"History is increasingly presented as a series of catastrophes."

The opening of Eyal and Ines Weizman’s investigative essay, Before and After, brings into discussion a somewhat novel lens to cast over the tolls of tragedies and disasters, both natural and human-induced. Photography and other forms of ‘visual’ evidence have been increasingly employed to gaze over two chief temporal planes (terming them moments seems too limiting, even if ‘moments after-‘ and ‘moments before-‘ disaster are rather agreeable in the common tongue as nostalgia-induced vocabulary) on either side of the event in question. What was perceivably a limitation of the visual medium in documenting the ‘event’ itself, historically speaking, is a bona fide tool of analysis today based on the willful remittance of said event. Firmly placing itself along either side of the occurrence, instantaneous or gradual, the ‘before and after’ is a sobering document holding cues, clues, correlations, causalities, and even casualties. In its present form, as the gaze draws ever vertically as if the eye of god itself (the bird’s eye is a euphemism anyway – no bird may ever soar to the heights scaled by modern satellite technology), grander notions of surveillance and justice are called into question too. The Forensic Architecture duo stresses upon this dual image, visible to the untrained eye as a near concurrence, and the difference between them – between a perceived normal and extraordinary, the baseline and the deviation, the unperturbed and the transformed, even cause and consequence. At a resolution of 50 cm per pixel to the layman, and with pinpoint precision to governments and militia, the ‘before and after’ supersedes both methodology and archive. The liminal, the in-between, or the zone of impact + interest occupy an inherently spatial character, firmly supplanting this line of enquiry as an architectural one.

Employed over a disaster as devastating and as sizeable as the Türkiye-Syria earthquakes of February 2023—a lived geo-violence that is quick and ruthless as opposed to slow, state-sponsored encroachment—the ante- and postbellum assumes important, uncompromising proportions and importance. At a 7.8 on the Richter scale, the earthquake was among the deadliest ever in the region’s history, with pointed, permanent ramifications for the Hatay province in Southern Turkey that saw human casualties in the tens of thousands, and destruction hitherto unwitnessed in modern-day Türkiye. The tremors levelled 80 per cent of the built city, with permanent changes to its topography and living patterns, both present and future.

The ‘before and after’ visuals employed here, harrowing as they are, are an aid to understanding the scale of destruction, and the foreseeable scale of redevelopment efforts—and more importantly, resettlement efforts—that will have to follow. They are polemical positions that serve as a lens to examine the future of a city that has its roots dating back to 300 BC, originally known as Antioch from the erstwhile Greek empire. The city’s history as a part of Hatay, serving as a cultural and commutive nexus between Syria and Turkey with links to parts of the Silk Road from the Levant region, is projected to be reflected in, and to be the anchor for the redevelopment plans for the region – a massive expansion of the temporal scale, of the key event at the centre of this before-after set of visions. Any photography capturing Antakya today thus stands to be the ‘before’ of a meticulously designed future, a yet unrealised ‘after’.

As analogous positions around the disaster, the before-after duality can further lend agency to the vision of the region’s redevelopment and its assessment: What is the ‘after’ beyond the current one? In pursuit of a future vision, what is the ’before’ one acknowledges? Is the ‘before’ an ideal to return to? The gaze for studying these top-down views of the earth itself is never neutral (especially based on who furnishes these maps and for what purpose). However, when juxtaposed in succession, the many befores and afters spell a parable of hope for the region – for survivors, a vast majority of whom sought refuge in Istanbul while some continue to persist, displaced; for people with historic ties to the region; for new economic and creative talent to flourish in the region, and for a new generation that may rise above the rubble. That hope, conjured from visions of successive (nearly cyclical) coexistence, flourishing, destruction, and rebuilding, is the starting point.

Headed and mobilised by the Türkiye Design Council (Türkiye Tasarım Vakfı locally), an NGO founded on a belief in the power of design in community programming for a more holistic upliftment of Turkish cities and towns, the redevelopment plans for the region are slated to span over 30 sq.km. The larger master plan has been designed and is to be delivered by Foster + Partners, in collaboration with Buro Happold and MIC-HUB, apart from the London-based firm also being responsible for drafting urban design guidelines for emergency reconstruction in the early days of the redevelopment efforts. While Buro Happold is responsible for guidelines on the overall structural design and new developments being earthquake resistant, MIC-HUB is charged with the larger mobility planning in Hatay’s revitalisation.

A project of this nature and scale further warranted collaboration across all strata, while also ensuring local hopes and aspirations were reflected in the ‘new’ city. The plans are thus to be activated with a special focus on pilot projects in ‘priority areas’ covering the districts of Samandağ, Defne, Antakya, and Kırıkhan. A consortium of local practices including KEYM Urban Renewal Centre, SOUR Studio and DB Architects, christened the TTV Hatay Design and Planning Collaboration Group, have been engaged in the rebuilding efforts since the start and will be responsible for delivering the pilot projects while continuing to partake in consulting for smaller, individual projects within the larger masterplan that are currently under development, including housing blocks, community centres, libraries, performance venues, and even a memorial to the earthquake. “The objective for the masterplan is to retain the spirit of the town's pre-earthquake characteristics in terms of scale, relationships, and configurations, reinforcing the local character and climate,” states an official release. In a bid to thus preserve Hatay’s urban memory, local stakeholders and the surviving community on the ground have been involved since the dawn of the redevelopment project, with design workshops, consultations, surveys, and meetings across Hatay, Adıyaman, and Istanbul, helmed by TTV.

Part of this iterative masterplan was revealed earlier this year in April in a community centre built by the TTV on-ground using limited resources and shipping containers in what was amongst the worst hit parts of the town. On a visit to the unveiling event and the community centre in Hatay, I had the opportunity—a terrible privilege—to be at the emotional epicentre of the destruction wrought by the earthquake, well over a year on. Far from the comfort of a now long ongoing voyeur-like visual foray into before and after satellite views, the experience of visiting the site of the earthquake from the minuscule human perspective is a humbling experience like none other. This is further intensified by the community centre being the only fully standing building in its clear vicinity, specifically outlined to forecast the vision of a hopeful future – a juxtaposition that is hard to shake off. A building reduced to rubble and communities razed to the ground may be read as nothingness in the aftermath from a height, but on the ground, the ‘before and after’ analysis is a lot more startling since the proliferation of this destruction is almost entirely horizontal.

From a fateful 2023, time seems to have had a different notion, a different sense of flow in Hatay. In many ways, it has stood still, while at the same time moving decades forward in its levelling, sombering, returning-to-dust effect all in a moment. A particularly pining memory, for instance, imprinted on my experience, is of seeing rows upon rows of trailers lined up in an endless, simulation-like arrangement amid an open, arid park, fenced up, housing the survivors of the earthquake and several other families displaced as a result of it. Another painful visual was of the Orontes river bed torn up as if the land itself was assaulted. The next chapter in this parable—the fulfilment and deliverance of the pilot project area in Antakya—is envisaged in roughly eight years, underlining the slow, granular process of what is simply short of re-building civilisation, and how resilience and hope propel the sedative journey to perceived normalcy over years.

Freshly released visuals highlight new community greens and social hubs, all connected with walkable streets and an enhanced transportation system built upon upgraded infrastructure. As an extension of the propellant hope, the greens have to be greener, and the sociality of the community hubs has to be thriving. The streets and markets are ever more fervent and accessibility and inclusion become key terms in outlining a new Hatay. The word "opportunity"—entrenched in politicians' speeches, opening addresses and academic conclaves—becomes a recurrent terminology, commonplace, circumvented from an unspeakable tragedy. But that is what architecture does. It has historically vied for a tabula rasa, a hallowed ground, scorched earth, to assume agency and flourish. But it has always been the difference between the projection and current reality, the titular ‘before’ and ‘after’ pincered around a rather inopportune ‘opportunity’, that structures this parable for hope.

On the other hand, while the people wait for deliverance without the necessary means to move out or start over, even in the face of highly escalated and urgent efforts, the pilot project—and by not-too-stretched an extension, architecture—subsumes unshakeable agency. But that is what architecture does. It plans and plots and devises from the top but functions (or breaks down) on the ground. Looking at the masterplan and the visuals accompanying it—an invariably more prosperous ‘after’ rendered in the present that is itself a catalyst to achieving that visual tomorrow—is nothing if not a periodic testament. It is both the fragile ground which shakes and the foundation which hoists refuge; it is hope materialised. Within the visual of the ‘after’, it is hope manifested.

In the split side of this conversation, STIR deep dives into the stakeholders' aspirations and ideas on the redevelopment, speaking to key people from the Türkiye Design Council and the Foster + Partners team on-ground in Hatay. The second chapter in this parable, coming soon on STIRworld.com.

Also read - Part Two: A solemnisation

(Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official position of STIR or its editors.)