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LOVING OLD STONES ISN'T ENOUGH
The Daily Star (Lebanon)
September 4, 2012 Tuesday
by : Martin Armstrong
Located on a hill overlooking the coastal plain and within walking
distance of Downtown and Ras Beirut, Zoqaq al-Blat is, for property
developers, a treasure trove.
BEIRUT: Located on a hill overlooking the coastal plain and within
walking distance of Downtown and Ras Beirut, Zoqaq al-Blat is,
for property developers, a treasure trove. Guillame Boudisseau,
a real estate consultant for Ramco, notes that there are currently
350 construction projects ongoing in municipal Beirut.
A resident of Zoqaq al-Blat for the last 15 years, Boudisseau has
seen the effects of development on his neighborhood, where property
prices have reached $3,500 per square meter.
"And this," Boudisseau stresses, "is the starting price."
In Beirut, "urban development" has tended to come at the expense of
the architectural patrimony. In the 1990s, according to a study by the
Association for Protecting Natural Sites and Old Buildings, Beirut
was home to 1,600 Ottoman, Mandate and Modernist structures. Today,
there are about 200.
Historically, Zoqaq al-Blat extends south from the Grand Serail to
Batrakieh (the seat of the Greek Catholic Patriarchate) and west from
the Muslim graveyard to Zarif. Built in 1967-68, the Fouad Shihab
ring road effectively cut the quarter in two and, after 1990, the
structures north of the motorway were included in Solidere's Downtown
gentrification project.
South of Fouad Shihab, the quarter has been left to more conventional
patterns of urban neglect and construction and many longtime residents
lament the changes to Zoqaq al-Blat.
"I was born here and have lived here all my 47 years," says Choghig
Der Ghougassian. "Gradually it started to change, ... in the last
five years rapidly. Not recognizing the street you grew up in is a
terrible [thing]. I am not opposed to change, but the character of
the area has been fundamentally altered."
Unlike most parts of historic Beirut, the cultural wealth of Zoqaq
al-Blat is relatively well documented, thanks to "History, space
and social conflict in Beirut: the quarter of Zokak el-Blat" - a
multidisciplinary collection published in 2005 by the German Orient
Institute (OIB), itself located in Zoqaq al-Blat's former Farjallah
Palace.
Founded in the 19th century, when Beirut was still enclosed within its
walls, Zoqaq al-Blat became one of the city's first garden suburbs,
where wealthy businessmen built often lavish family homes in the
orchards overlooking the cramped Ottoman city. As the quarter's name
testifies, Zoqaq al-Blat (referring to the district's "paved street")
was long recognized to be chic.
The quarter was also mixed in both sectarian and socioeconomic terms.
In the first half of the 20th century it was home to Sunnis,
Christians, Druze and a significant Armenian community into which
Der Ghougassian was born.
Zoqaq al-Blat's treasures are not only architectural. In his study
"Fin de Siecle Beirut," historian Jens Hansen argued that these
once-gracious surroundings provided the cradle of the nahda, the 19th
century Arabic cultural renaissance.
Such elite families as the Yazijis, Bustanis, Sarkis and Abdel-Qadir
al-Qabbani founded schools, newspapers, literary and welfare societies
here. AUB (nee the Syrian Protestant College) was set up in Zoqaq
al-Blat in the early 1860s, only later moving to Ras Beirut.
The Civil War saw most of the neighborhood's wealthiest residents
leave for more stable, confessionally uniform, parts of the country.
Many Lebanese Christian and Armenian families relocated to east Beirut
and Metn, while Druze families migrated west or to the Chouf. Many
left the country altogether.
Der Ghougassian recalls that at the outbreak of the Civil War, most
of her classmates at the neighborhood's Armenian school fled east to
Burj Hammoud or further afield.
"Almost everyone left," recollects Der Ghougassian. "Only six of us
remained in the class ... They are nearly all gone. The entire building
I live in was filled with Armenian families. Now there are two."
The neighborhood's story of demographic change is a complex one. Some
house-owners left their properties in the hands of more modest families
- sometimes servants - to keep them safe. As the conflict dragged on,
many palaces were occupied by squatters.
Zoqaq al-Blat's proximity to contested Downtown Beirut and the Green
Line separating east from west Beirut saw a parade of militias assert
themselves there. The pock-marked facades of the Ottoman-era palaces
offer a stark reminder of the violence that occurred.
"Now it doesn't even reflect the area I remember," says George Khoury.
An animator at Future Television, Khoury grew up in the quarter and
remained there throughout the Civil War before relocating to Ashrafieh.
"There used to be a leafy walkway, linking the bottom and top of the
neighborhood with flowers and cacti," he recalls. "There were local
bakers and greengrocers. Now, even the street structure is different.
Cities change whether you like it or not, but it is sad when the
culture and identity of an area disappears."
The want of effective and comprehensive heritage conservation policies
has meant that demographic change has had a devastating effect on
the architectural heritage of the neighborhood.
In October 2011, Zoqaq al-Blat's 19th century "Akar Palace" on
the corner of Spears Street and Abdel-Qader Street, was illegally
demolished, despite it being within a designated conservation area.
"It's as if we have something as valuable as Baalbek right here in
Beirut but they do not care," says Lily Abi Chahine, a 27-year-old
area resident. "Sometimes I feel like I should have been born in a
different era."
Former Culture Minister Salim Warde repeatedly denied the owners'
requests for a demolition permit. The impressive mansion was almost
completely destroyed anyway, leaving only the front facade.
"If there's no proper punishment what is going to dissuade people
from ignoring the conservation list?" Giorgio Tarraf, President of
Save Beirut Heritage, told The Daily Star at that time.
Michel De Chadarevian, an adviser to current Culture Minister Gaby
Layyoun, criticized the house's owners, saying that they were driven
solely by "commercial" motives and had no respect for the architectural
integrity of the building.
Boudisseau fears that as land prices continue to rise, Zoqaq al-Blat's
architectural patrimony will be increasingly threatened. He notes
that, on paper, residences such as the Ziadi Palace - just up the
street from the Akar Palace - do not face imminent destruction,
due to their listed status. Yet the destruction of the Akar Palace
provides a stark reminder that reality need not conform to the law.
"Owners are sad to have properties like that because their listed
status prevents their demolition. So they are stuck in a gray area
where they can't sell the land and make a massive profit but nor do
they have the financial resources to renovate such properties,"
observes Boudisseau. "Demolition? Well, there are often no
repercussions."
Across the street from the ruin of the Akar Palace lies the Heneine
Palace. Its most recent inhabitants have been several families
displaced from south Lebanon, but the structure's social history is
as varied and venerable as that of the quarter itself.
It was reputedly built by an exiled Russian prince in the 19th century
- who gave its interior design a more Orientalist flavor than the
palaces built by Arab notables.
The gorgeous derelict palace later housed the American Consulate in
Beirut and was the residence of Salim Moussa Achi, the Lebanese writer,
philosopher, mystic and connoisseur of fine arts who is better known
by his pen name, Dr. Dahesh - after whom a museum in the heart of
New York City takes its name.
Residents of Zoqaq al-Blat have become increasingly worried the Heneine
Palace too faces illegal demolition. Over the last six months a hole
in the facade has exposed the interior to the elements.
Residents have reported strange nocturnal activity in the area.
"In the demolition of the Akar Palace people would come at night to
gut the place of such valuables as Venetian tiles and marble columns.
Then they would damage the structure itself," says Abi Chahine. "I
fear they are doing the same thing here - to damage the structure to
the extent it becomes a danger to the public and they can demolish it."
Like Tarraf and Boudisseau, Abi Chahine is skeptical of the
government's ability to persecute those who break the law.
Josef Haddad, of the Association for the Protection of Lebanese
Heritage, has accused politicians of being in league with property
developers.
"Even if a politician is transparent and clean," Haddad told The Daily
Star earlier this year, developers "can influence those around him.
Any high-rise will generate at the very least $300 million. It is
easy to throw in a $1 million bribe."
When the Culture Ministry has an annual budget of less than $3
million - 0.0018 percent of annual government spending according to
De Chadarevian - any chance of state-sponsored restoration seems like
a pipe dream.
"Currently there is no solution to this problem," Boudisseau says. "It
is not enough to simply like old stones."
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
The Daily Star (Lebanon)
September 4, 2012 Tuesday
by : Martin Armstrong
Located on a hill overlooking the coastal plain and within walking
distance of Downtown and Ras Beirut, Zoqaq al-Blat is, for property
developers, a treasure trove.
BEIRUT: Located on a hill overlooking the coastal plain and within
walking distance of Downtown and Ras Beirut, Zoqaq al-Blat is,
for property developers, a treasure trove. Guillame Boudisseau,
a real estate consultant for Ramco, notes that there are currently
350 construction projects ongoing in municipal Beirut.
A resident of Zoqaq al-Blat for the last 15 years, Boudisseau has
seen the effects of development on his neighborhood, where property
prices have reached $3,500 per square meter.
"And this," Boudisseau stresses, "is the starting price."
In Beirut, "urban development" has tended to come at the expense of
the architectural patrimony. In the 1990s, according to a study by the
Association for Protecting Natural Sites and Old Buildings, Beirut
was home to 1,600 Ottoman, Mandate and Modernist structures. Today,
there are about 200.
Historically, Zoqaq al-Blat extends south from the Grand Serail to
Batrakieh (the seat of the Greek Catholic Patriarchate) and west from
the Muslim graveyard to Zarif. Built in 1967-68, the Fouad Shihab
ring road effectively cut the quarter in two and, after 1990, the
structures north of the motorway were included in Solidere's Downtown
gentrification project.
South of Fouad Shihab, the quarter has been left to more conventional
patterns of urban neglect and construction and many longtime residents
lament the changes to Zoqaq al-Blat.
"I was born here and have lived here all my 47 years," says Choghig
Der Ghougassian. "Gradually it started to change, ... in the last
five years rapidly. Not recognizing the street you grew up in is a
terrible [thing]. I am not opposed to change, but the character of
the area has been fundamentally altered."
Unlike most parts of historic Beirut, the cultural wealth of Zoqaq
al-Blat is relatively well documented, thanks to "History, space
and social conflict in Beirut: the quarter of Zokak el-Blat" - a
multidisciplinary collection published in 2005 by the German Orient
Institute (OIB), itself located in Zoqaq al-Blat's former Farjallah
Palace.
Founded in the 19th century, when Beirut was still enclosed within its
walls, Zoqaq al-Blat became one of the city's first garden suburbs,
where wealthy businessmen built often lavish family homes in the
orchards overlooking the cramped Ottoman city. As the quarter's name
testifies, Zoqaq al-Blat (referring to the district's "paved street")
was long recognized to be chic.
The quarter was also mixed in both sectarian and socioeconomic terms.
In the first half of the 20th century it was home to Sunnis,
Christians, Druze and a significant Armenian community into which
Der Ghougassian was born.
Zoqaq al-Blat's treasures are not only architectural. In his study
"Fin de Siecle Beirut," historian Jens Hansen argued that these
once-gracious surroundings provided the cradle of the nahda, the 19th
century Arabic cultural renaissance.
Such elite families as the Yazijis, Bustanis, Sarkis and Abdel-Qadir
al-Qabbani founded schools, newspapers, literary and welfare societies
here. AUB (nee the Syrian Protestant College) was set up in Zoqaq
al-Blat in the early 1860s, only later moving to Ras Beirut.
The Civil War saw most of the neighborhood's wealthiest residents
leave for more stable, confessionally uniform, parts of the country.
Many Lebanese Christian and Armenian families relocated to east Beirut
and Metn, while Druze families migrated west or to the Chouf. Many
left the country altogether.
Der Ghougassian recalls that at the outbreak of the Civil War, most
of her classmates at the neighborhood's Armenian school fled east to
Burj Hammoud or further afield.
"Almost everyone left," recollects Der Ghougassian. "Only six of us
remained in the class ... They are nearly all gone. The entire building
I live in was filled with Armenian families. Now there are two."
The neighborhood's story of demographic change is a complex one. Some
house-owners left their properties in the hands of more modest families
- sometimes servants - to keep them safe. As the conflict dragged on,
many palaces were occupied by squatters.
Zoqaq al-Blat's proximity to contested Downtown Beirut and the Green
Line separating east from west Beirut saw a parade of militias assert
themselves there. The pock-marked facades of the Ottoman-era palaces
offer a stark reminder of the violence that occurred.
"Now it doesn't even reflect the area I remember," says George Khoury.
An animator at Future Television, Khoury grew up in the quarter and
remained there throughout the Civil War before relocating to Ashrafieh.
"There used to be a leafy walkway, linking the bottom and top of the
neighborhood with flowers and cacti," he recalls. "There were local
bakers and greengrocers. Now, even the street structure is different.
Cities change whether you like it or not, but it is sad when the
culture and identity of an area disappears."
The want of effective and comprehensive heritage conservation policies
has meant that demographic change has had a devastating effect on
the architectural heritage of the neighborhood.
In October 2011, Zoqaq al-Blat's 19th century "Akar Palace" on
the corner of Spears Street and Abdel-Qader Street, was illegally
demolished, despite it being within a designated conservation area.
"It's as if we have something as valuable as Baalbek right here in
Beirut but they do not care," says Lily Abi Chahine, a 27-year-old
area resident. "Sometimes I feel like I should have been born in a
different era."
Former Culture Minister Salim Warde repeatedly denied the owners'
requests for a demolition permit. The impressive mansion was almost
completely destroyed anyway, leaving only the front facade.
"If there's no proper punishment what is going to dissuade people
from ignoring the conservation list?" Giorgio Tarraf, President of
Save Beirut Heritage, told The Daily Star at that time.
Michel De Chadarevian, an adviser to current Culture Minister Gaby
Layyoun, criticized the house's owners, saying that they were driven
solely by "commercial" motives and had no respect for the architectural
integrity of the building.
Boudisseau fears that as land prices continue to rise, Zoqaq al-Blat's
architectural patrimony will be increasingly threatened. He notes
that, on paper, residences such as the Ziadi Palace - just up the
street from the Akar Palace - do not face imminent destruction,
due to their listed status. Yet the destruction of the Akar Palace
provides a stark reminder that reality need not conform to the law.
"Owners are sad to have properties like that because their listed
status prevents their demolition. So they are stuck in a gray area
where they can't sell the land and make a massive profit but nor do
they have the financial resources to renovate such properties,"
observes Boudisseau. "Demolition? Well, there are often no
repercussions."
Across the street from the ruin of the Akar Palace lies the Heneine
Palace. Its most recent inhabitants have been several families
displaced from south Lebanon, but the structure's social history is
as varied and venerable as that of the quarter itself.
It was reputedly built by an exiled Russian prince in the 19th century
- who gave its interior design a more Orientalist flavor than the
palaces built by Arab notables.
The gorgeous derelict palace later housed the American Consulate in
Beirut and was the residence of Salim Moussa Achi, the Lebanese writer,
philosopher, mystic and connoisseur of fine arts who is better known
by his pen name, Dr. Dahesh - after whom a museum in the heart of
New York City takes its name.
Residents of Zoqaq al-Blat have become increasingly worried the Heneine
Palace too faces illegal demolition. Over the last six months a hole
in the facade has exposed the interior to the elements.
Residents have reported strange nocturnal activity in the area.
"In the demolition of the Akar Palace people would come at night to
gut the place of such valuables as Venetian tiles and marble columns.
Then they would damage the structure itself," says Abi Chahine. "I
fear they are doing the same thing here - to damage the structure to
the extent it becomes a danger to the public and they can demolish it."
Like Tarraf and Boudisseau, Abi Chahine is skeptical of the
government's ability to persecute those who break the law.
Josef Haddad, of the Association for the Protection of Lebanese
Heritage, has accused politicians of being in league with property
developers.
"Even if a politician is transparent and clean," Haddad told The Daily
Star earlier this year, developers "can influence those around him.
Any high-rise will generate at the very least $300 million. It is
easy to throw in a $1 million bribe."
When the Culture Ministry has an annual budget of less than $3
million - 0.0018 percent of annual government spending according to
De Chadarevian - any chance of state-sponsored restoration seems like
a pipe dream.
"Currently there is no solution to this problem," Boudisseau says. "It
is not enough to simply like old stones."
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress