (i.e. modernization), emphasizing the interconnectedness of colonial and colonized subjects. Paul

Rabinow’s analysis of French colonialism uses a triad of modernity theorists: Marx on capitalism and superstructure, Weber on bureaucracy and Foucault on discourse and bio-techno-political power. Rabinow suggests that modernization is much more than the ability of a colonial power to introduce sweeping socio-political change and to build infrastructure to develop a territory. Modernization was a technique for pacification: a progressive and systematic policy that required careful political negotiation within the colony’s existing political and social framework, and as a means of maintaining the colony. These included creating a centralised bureaucracy, establishing an extensive communications network, and providing moral justification for surveillance. Furthermore, modernization necessitated a vision for occupation: a militarized civilian life or civilianization of military life.4 In this sense, the proliferation of infrastructure and institutions in the Philippine setting, such as railroads, highways, schools, hospitals, universities, hotels, factories and banks need to be viewed against the backdrop of the prevailing economic system that is international capitalism.5 Furthermore, modern typologies in the Philippine context should include not only civil infrastructure but also military establishments: army camps, naval docking and repair facilities, air force bases, military hospital and recuperation facilities and civilian towns that serviced the American military’s formal and informal needs from the early 1900s to 1991. History of DOCOMOMO These are the circumstances in which the Modern Movement found its way to the Philippines. It is at this point that it becomes useful to trace DOCOMOMO’s history and analyze its efforts, as this may shed some light on the alternatives for saving the Philippines’ modern heritage. The conservation of the world’s built environment is anchored on the adoption by UNESCO’s General Assembly of a World Heritage List at the World Heritage Convention in 1972. The World Heritage List provided a basis for securing public recognition of the world’s cultural and natural environments accepted as having outstanding universal value. Sixteen years later in 1988, Dutch architects Hubert-Jan Henket and Wessel de Jonge argued for the conservation of the Sanatorium Zonnestraal (1926-8), a tu-


berculosis treatment facility for the Amsterdam Diamond Workers Union designed by Johannes Duiker and Bernard Bijvoet. Henket and de Jonge’s goal was to conserve not just the buildings, but also the building group as a ‘coherent expression of modernism.’ They communicated their concerns to other designers, academics and conservation groups such as Fondation Le Corbusier (France), Twentieth Century Society (UK) and Fundació Mies van der Rohe (Spain). The preservation movement in Europe thus gained momentum. In 1990, a conference was held in Eindhoven, a Dutch city where post-WWII reconstruction was marked by the demolition of its neo-Gothic heritage. DOCOMOMO International was established and the Eindhoven Statement was issued containing the organization’s aims and activities.6 Two years after the first conference, DOCOMOMO was invited by UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee and International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) to study Modernism’s legacy in order to establish a basis for its inclusion in the World Heritage List. This recognized DOCOMOMO’s niche role in providing international organizations like UNESCO expert advice regarding ‘the context, the fiches and the criteria’ for conservation.” (A fiche is a 4-page document that briefly presents all essential data for a site being documented.) But the susceptibility of this built environment to destruction was only very slowly acknowledged. It was another decade, in 2001, before the three organizations (UNESCO, ICOMOS and DOCOMOMO) could embark jointly on the ‘Programme on Modern Heritage’ for the ‘identification, documentation and promotion’ of the heritage of the 19th and 20th centuries.7 Finally in 2002, DOCOMOMO submitted a list with 22 general headings. This list was limited in its geographical scope and emphasized the oeuvre of architectural genius. Nevertheless, it is possible to make a general conclusion about Modernism when the list is viewed in terms of typologies. What differentiates the Modern Movement from those of earlier centuries lies in a combination of the following characteristics: the overall vision represented by the projects; the complexity of functions assembled in a building or site, and; the scale, materiality, and relation of building(s) to the site. These points provide this century with signposts for understanding these projects. This is especially true when the agenda includes architectural conservation.8 DOCOMOMO’s list includes the following:9 Domestic 1) Rietveld’s Schröder house, Utrecht, The Netherlands 2) Gaudi’s Casa Milà, Barcelona, Spain 3) Gaudi’s Palau Güell, Barcelona, Spain 4) Victor Horta’s four town houses, Brussels, Belgium 5) Mies van der Rohe’s Villa Tugendhat, Brno, Czech Republic Education 6) Bauhaus buildings, Weimar and Dessau, Germany

7) Ciudad Universitaria de Caracasin campus, Caracas, Venezuela Exhibition 8) Museumsinsel, Berlin, Germany Transport ensemble 9) Semmering Railway, Austria 10) Darjeeling Railway, India 11) Hydraulic Lifts and Environs of La Louvière, Belgium Hospitals 12) Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau, Barcelona, Spain 13) Hospicio Cabañas, Mexico Concert Hall 14) Palau de la Música Catalana, Barcelona, Spain Gardens and landscapes 15) Skogskyrkogården (cemetery), Stockholm, Sweden 16) nine palace complexes and gardens in Potsdam and Berlin, Germany Industrial complexes and towns 17) Völklingen Hütte (ironworks), Germany 18) Verla (paper) mill and village, Finland 19) Ir. D.F. Woudagemaal (steam pumping station), The Netherlands 20) Blaenavon (ironworks and coal-mining town), Wales 21) Zollverein industrial complex (coal mine), Germany 22) Derwent Valley Mills (textile), England Model villages 23) Crespi d’Adda, Italy 24) New Lanark, Scotland 25) Saltaire, Bradford, England City 26) Brasília, Brazil In 2008, DOCOMOMO made a tentative list of buildings and sites for inscription in the World Heritage List. This list was broadened to include South and East Asian sites, but still, none were from Southeast Asia or Africa. DOCOMOMO founder Hubert-Jan Henket suggested that the 2008 list and subsequent selections should not be restricted to modern icons, but rather include ‘ordinary buildings’ where regional or national identities are inextricably entangled in the built form. Building complexes, entire neighbourhoods, civil infrastructure and gardens will be better represented, and interiors as well as industrialized building components like curtain walls, could then be considered.10

Docomomo 2008 - The Challenge of Change
Today, the DOCOMOMO International Secretariat is hosted by the Cité de l’Architecture et du Patrimoine at Palais de Chaillot, Paris. DOCOMOMO also has an International Scientific Committee on Technology which conducts seminars on topics in relation to the restoration of modern architecture, such as reinforced concrete, curtain walls, glass, wood, colours and stone. Last year’s conference in Rotterdam brought the organization back to the founding nation. The venue, Van Nelle Ontwerpfabriek, is an icon of modern architecture: a former tea and coffee processing plant with a new lease on life as ‘design factory’ housing offices and workshop facilities for creative professionals


like architects, planners, programmers and other designers.11 The conference was organized by volunteers associated with two institutions at Technische Universiteit Delft - the Faculteit Bouwkunde and ®MIT, an international scientific body investigating the modification, intervention and transformation of the built environment. It is useful to examine in greater detail last year’s conference theme, as it forms a useful backdrop for discussing conservation in the Philippines. The theme was change and continuity in the conservation of the modern heritage, with five sub-themes unravelling the change/continuity dichotomy. The trajectories of the 2008 conference constituted an important aspect of DOCOMOMO’s commitment to the multi-faceted tasks of understanding Modernism’s legacy. Architects, scientists, planners, researchers and educators dealing with modern heritage conservation presented the dilemmas they faced at the programmatic, construction, historical-theoretical and pedagogical levels. Their situation is quite different from those conserving other forms of cultural heritage. This became more apparent in three sub-themes that dealt directly with the aftermath of Modernism. On the agenda for debate were Modernism’s history of ideas, interpretation of building programme versus perceived flexibility of layouts and ironies between change/continuity and Zeitgeist/obsolescence. Also discussed were the ways in which educators have attempted to help design students appreciate Modernism’s legacy through research, fieldwork and model making. In this way, a critique can be made of the cultural and social capital of Modernism, so that historical and theoretical inquiries could be grounded in a specific materiality, spatial practice or urban experience. The fourth sub-theme provided a forum for an emerging sensibility among designers: building technologies in light of sustainability. It brought into focus the

tensions between scientific/industrial/production as opposed to aesthetic issues posed by building restoration and conservation. This is because previously innovative materials (for example, gunite or spray-applied concrete, decorative concrete elements, curtain glass walls, stained glass, etc.) are now obsolete. Specialists are attempting to deal with building skins worn out at an unexpectedly fast rate by the tropical marine environment.12 The fifth and last theme presented an opportunity for understanding modern cities and landscapes: the challenges of preserving building complexes and towns without compromising their integrity in the current social, political and economic milieu. But what precisely is integrity? Is it external form and internal function? The World Heritage List uses integrity interchangeably with ‘authenticity’ as conditions for inclusion in this list. Integrity is defined as ‘a measure of the wholeness or intactness of the natural and/or cultural heritage and its attributes,’ with ‘development’ and ‘neglect’ placed on the same level in terms of their effect in diminishing ‘outstanding universal value’.13 Inclusion in the World Heritage List involves a value judgement not just by one party, but by several, operating on more or less the same level of understanding. The task is to make a critical judgement about conservation, to be clear why conservation needs to take place at all. Why a building element or fragment, single structure, building group, town or even city becomes significant depends on what meanings or significance a society, in which the object is embedded, places on it. What DOCOMOMO has achieved in its bi-annual conferences since 1990 is to cover a wide array of topics that have questioned the very criteria and process by which modern heritage becomes World Heritage: the beliefs represented, not only in modern architecture’s built form, but also in its visual and textual representations, and; the social agenda taken up in the various projects in housing, gardens, landscapes, city planning and the design of public space. In 2000, a conference was dedicated


to the legacy not only of Brasília but also of Chandigarh, India. In 2006, the geographic focus was the non-western context of the Modern Movement in Asia, Africa, South America and Eastern Europe and theoretically, the paradox of conserving modern architecture and landscapes as ‘cultural heritage’ when Modernity occurred only at a very specific moment in time. At this juncture, it becomes useful to ask, what are the attitudes in the Philippines towards conservation of its modern heritage?

Documentation and Conservation in the Philippines
It must be pointed out that there is conservation work being done in the areas of advocacy, documentation, conservation and pedagogy by many individuals in private groups and public institutions. Two distinctions, however, need to be made: first, between the role of individuals and institutions; second, between architectural history/theory/critique and practice. First, the distinction between the individual and institutions (private and public) is crucial because this was the deficiency of the first DOCOMOMO List (2002). The focus was on the individual architect and his oeuvre (and most of them were male). Today, we might make the same mistake in emphasizing the role of the sponsor or administrator, whose heroic efforts appears to have made conservation possible. The new emphasis on ordinary buildings and aspects of everyday life forces us to reflect on the possibility that modernity, modernization and modernism, although essentially different things, are actually bound together by forms of agency that can no longer be easily pinned down to a single individual. Even the history of DOCOMOMO illustrates this cumulative effect. In the Philippines, the most visible ones are the Heritage Conservation Society (HCS), the Manila Historical and Heritage Commission (MHHC), ICOMOS Philippines and University of Santo Tomas (UST). Second, the history/theory/critique of architecture should be distinguished momentarily from the practice of architecture, because although they always work together, the abstractions can function very differently from the practice in defining what becomes known as ‘architecture.’ It is useful to illustrate this with a short critique of practices, research and pedagogy fostered by architectural conservation in the Philippines.

Architectural conservation is a specialized form of practice and three Philippine projects have already been acknowledged by UNESCO through its Asia Pacific Cultural Heritage Awards: the Filipinas Heritage Library in Makati (1999) (previously known as Nielsen Tower) and two restoration/conservation projects awarded an Honourable Mention, the Gota de Leche Building in Sampaloc (2003) and the Art Deco buildings of the Far Eastern University campus (2005).14 The first building now houses a division of the Ayala Foundation, Inc.; the second structure houses La Proteccion de la Infancia, Inc.; the third is a building group that is part of a private university entity. It should be noted that so far, only structures or building groups associated with modern technology (aviation) and institutions with public concerns (social work and education) have gained some form of international recognition. If a simple structure like Gerrit Rietveld’s house for Truus Schröder (Figures 26-28 above) can be listed in DOCOMOMO’s list of heritage structures, why has no domestic structure in the Philippines yet been nominated for the World Heritage List? The Rietveld-Schröder House is small with no fixed internal walls (a one-storey building with an ‘attic’), very economical for its time (brick and stucco were the least costly early 20th century Dutch building materials), and was built at the margins of early Utrecht. One possibility is that there is no such significant structure in modern Philippines. Another could be that the legacy of both Modernism and modernization in the Philippines lies not within the domestic realm but within the public sphere. Yet another possibility could be that such structures were destroyed in WWII and no historical account has uncovered them. We will not know why, until an exhaustive inventory is secured and critiques from various viewpoints written an historically rigorous and theoretically grounded analysis of the legacy of Modernism in the Philippines.15 Another facet of conservation work is in research and pedagogy. At the forefront is University of Santo Tomas (UST), contributing to these two areas of direct concern to heritage documentation and conservation. First, the UST Museum of Arts and Sciences, together with the UST Graduate School of Arts and Sciences were, in 2000, the first in the Philippines to offer a course on Cultural Heritage Studies. Second, UST also inaugurated in 2003 the Center for Con-


servation of Cultural Property and Environment in the Tropics, a research and consulting unit where all cultural heritage concerns at UST now coalesce.16 Lastly, there are two comprehensive but separate lists in the Philippines of built heritage that do include such modern typologies, along with sites of vernacular building traditions and the Spanish heritage. Neither, however, specialize on the modern heritage (capitol buildings, schoolhouses, hospitals, airports, industrial structures, etc).17 One list is the HCS Online Database; the other is the NCCA-UAP-CFA Database of Heritage Structures and Cultural Sites. As the latter’s acronym implies, it is a project of the United Architects of the Philippines’ Sentro ng Arkitekturang Filipino (Filipino translation of CFA) funded by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts. The emergence of the two lists and of new institutions signifies a growing interest in conserving the built environment. Conservation work can proceed once documentation has been undertaken. However, empirical goals alone do not substitute for critical analysis. It is essential to interpret and evaluate data, locate the tensions within the field and clearly situate these tensions within a certain paradigm. It is useful to illustrate this process by making a short critique of general conservation efforts in the Philippines. The biases and gaps of the practices are clearer when the engagement of conservation is examined at both local and international levels. At the level of pedagogy, the social and symbolic capital of both UST’s graduate school and research center show that the emphasis and expertise is still primarily, although not exclusively, on vernacular and Spanish heritage. This is suggested by the graduate school’s national affiliations, which include NCCA’s Committee on Monuments and Sites and Committee on Museums, along with the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines (CBCP). This facilitates the graduate school’s contributions to the conservation of church patrimony. The research center has advised on projects involving natural and cultural sites; however, it seems to have contributed to only one major modern heritage conservation project, the assessment of the Metropolitan Theater Manila (1935). This may be more of a result of a lack of critical mass in modern heritage projects, but this appears to be changing. New partnerships are

emerging between government agencies and private advocacy groups, like the Heritage School Building Restoration Program for the Gabaldon schoolhouses initiated by the Department of Education and Heritage Conservation Society as consultant. At the level of international engagement, it must be pointed out that since the inception of UNESCO’s World Heritage List in 1972, the Philippines has no inscribed or proposed sites associated with the early, mid-century or the late Modern Movement. Of five Philippine sites in the World Heritage List, the first two are natural (Tubbataha Reef Marine Park and Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park) and the rest are cultural sites associated either with the vernacular or Spanish legacy (four Baroque churches, the Cordillera Rice Terraces and the town of Vigan).18 Although there are 29 more Philippine properties in a Tentative List awaiting inscription as world heritage, none of them are associated with Modernism. Finally, it is important to acknowledge that it is in part the historical accounts that accumulate around the object(s) of conservation (buildings, complexes, gardens, towns, cities, landscapes) that create the symbolic capital that enhances the object’s value. It is, however, only in clarifying why there is a need to conserve that it might be possible to understand the legacy of the Modern Movement in the Philippines better. Filipino attitudes to Modernism are particularly difficult for many reasons, one of which is a lack of temporal distance in order to form a more balanced perspective. It has, after all, only been little over 15 years since the withdrawal of troops from two American air and naval bases in Luzon, previously the largest in the world. A history of space is not just about who arrived, occupied and transformed the physical environment.19 Often ignored are questions about how nature and inhabitants were perceived and have changed in the unequal exchange fostered by colonialism. Was the modern transformation of the Philippines really a transaction between Americans and Filipinos in the roles of colonizers and colonial subjects? Or was it a 2-way process more complex than this opposition? How were Filipinos shaped by these modern spaces that they in fact helped to create?

As the history of DOCOMOMO has shown, it is impossible to save the legacy of the Modern Movement in isolation without having established the reason(s) this heritage is


even significant. Determining ‘outstanding universal value’ requires enormous and cumulative investment of time, financial and intellectual resources from various agents - individual and institutional, private and state, local and international. But in this part of the world, the most pressing issues in relation to the environment are always expressed in politically charged terms. One such term in recent memory is ‘ancestral domain’ the limits of land, the identities attached to it, the accountability of its management, etc. Why bother with saving modern buildings and landscapes in this climate of instability? The reason is that this heritage is just as inextricably linked to our identity as the political question of land. Learning to build for the future is not only a celebration of the palatable aspects of history, nor merely a technological undertaking. By becoming critically aware of how the globalizing forces of Modernity have changed us through the built environment, perhaps it is possible to move in the other direction and begin to actively shape the future. As the paradox of conserving the Modern Movement’s legacy has shown, building a future without a fundamental reassessment of its relation to the past is not just problematic. It is also impracticable. Notes:
1 Identification and Documentation of Modern Heritage. Compiled and edited by R. van Oers and S. Haraguchi. With financial contribution from The Netherlands Funds-in-Trust. World Heritage Papers no. 5 (Paris: UNESCO World Heritage Centre, 2003). 2 A discussion of modernity in relation to the Modern Movement in: King, Anthony Douglas. Spaces of Global Cultures: Architecture, Urbanism, Identity. Architext series (New York: Routledge, 2004): 65-81. 3 On the Modern Movement and its translation into built form in the West, see: Kruft, Hanno-Walter. History of Architectural Theory From Vitruvius to the Present (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996): 364-92 (Germany), 393-402 (France), 403-414(Italy), 415-423 (Soviet Union), 424-33 (USA), 444. 4 Rabinow, Paul. French Modern: Norms and Forms of the Social Environment. Originally published by Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, c1989 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995): 7-9, 157-165. 5 Wright, Gwendolyn. The Politics Design in French Colonial Urbanism (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1991): 9-10. 6 Prudon, Theodore H. M. Preservation of Modern Architecture. (Hoboken, New Jersey: Wiley, 2008): 9-11. 7 Quote regarding DOCOMOMO’s advisory role: Ibid: 11. Definition of ‘fiche’ from <www.docomomo-us.org/register/fiches_and_guidelines>, last accessed August 2009. 8 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage. Report of the World Heritage Committee. Thirteenth Session, Paris, 11-15 December 1989. Submitted 22 December 1989. 9 Industrial building complexes and towns in the list are also all now incorporated in the European Route of Industrial Heritage in <www.erih.net/index.php>, last accessed August 2009. 10 Henket, Hubert-Jan. The Modern Movement and the World Heritage List. 11 de Jonge, Wessel. ‘Three modern preservation cases,’ in TAKE 3 -The Double Dimension: Heritage and Innovation. Edited by Jenni-

fer Hill. Vol. 3 (Royal Australian Institute of Architects Education Unit: Sydney, 2004). 12 Papers dealt with the material performance of concrete (Wright’s Guggenheim Museum, New York); degradation of exposed ornamental concrete elements (Havana, Cuba); ventilation problems (Vyborg, Russia and Ghana, West Africa); and curtain glass walls and stained glass (Germany, North America and Brazil). 13 ‘Integrity’ has been defined consistently in the 2005-8 versions in this UNESCO publication: Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention. UNESCO Intergovernmental Committee for the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage (Paris: World Heritage Centre). 14 See Asia-Pacific Heritage Awards for Culture Heritage Conservation’s site <www.unescobkk.org/index.php?id=480>, last accessed August 2009. 15 Studies about architecture and the built environment are being written by Filipino and American historians and/or theorists; however, most Filipino researchers have the unenviable burden of personally funding their archival work, as there is very little or no local academic research grants available. 16 UST Cultural Heritage Studies Graduate Program (2008-12) at <www.ustmuseum.com> and Museum of Arts and Sciences at <webservice.mnl.ust.edu.ph/rnd/inner.asp?id=CCCPET>, last accessed August 2009. 17 A ‘comprehensive... centralized collection, circulation, and conservation’ of archival records pertaining to early up to mid-century public architecture in the Philippines was conceptualized and initiated ten years ago. Since no government funds were allocated, only architectural records of the seminal project, the Philippine General Hospital, were electronically documented: An Inventory of Selected Architectural Records (1899-1960) of Built and Unbuilt Public Structures in the Philippines. Submitted by Leonido Gines Jr, Estela Duque and Paolo Alcazaren to the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (12 February 1999). 18 These five properties inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List are: Tubbataha Reef Marine Park, Palawan (1993); Cordillera Rice Terraces (1995); four Baroque churches (1993) including Immaculate Conception (Intramuros), Nuestra Señora, Santa Maria (Ilocos Sur), San Agustin, Paoay (Ilocos Norte), and Santo Tomas, Miag-ao (Iloilo); and the Spanish colonial town of Vigan (1999); Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park (1999). More on these sites at <http:// whc.unesco.org/en/statesparties/ph>. The UNESCO Tentative List at <http://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/state=ph>. Both sites last accessed August 2009. 19 The term ‘history of space’ is borrowed from Paul Carter in: The Road to Botany Bay, An Exploration of Landscape and History (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988). He points out that the construction of the Australian identity is as much about recovering history of aboriginal space as becoming aware of the explorers’ objective and subjective processes of place making.



Writing Against the Tide:
“Imperial Tapestry, American Colonial Architecture in the Philippines”
Norma I. Alarcon, fuap University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, Manila 2008


In this time of post-colonial historiography, writing against established, or emergent thought is refreshingly startling. For one, it calls into balance both views of a shared history, and for another, it attempts to backdrop such emergent paradigms against its contrast, thereby highlighting both. If not read carefully, though, such writing may be erroneously dismissed as naïve or archaic. Norma Alarcon’s volume, The Imperial Tapestry, American Colonial Architecture in the Philippines opts to take such a view in an engaging look at Philippine architecture during the American occupation. In contrast to the many descriptive texts of Philippine architecture that have been written since the 1970s which endeavored to develop a nationalist discourse, The Imperial Tapestry seemingly takes an opposing stance. Situating itself firmly within American architectural and political histories, the work both narrates and describes Philippine architecture within the given period from those bases. Alarcon begins with a diachronic review of American historical architectural styles to provide context. This then moves into a focus on the specifics of American architectural historical events leading up to the introduction of their styles in the Philippines. In these beginning chapters, an unabashed contrary viewpoint is already established through a relative account from an American perspective. From here, a foray into the local historical context is made through a brief narration of American history in the Philippines. The established viewpoint is affirmed through its


selection of events, such as the apparently simple cessation of American and Spanish hostilities without the mentioning of the actual purchase of the Philippines from the Spanish and the betrayal of Aguinaldo. Perhaps the most valuable aspect of Alarcon’s work is the research undertaken in the exposition of historical data. Apart from the narratives documents, lists and particularly the numerous archival photographs reveal the architectural story of this period in our history. From these, descriptions of the architectural styles in this period are made. Even here, the established view appears with its choice of stylistic categories derived from the American architectural historian Marcus Whiffen. The text’s view is apparent in the argument made against the notion of the Neoclassical Style as a conscious semiotic of power. This is also seen in the non-mention of related narratives, such as the American colonial government’s emphasis on sanitation and security in the actual development of the tsalet. The volume’s declaration of a stylistic framework, at the outset, may appear to be an attempt at an omniscient viewpoint, perhaps on the assumption that architec-

tural styles are universal in nature. This is quickly contrasted, however, with its narrative context and the use of American texts in its stylistic analysis. The adoption of the Modernist American paradigm thus reveals itself from beginning to end. This is even interestingly seen in the repeated use of the term “Spanish architecture” perhaps within the given pattern, but is actually in stark contrast to the already accepted academic thought that we have Spanish colonial architecture in the Philippines, but not Spanish architecture; both are, of course, contextually, culturally and stylistically distinct from each another. Such use appears to implicate the long-disparaged idea that we have no distinct architectural style of our own, an idea which is part of the subtly Orientalist metanarrative. The Imperial Tapestry takes an unusual approach to architectural history during our American colonial period. By telling the story from the opposing viewpoint, it becomes an interesting, although at times disconcerting, read into the architecture of this part of our past. Though beginning students of architecture should be wary of the approach of Alarcon’s narrative, its generous research makes the work a significant reference for architectural historians.



Narratives of Filipino Space:
“Arkitekturang Filipino: A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Philippines”
Gerard Lico University of the Philippines Press, Quezon City 2008


While there have been specialist publications on architectures in the last couple of years, general histories on Philippine architecture, especially textbooks, have been few and far between. In schools of architecture, textbooks have primarily served as concise and easily digestible discussions on Philippine architecture, especially its historical progress through the centuries. Some of the most heavily used resources on the history of Philippine architecture, such as textbooks written by Winand Klassen (published in 1986) and Norma Alarcon (published in 1991 and 1994), and the comprehensive CCP encyclopedia on Philippine Arts (edited by Nicanor Tiongson, published in 1994) are habitually required as readings for any undergraduate architecture student.1 If these materials are already available, do we still need another textbook on the history of Philippine architecture? The answer comes in the form of the recently published book by University of the Philippines professor Dr. Gerard Lico. Published by the University of the Philippines Press as part of the “Centennial Publications Series”, the 618-page book “Arkitekturang Filipino: A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Philippines” is a sweeping and critical account of the development of architecture and urbanism in the Philippines, beginning with human settlements of the Tabon Caves complex some 30,000 years ago, to the most recent real estate developments at Fort Bonifacio built in the last decade. This landmark publication on the history of Philippine architecture attempts to reconfigure our notion of architecture as merely “buildings” to the more complex and inclusive concept of the “built environment,” which encompasses structures, buildings, interiors, landscapes, and urbanscapes.

The subtitle contains the phrase “A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Philippines” rather than simply “History of Architecture,” as the book does not claim to be the only historical account on Filipino architecture, but acknowledges that the author’s view is but only one possible perspective on how to understand and present architecture. The writing of history can never be neutral as such, since Lico’s account is biased by his training at the University of the Philippines College of Architecture and Department of Art Studies, where a critical understanding of art and architecture is stressed. This criticality is evident in his further challenging of: the false dichotomy between supposed “monumental” and “vernacular” architecture; the inclusion of architectures that have been ignored in previous architectural history accounts (such as shanties, brothels, opium dens, bridges), and; the questioning of the idea of authorship in architecture as merely the role of the architect. Presented chronologically, the story of Philippine architecture is divided into eight main sections: “Between the Earth and Sky” (Early Philippine Shelters); “Philippine Vernacular Architecture” (Austronesian Ancestry); “Muslim Space” (Islamic Architecture); “Spectacle of Power” (Spanish-colonial); “Imperial Imaginings” (American-colonial); “Postcolonial Modernity” (Post-Independence); “Vernacular Renaissance” (Marcos Architecture), and; “Architecture of Pluralism” (Postmodern Architecture). This linear presentation of history is almost akin to the earlier architecture textbooks’ broad pre-colonial/colonial/postcolonial chronological scheme, but differs in its categorization by purposefully breaking down the extensive narrative into smaller groupings based on a fusion of thematic


and chronological formats. By doing so, architecture is presented not simply as a parade of styles that just seem to change according to whims and trends, but rather as a multi-faceted phenomenon shaped by diverse forces. The impressive collection of photographs and illustrations assembled in this book alone attest to the plurality and diversity of the Philippine built environment. Generously illustrated with photographs culled from archival collections (such as the Harnish and Worcester collection, publications such as Far Eastern Review and Bureau of Public Works Quarterly), some of which are published for the first time, the book takes readers on a visual tour of the architectures throughout various locales and time periods. A picture, of course, does not do justice to the complete sensorial experience of architecture, but the notable gathering of images arguably provides readers a visual approximation of the examples discussed in the text. This lavish collection of images greatly exceeds common expectations of what a typical school textbook should be. Although the publication was originally intended as a textbook for architecture and art schools, Lico’s book, to a certain extent, goes beyond a simplistic textbook account of how Philippine architecture evolved. It is a watershed of Philippine architectural historiography, as it challenges the traditional treatment of history as merely a litany of dates, personalities and events. Instead, Lico approaches the development of architecture as the complex intertwining of political, economic, social, and technological change. While dates and events are still included in the narrative to peg the temporal location of the built environments discussed, the historical account nevertheless situates the architectures within a network of influences, forces and phenomena. Though authorship is recognized by Lico as significant, with key players and designers identified and highlighted, the narrative also includes architectures without known designers, such as the squatter shanties and vernacular houses. In this all-encompassing and democratic explanation of Philippine architecture, the plural creative expressions of Filipinos are underscored and the myriad contexts from which the built environment emerges are emphasized. Thus, architecture is presented here not simply as buildings that are frozen in time, but really as dynamic processes formed and informed by a multitude of contexts.


What is quite apparent in Lico’s presentation is the underlying theme of power and how it permeates throughout history, whether in the vernacular, colonial or postmodern architectures. Power, as understood here, follows the ideas of Michel Foucault, who argues that the formation of power is not necessarily about the dominance of one over another, but rather an expansion of control over the social body.2 Lico investigates this notion of power in Philippine architecture by identifying overt and coercive methods of dominance as well as subtle and hidden measures of restructuring society unknowingly. He illustrates this, for example, in the way control was instituted through the implementation of sanitary programs (such as sanitary houses and barrios, toilets and laundry buildings), the reconfiguration of urban spatial arrangements (such as the plaza complex, the parian quarter exclusively for the Chinese in Intramuros, the new urban system for Manila by Daniel Burnham) and the influx of foreign architectural consultants in recent times. By uncovering these concealed systems, Lico highlights how power can also be subverted through resistances via architecture. Lico does not only offer an assessment of what has occurred in the past, but also forwards an intelligent and pointed critique of what is happening in the current architecture scene. He is critical of the way popular architecture has become more of the faux and fantasy type, with its feverish historical-revival pastiche as evidenced by suburban residential subdivisions and commercial developments. The architectural past as used in the present, as Lico points out, simply has become a façade pasted on modern buildings, an artificial technique deployed to feed the buying market’s need for branded and foreign-looking consumer products. In this sense, power is also manifested in the ways by which architecture becomes an instrument of conspicuous consumption. Lico’s assemblage of a diverse set of information into a coherent and cogent story is commendable. Putting together a general history is always a daunting task. He remarkably weaves various strands of smaller chronicles from various sources, such as publications and historical archives, and not-so-common resources such as cinema and popular culture. Invariably, we are also made cognizant that our understanding of architecture should not only be limited to the actual built environment itself, but also in how architecture is ostensibly represented in other media, such as film, photography, art and history itself. Lico, for instance, discusses


in one of the sidebars, “Slumming the Screen” (pp. 5557), how squatter settlements have been shown in various films and the role of slum architecture in creating the spatial context for the narrative. The book, however, has its limitations as well. Understandably, with its textbook format and limited space, some sections warrant further investigation and more nuanced discussions. An elaborated discussion for example, on the impact of Vatican II on the design of new churches after the war, would help introduce the changing forms of Philippine churches (pp. 423-427). Additionally, in another part, discussions on the mounting tension between Muslims and Christians are needed to contextualize the construction of new mosques in Manila during the Marcos presidency (p.76). The book would definitely open-up new avenues for future research in Philippine architecture. But footnotes are missing in many parts, and some of the references mentioned within the text are also absent in the bibliography, so for other researchers to use this as a jumping point for subsequent investigations might find it difficult to trace and confirm some of the sources. But overall, the book addresses varied issues and themes on Philippine architecture that have been otherwise ignored or glossed over by previous architectural historiographies. Technological innovations, urban transformations, housing developments, anonymous architectures and architectural representations are but some themes that have been given space in this new historical narrative. Lico’s elegant account carefully melds Philippine social, cultural, economic and political contexts within the framework of architectural production in the Philippines, and thus emphasizes the interconnectedness of art and society. Furthermore, the book puts forward the novel approach of using theories from such disparate fields as cultural studies and political science into architecture history, an approach not necessarily new in the discipline of architectural history, but quite fresh when applied in the Philippine context. The use of theories not immediately associated with architecture is both refreshing and illuminating. It is important to note that Lico’s textbook is enriched with the accompanying video “Audio-Visual Textbook of Philippine Architecture,” written by Lico and produced by Susan


Calo Medina for the National Commission for Culture and the Arts. The video textbook provides a succinct overview of the written version and particularly provides students with moving images of examples mentioned in the book. As a shortened and compact version of the textbook, the DVD set is divided into four major episodes: first, “Between Earth and Sky” (Vernacular Traditions); second, “Days of Cross and Sword” (Spanish-colonial Traditions); third, “Building the Imperial Imagination” (American-colonial Traditions), and; fourth, “Out of the Ashes” (Post-Independence and Contemporary Traditions). This classification recalls the earlier Tuklas Sining series, produced by the Cultural Center of the Philippines in the early 1990s, which similarly divided Philippine arts into three broad categories of “Ethnic,” “Spanish-colonial” and “American-colonial and Contemporary” segments.3 Treated much like a history book in the form of a travelogue, the audio-visual textbook combines photos, archival film and video footages and music into a visual and aural journey of Philippine architecture history. Lico’s book, together with the audio-visual textbook, contributes not only to architecture history, but is also significant to heritage conservation efforts in the Philippines. As the book outlines and expands our definition of architecture to not only include grand monuments and permanent structures, the conservation of heritage architectures is consequently made more inclusive to accommodate such examples as streets and bridges, vernacular homes and temporary and ephemeral architectures. By shedding light on the relevance of architecture in the everyday lives of Filipinos, this revisionist history also establishes the need for conserving our architectural heritage not purely as an elitist search for nostalgia, but more importantly, as a fundamental human right of preserving cultural heritage for future generations. So do we still need another textbook on the history of Philippine architecture? The answer is clearly a “yes.” It is really more than a textbook; it is a rich and dense yet accessible text replete with information and insight into Philippine architecture that doesn’t simply provide a laundry list of buildings or architects. It ultimately challenges our common understanding of architecture as mere buildings and transforms them into spaces of lived experiences. Arkitekturang Filipino will surely become the new standard for architectural historiography in the Philippines as it sets a high benchmark for future researches on Philippine architecture. Lico represents the new generation of scholars and historians that critically examines architecture from multiple perspectives and disciplines. Hopefully, the textbook will create a renewed understanding of the role of architecture in Philippine society and history, an understanding that should enrich architecture students, but more importantly, empower Filipinos in general.

1 Winand Klassen, Architecture in the Philippines: Filipino Building in the Cross-Cultural Context, (Cebu City: University of San Carlos Press, 1986); Norma Alarcon, Philippine Architecture During the Pre-Spanish and Spanish Periods, (Manila: Santo Tomas University Press, 1991); Norma Alarcon, Philippine Architecture During the American and Contemporary Periods, (Manila: Santo Tomas University Press, 1994); Nicanor Tiongson, ed. CCP Encyclopedia of Philippine Arts, Volume 3: Architecture, (Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines, 1994) 2 Kim Dovey, Framing Places: Mediating Power in Built Form, (London: Routledge, 1999), pp. 19-20. 3 Rodrigo Perez III, “Arkitektura: An Essay on Philippine Architecture,” Tuklas Sining: Essays on Philippine Arts, edited by Nicanor Tiongson, (Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines, 1991); Maria Corazon Hila, “Arkitektura: An Essay on Philippine Ethnic Architecture,” Tuklas Sining: Essays on Philippine Arts, edited by Nicanor Tiongson, (Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines, 1992); Regalado Trota Jose, “Arkitektura: An Essay on the Spanish Influence on Philippine Architecture,” Tuklas Sining: Essays on Philippine Arts, edited by Nicanor Tiongson, (Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines, 1992); Rodrigo Perez III, “Arkitektura: An Essay on the American Colonial and Contemporary Traditions in Philippine Architecture” Tuklas Sining: Essays on Philippine Arts, edited by Nicanor Tiongson, (Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines, 1994)



Building Modernity
A Century of Philippine Architecture and Allied Arts
National Commission for Culture and the Arts /Art Studies Foundation / Museum of Filipino Architecture, 2008


Modern architecture in the Philippines speaks as much about Filipino architects’ and planners’ abilities to intuit their own aesthetic and cultural traits vis-a-vis an often impository model of Modernism, as it is about the “arrival” and “adaptation” of a particular set of (primarily Western) architectural ideas and idioms over the course of the 20th century. Occurring in the cusp between two colonial periods (Spanish, and then American) and the inaugural of the Republic, this movement relied on the ideal of a realization of national destiny through cultural progress and its rationalization through universalized forms and modes of spatial organization, technological advancement and efficient manufacturing. This also led to the often divergent search for “Modern Philippine Architecture,” either via a wholesale affiliation with the various strains of International Modernism, or through the invention of a nativist ethos to re-clad the indifferent geometry of Modernism with a “Filipino skin.” Building Modernity: A Century of Architecture and Allied Arts, originally exhibited at the National Museum of the Filipino Peoples from February to September 2007, reviewed this important period of Philippine architecture and planning by focusing on the designs of structures and materials of buildings that arrived along with American colonialism, with emphasis on a self-formulated “civilizational tutelage” resulting in new forms of civic architecture, as well as a hybridization of styles and approaches. As a sequel to this successful exhibition, a CD-ROM version of the exhibition was launched, thereby recapturing and expanding upon the scholarly import of this topic. Besides reproducing the exhibition’s original wall-texts,


the CD-ROM rationalizes the exhibition’s imagery into a photographic catalogue, adding a user-friendly interactive 20th Century Timeline, a video documentary and a glossary of terms. The Building Modernity CD-ROM also features new critical essays written by various architects and scholars who problematize the notion of Modernism as a positivistic and “inevitable march of progress,” instead critiquing the various manifestations of Modernity that arise out of the epistemic violence that Modernism has imposed into Filipino space and minds. By emphasizing on the Filipino experience in adapting to the theories and applications of Modernism, Building Modernity also foregrounds the strategies and effects of the enterprise of Modernity (the condition wrought by the interaction between Modernism and the uneven terrain of post-colonial space and society) through six major modalities. “Modern as Civilizing Project” looks at the period of American colonial “tutelage” as a civilizing transformation in accordance with American cultural precepts and standards, thus denigrating traditional Filipino concepts of space as “primitive” and “backward.” “Modern as Technological Progress” focuses on the compulsion for high technology as a material and design metaphor in Modern Filipino architecture. “Modern as Vernacular” localizes and “Filipinizes” these techniques by adapting vernacular ideas and motifs. “Modern as State Craft” investigates the role of government in constituting the discourse of nation to its citizens and its foreign interlocutors through sponsored architectural styles and structures. “Modern as Tropical” specifies the environmental as well as aesthetic approach of Modern Filipino architecture through such international-originating devices as the brise soleil. Finally, “Modern as Global Enterprise” looks at the affiliational aspect of Modern Filipino architecture as the co-manifestation of a global movement, but which is still subject to the controls, whims and caprices of globalism, such as the contemporary rise of the “Disneyfied” urban landscape of shopping malls, corporate headquarters and IT complexes. Building Modernity thus presents both the world that was Filipino architectural practice in the 20th century, as well as the continuing effects felt in the early 21st century, for despite the well-advertised arrival of postmodern architecture since the 1980s, Modernity has yet to be finished with the un-Modern terrain of Philippine social, political and economic life upon which architecture is ultimately dependent.



architecture + cinema: Projection of Filipino Space in Film
University of the Philippines Press, Quezon City 2008


Walter Benjamin once compared the experience of watching films to the liberation from a prison-world of the “taverns and...metropolitan streets, our offices and furnished rooms, our railroad stations and our factories,” in which films “burst this prison-world asunder by the dynamite of the tenth of a second, so that now, in the midst of the far-flung ruins and debris, we calmly and adventurously go travelling.” This optical adventure is highlighted by the perspectival vistas and cleverly-constructed sceneries that cinema inherited from stage theatre, while its ability to capture real scenery shot “on location” magnifies its ability to entrance and enchant the public, providing momentary aesthetic relief from the capitalist-industrialist grind operating outside the cinema house’s often equally enchanting shell. PA[ng]LABAS, architecture + cinema: Projection of Filipino Space in Film, an exhibition at the Forefront Gallery of the University Theater at UP (February 1 - 28, 2009), and fortuitously represented by its sizable 125-page catalogue, exploits these conceptual openings and visual enchantments that cinema has often played in the public imagination for the better part of a century. Focusing on the scenography and locations of Filipino films made between the late 1940s to the present, the doubled notion of palabas, the “presentational” aspect of film that defines cinema itself as a “show,” with PA[ng]LABAS, the facade or exterior structures by which architecture is woven into the narrative of filmmaking, was advanced. “Film and architecture have played a relationship forged by space,” the exhibition’s curator explains in the catalogue’s introduction, “and thus may be cast as spatial, one that mutually



informs and interpenetrates.” This “double-coding” that characterizes the exhibition title jostles the mental image of film as a “staged” experience, with architecture as that stage’s inevitable scenery, setting the film’s mood, character, time, and place of action and completing the process of “managing” that suspension of disbelief that viewers subconsciously foist to be able to enjoy, say, a science fiction story in which the background panorama of a hovering city is no more than a painting set on glass mattes, shot separately from foreground characters who act out the scene in front of a blank screen. The exhibition was divided into five distinct thematic segments, lushly visualized through period photographs. “Tickets” dealt with the sometimes fantastic architecture of cinema houses themselves, like the Art Deco “palaces of the masses” that were the Capitol, State, and Metropolitan Theaters during the 1930s. The development of Modernist architecture in the Philippines after the Pacific War could be credited as much by the building of new movie houses, like the iconic Rizal Theater in Makati, as was its advocacy in rebuilding the institutions shattered by the Liberation of Manila. “Design” focuses on Filipino filmic set designs, from the interior of a datu’s royal house in Zamboanga (1937) to the Nazi-themed cabaret scene in Alpha Kappa Omega: Batch ’81 (1982). “Location” exploits the surprising variety of outdoor locations that local filmmakers have been able to exploit, among the most iconic being, of course, Nora Aunor’s meditative habitat at the sand dunes of La Paz, Paoay in Himala (1981). The poignancy of some of these sites, now lost in time, can only be recaptured in the experience of reviewing films, such as the ruins of San Francisco Church at Intramuros in Anak Dalita (1956), or the tree-filled beauty of post-war Baguio City in Bagong Manununbos (1947). “Enchantment” plays with the vistas of fantasy that is possible only with film productions, like the Sultan’s court in LVN’s Aladin (1946), or even the makeshift bordello in Brilliante Mendoza’s Serbis (2008). Finally, “Device” uses the materiality and technology of architecture to set the mood and feel of film: the archaic abandonment of the bell tower of Santa Maria, Ilocos Norte for Sawa sa Lumang Simboryo (1952); the integrity of a complete bahay kubo in LVN’s Basta Ikaw (1957); or the harsh electric light that falls amidst the middle-class interior gloom of Kisapmata (1981). By focusing on the relationship between architecture, interior design, space and cinema, PA[ng]LABAS, architecture + cinema: Projection of Filipino Space in Film enjoins us to rethink the relationship between entertainment, materiality, history and nationhood as not simply produced through simplistic trajectories of form or economic determination, but also in the alluring appeal of cinema as a space redolent with Theodore Adorno’s “instrumentalization of use value”, as well as in realizing Benjamin’s vision of art as a revolutionary potential in transforming its public, and hence, its society.



Vernacular Architecture of Southern Philippines
General Santos City, IloIlo City and Pasay City February – April 2009

Walai-Vernacular Architecture of Southern Philippines is an exhibit of the images of vernacular houses of Southern Philippines presented in architectural drawings and photographic form. Walai- a Maranaw term for home, pays tribute to the ingenuity of the indigenous peoples of Southern Philippines in the way they design and build their abodes that harmonize with their natural environment and respond to their actual needs and lifestyles. The exhibit, curated by Michael T. Ang, was culled from the NCCA-UAP Cagayan de Oro and Socsksargen Chapters joint project- Walai Pangampong - a documentation project on the vernacular structures in Southern Philippines which covers 18 settlements all over the Island of Mindanao and part of Sulu. The project was able to capture into pictures and sketches many outstanding characteristics of vernacular architecture of Southern Philippines and these images are being presented to the public thru this exhibit. The exhibit presents the images of the vernacular architecture based on their ecosystem setting or general location, namely the upland dwellers, lowland dwellers, and the coastal dwellers.



Designing Diliman:
Campus Architecture and the Designed Environment of the University of the Philippines (1939 – 2008)
Quezon City December 2008 – February 2009

The centennial exhibition, Designing Diliman: Campus Architecture and the Designed Environment of the University of the Philippines (1939-2008) traces the development of architecture, landscape, planning of the University of the Philippines at Diliman as a total campus designed environment, tracing its genesis as the foremost institution of colonial education represented by neoclassical architecture in the early 20th century and transforming itself as the bastion progressive nationalism embodied by modernist architecture. With this frame, the campus environment becomes is a veritable living laboratory of 20th century Philippine architectural styles and urbanist tendencies, with the exhibition locating the constituent structures within the contexts of shifting social environments, from colonial to national, from national to global. The exhibition surveys the physical genesis of the flagship campus of Diliman of the University of the Philippines from its inception in 1939 as a University Town, a model of modern campus planning and architecture. In terms of architectural integrity, intellectual inspiration, and cutting-edge function, the University Town of Diliman boasts an outstanding, stylistically diverse ensemble of buildings and public art set in a landscaped environment – resulting from 70 years shifting theories and ideology of styles.




Ang Pinakamagandang Bahay Sa Balat Ng Lupa Exhibition
Forefront Gallery, University of the Philippines Theater September 29 to October 23 2009

This exhibition represents the myriad of solutions to the philosophical question of architectural beauty applied to domestic architecture. “What makes a beautiful house?” was the fundamental question posed by the recently concluded design competition, provocatively titled Ang Pinakamagandang Bahay Sa Balat Ng Lupa (The Most Beautiful House On The Face of the Earth). A joint undertaking of the College of Architecture of the University of the Philippines and Lafarge Semento Pilipinas, the competition called for a complete architectural design of a low-medium income housing unit to be constructed on a 200-square meter lot in the University of the Philippines Campus at Diliman. The exhibition, as a documentation of the competition, showcases the winning house designs chosen from among 35 entries for the Student Category and 44 entries for the Professional Category, as well as several noteworthy entries. Appraising the corpus of works exhibited here in terms of the ‘aesthetic’ goes beyond the measurement of beauty as a mere visual stimulus that engenders the principle of proportion, the ordered relation of numbers and measures, and the assembly of elements for visual balance and massing. More than just a mode of sensuous perception of form or an exercise in stylistics, the concept of a ‘beautiful house’ is appropriated with functionality, flexibity, tropicality, economy and environmental sensitivity.


Open to registered architects and students of architecture of the Philippines, Ang Pinakamagandang Bahay Sa Balat Ng Lupa was conceived from the following design premises: the house would serve the needs of a family of a maximum of five persons; the house design may be a starter house that can be adapted to meet the needs of a typical family as it grows and contracts as the children grow and then eventually leave home; the cost of the house should be within the range of P750,000, the maximum affordable economic housing loan of PAG-IBIG; and, the house design should be in compliance with all building laws and regulations. The resulting design proposals from both student and professional categories prove the unlimited opportunities for responsive housing design and the multi-dimensional interpretation of a beautiful Filipino domestic space. There are many intersecting issues related to

living space that can gleaned from the design entries: the significance of context and scale; the fine demarcation of public and private spaces; the spatial construction and formal layout vis-à-vis the realities of domestic life; the concept of convenience, privacy and the quality of life; the increasing use of technology; the efficient management of energy and renewable resources; and, the maintenance of ecological stasis. Overall, the design works presented here are innovative and path-breaking, maneuvering Filipino domestic architecture to a sustainable direction. These are design specimens that enact the compromise between form and function, the negotiation between aesthetics and pragmatism, and the concession between culture and technology, which ultimately recast our longstanding notion of a ‘beautiful house’ in plural shades of green.


The National Committee on Architecture and Allied Arts (NCAAA), under the Subcommission on the Arts (SCA), is one of the 19 national committees of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA), the cultural arm of the government. The NCAAA is composed of institutional and individual members representing the fields of architecture, interior design, landscape architecture, urban design, environmental planning, and other allied arts. With its primary concern in architecture and allied arts as components of arts and culture and catalyst for human and economic development, the NCAAA is mandated to: • Formulate policies; • Conduct training programs; • Give recognition to best designs; • Promote information and develop educational materials; and, • Assist local government units in the appreciation, preservation, and conservation of architectural legacies. Vision A nation confidently on its way to attaining growth that is rooted on cultural and social values and traditions expressed through design excellence in Filipino architecture and allied arts. Mission Promote Filipino architecture and allied arts as components of art and culture and as catalysts for human and national development. Approved Grants For 2009 under the NCAAA (2009-288)Re-master,Re-package,Re-issue of Audio-Visual Textbook of Philippine Architecture Remastering and reformatting of the 4-disc audio-visual textbook project into two-disc DVD 5 format with new interactive menu, scene access and special features. Grantee: Turalba Foundation Inc. (2009-283) Interior Design in the Philippines: A Retrospect An exhibit that traces back history through the study of interior design. Grantee: Philippine Institute of Interior Designers, Inc. (2009-171) Travel Grant to Arch. Rhea Reodique Olimpo for the Design Communication Conference in Atlanta Travel assistance to enable Arch. Olimpo attend the 2009 Design Communication Conference as paper presentor. (2009-141) Research and Documentation of Philippine WWII Period Architecture Focus on Venting Light Screens Phase 2 of the project of the same title which aims to complete the database and profile of Mindanao architecture with venting light screens as its focus. Grantee: Lawig-Diwa Inc. (2009-281) Espasyo: Journal of Philippine Architecture and Allied Arts Publication of compilation of referred scholarly writings and insights about Architecture and its allied arts. Grantee: UP CAFBEI