THE ARCHITECTURE OF DISPLACEMENT
Stir up hope
Soothe despair
What I mean is
Back then, trains were like things that had vanished
Yet they’re so useful now
We’re living almost without dreams
Children, women, men
EDİP CANSEVER
Place:
“1. earth, ground,
- ground, opposite of sky, 3. location, space, position”
has evolved from this word.
The space occupied or capable of being occupied by a thing or a person; a place, a position. In old dictionaries, “earth” is defined as “the body opposite the sky” or “the place where people stand.” Where is “place” really? Is it the space made unique by a multitude of similar definitions? Is it the world into which a person comes, willingly or unwillingly? Where does a person place a word in their life that they cannot even define?
How can one describe the absence of “place” when the place itself is undefined? Architecture is a form of relationship. Even at birth, a human is formed from the close relationship between two genders. While living, and even as they die, a person needs a place.
That is why displacement is not merely a physical movement. Taking a person from where they are does not simply mean moving their body. It also means displacing the light they are accustomed to, the sounds, the path they walk, and the direction the window faces. Because over time, a person comes to resemble the place they inhabit. And the place, in turn, bears the person’s imprint.
But is deprivation always negative?
Perhaps it is protection. Perhaps it is salvation. Perhaps it is hope.
“Hope is better than what is,” my father says.
For many years, I pondered the meaning of those words. Now I understand them better. To hope is beautiful, to inspire hope is beautiful, but to reach hope is even more beautiful. If a person does not seek beauty and the beautiful, then why does he exist at all?
If he believes in the existence of a Creator who, when something is displaced, replaces it with something new, then why should a person worry?
The same is true in architecture. Sometimes a building is damaged, sometimes a space reaches the end of its lifespan, and sometimes it must be demolished. But in the space left behind, a new presence emerges. A new idea, a new life, a new beginning…
That presence is hope.
Perhaps humanity’s only recourse.
That is why the architecture of displacement is not merely the architecture of loss. It is also the architecture of rebuilding, of starting anew, and of finding a new place.
Wherever a person goes, they strive to create a place for themselves. They open a window, set a table, claim the shade of a tree. Then they place their memories there. A space becomes a place not through walls, but through the meaning a person imbues it with. Perhaps a person’s entire life is spent searching for a place of their own. Sometimes in the place where they were born, sometimes in a landscape they’ve never known. But wherever they go, they first claim an emptiness, then turn it into a place.
And hope must be stirred.
As Edip Cansever once said:
“Let’s stir up hope; let despair subside.”
Let it even fall silent.
For me, the finest example of this in architecture is Hassan Fathy, the architect of meaning and hope.
Located in the city of Luxor, Egypt, New Gourna Village is a housing project designed by Hassan Fathy between 1945 and 1952. The project’s starting point was the relocation of the local community living on the Ancient Theban Necropolis. The government sought to relocate the people to a new settlement on the west bank of the Nile to prevent tomb raiding and entrusted this task to Hassan Fathy.
At first glance, this is a story of displacement. However, Hassan Fathy’s approach was not merely about moving people from one place to another. He sought to create an architecture that would allow people to feel a sense of belonging once again.
At a time when international modernism was turning to reinforced concrete and glass structures, Fathy turned to local materials. He built houses using adobe bricks made from mud and straw, reviving the nearly forgotten Nubian vaulting technique of Southern Egypt. The domes and vaults, constructed without the use of wood, formed a natural architectural language adapted to the desert climate.
He designed passive climate control systems that required no electricity to combat the heat, as well as wind catchers, inner courtyards, and shaded streets. More importantly, he sought to understand the social relationships of the village’s residents; he designed the neighborhoods, marketplace, mosque, school, and open-air theater in accordance with these relationships. He even sought to instill a sense of belonging from the outset by involving the villagers in the construction process.
So, was the project successful?
In practical terms, no.
Only a small portion of the approximately 900 planned housing units was completed; the project remained unfinished due to bureaucratic obstacles, funding issues, and the local population’s reluctance to relocate. The new settlement was not embraced by many and has been largely abandoned over time.
But is architecture judged solely by its results?
This is where Hassan Fathy’s true achievement comes to light.
New Gourna may not have achieved complete success on the ground; however, it changed the course of architecture in the realm of ideas. Fathy’s later work, Architecture for the Poor, has become one of the most influential texts in the history of architecture. Many concepts we frequently discuss today—such as the use of local materials, sustainability, participatory design, and climate-responsive architecture—found their origins in this project.
For this reason, it is impossible to view New Gourna merely as a failed village. It is the story of a failed success.
Success is not always celebrated. Not every success is appreciated in its own time. Sometimes an idea is understood not when it is built, but years later.
Hassan Fathy reminds me of this.
He shows that displacement is not merely a loss; sometimes it is an opportunity for a new beginning. It is easy to relocate people; but it is difficult to restore their sense of belonging. This was precisely what Hassan Fathy sought.
Perhaps that is why New Gourna can still be seen today as a project of hope.
Because sometimes a building may not stand, but its idea lives on.
And sometimes ideas outlive buildings.
References
Cansever, Turgut. Not Placing the Dome on the Ground. Istanbul: Timaş Publishing, 2010.
Cansever, Edip. What Remains Afterwards. Istanbul: Yapı Kredi Publications, 2014.
Doğan, Ahmet Cengiz. A City: Conversations with Turgut Cansever. Istanbul: Klasik Publications, 2015.
Fathy, Hassan. Contemporary World Architects Series 5: Hassan Fathy. Istanbul: Boyut Publishing, n.d.
Leaman, Oliver. An Introduction to Islam. Istanbul: Küre Publications, 2012.
Nasr, Seyyed Hossein. Traditional Islam in the Modern World. Istanbul: İnsan Publications, 2009.
Ökten, Sadettin. There Is Cola in My Cup. Istanbul: Tuti Books, 2014.
UNESCO. First Scientific Committee Meeting, Luxor, Egypt, 2–3 October 2010. Paris: UNESCO, 2010.
ARTWORK: Claude Monet, Poppies
