 First, good evening, and thank you everyone for joining us. I'm really excited to see so many people here, it's fantastic. I'm Felicity Scott, and I'm just going to introduce the event, which is the actually the ninth annual Detlef Mountains lecture, and this series is hosted in memory of Detlef's life and scholarly work, and to celebrate his commitment to coupling academic rigor with an ethics of disciplinary transformation, launched in collaboration with Keller Easterling, who's joining us. In the spring of 2015, the mountains lecture draws upon Detlef's ambition to advance a concept of, and I quote, a modernity that takes difference or alterity to be its core. And so the series is conceived as an invitation to emerging scholars, whose work helps unsettle disciplinary norms and to open architectural histories onto many forms of alterity, scholars who we believe are advancing, critical and innovative approaches. So introducing his collection of essays, Modernity Unbound, Detlef recalled, and I quote again, I came to focus on things that had been misunderstood or overlooked in the historical record, and could therefore serve as mediators for new thought and design. And so it's this ethic of openness to a future, this understanding that architectural history is not a practice of codifying norms or cultural codes, but the series has been founded and continuing to support. So supporting work that reframes and reclaims elements of architecture's complicated relationships to modernity, research also seeking to re-inflect architecture's historical record. And the mountains lecture, I should say quickly, became a really important event in the DSEP calendar, supporting scholarly conversations both in the school and also I think across a much wider community of architectural historians and many people I know have been watching the podcast, which I think is incredible. So tonight I'm really, really happy to be welcoming Diana Martinez, who's sitting here. Diana is assistant professor and director of architectural studies at Tufts University where she's taught since 2017 and where she's opened up significant new dimensions in the department's curriculum. But however, she's been invited to give tonight's lecture for her important and I believe groundbreaking research in the context of the Philippines, a body of work that not only expands the literature on the acapellago, but profoundly reconfigures the discipline's approach to histories and geographies of American architecture and urbanism. Diana received her PhD from Columbia in 2016 with a dissertation entitled Concrete Colonialism, Architecture, Infrastructure, Urbanism and the American Colonization of the Philippines. And I'll come back to that now about to be here in the book for you. And while I don't wanna give too much away, I do want to note that the concrete in the title can at once be taken quite literally as a material, while also serving as the occasion to read the reconstruction of physical environments at many scales as being tied to the racialized, economic and geopolitical ambitions of colonial governance and the aesthetic and technical dimensions of coloniality in the early 20th century. So Diana has reworked this as a book and I'm very excited that Concrete Colonialism, now subtitled Architecture, Urbanism, Racial Capitalism and the American Colonial Project in the Philippines, 1898 to 1945 will soon appear on Duke University Press. Am I right, yeah, yeah, Duke. And so we're very lucky to have a preview of parts of this research tonight, a preview heralding what I believe will be a very important book. Just decided a couple of other things. I'm not gonna, that Diana's recently published. These include a very important chapter titled from rice research to coconut capital in the 2022 volume published by aggregate called Architecture and Development Systems and the Emergence of the Global South. Also great article called Concrete Urbanism just appeared like two, couple of years ago in comparative studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East. And her work has also appeared in GSEP's own Avery Review, including a great article from the same year from 2020 called An Archipelago of Interiors, the Philippine Super Mall as Infrastructure of Diaspora. So we're also very lucky that following Diana's lecture, S.E.Eister will offer a response and open up the conversation. A little bit more briefly, S.E. is currently a system professor for architectural history and theory at the School of Architecture at Princeton University, having earlier taught at U Penn and Boston University. In 2020, she presented a wonderful Martin's lecture derived from her forthcoming book called Memories of the Resistance, Magritte Schudelahatsky and the Architecture of Collective Dissidents from 1918 to 1989. And she also has an edited volume called Living Room, Architecture, Gender and Theory, forthcoming, which, as she explains, illuminates methods and theories in writing about feminist and LGBTQIA plus spaces in architecture. She's a wide-ranging collaborator and a dedicated scholar who's worked through versus fields from histories of housing and cooperative movements to queer theory and environmentalism. And I'm very happy that you agreed to open up this dialogue with Diana. And just before turning the podium over to Diana, I want to sincerely thank Elise Jaffee and Jeffrey Brown for endowing this lecture series in 2020 after actually supporting it for a number of years. And I also want to thank Dean Anders Haakke and my fellow Mertens Lecture Committee members, Mabel Wilson, Athea Karekawala, Xenoptelik Alexander, and Essie Eistra for a conversation that really took stock of the field and its manifold potentials in making this decision. Finally, many thanks due to Stephen Borica and Lucie Krebsbach for their untiring help in making this and many other events at GESAP possible. So tonight's lecture entitled Architecture in Triple Person, please try to be welcoming Diana to the panel. Thank you so much, Felicity, for that incredibly generous introduction. I just want to start out by thanking Keller for creating this opportunity in honor of Dotliff Mertens and his pathbreaking work. Though I will not be presenting my work through the lens of concrete tonight, his writing and reflections on the enmeshed technological and symbolic dimensions of material have been essential in helping me develop my own approach to my own objects of inquiry. I also want to thank the committee, Felicity, Essie, Atia, and Mabel for giving me the opportunity to present this work to you this evening. And of course to Shannon and Lucille and for the AV team for all of their organizational labor. So the one I am presenting tonight might be thought of as a part of a Philippine national history. It can only be presented that way because it was written into history as such, to be filed and siloed away as relevant only to Philippine national subjects. Therefore what I aim to carefully retrace tonight is a path of the scalpel used to carefully excise this story from an important chapter in US history, a chapter that itself unfolds within the context of an interwar internationalism in which the United States is jockeying for a hegemonic position. This is a history of the Philippines only in as much as it is rendered as such by the colonizer and by its well-trained native elite. What has been historically presented as a national reawakening will be presented here as a neocolonial strategy when focused around the thematization of the native body. Though my lecture draws broadly upon Franz Fanon's two major works, The Wretched of the Earth and Black Skin, White Masks, the title of my lecture refers to a specific passage in Black Skin and White Masks in which Fanon describes an event where he suddenly becomes aware of his body in triple person, a realization that he was simultaneously responsible not only for his body, but for his race and for his ancestors. In The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon comes to the conclusion that it is necessary to assent to all violence committed on behalf of decolonizing forces. Violence, he argued, is an inherent part of the decolonization process. Fanon wrote this, not only of his experience in Martinique in Algeria, but of decolonization as a general process. One of the reasons why I'm interested in Fanon's work is because it allows me to compare what at least appears to be two very different processes of decolonization. On the right, we see the arrest of Ahmed Ben-Bella and other leaders of the FLN by the French Army. This is an image that represents what Fanon might describe as part of a normal process of decolonization, one that must take shape in opposition to assume to be former colonial power. In the Philippines, the process of decolonization takes shape not in opposition to US empire, but as an ascent to its seemingly ineluctable rise. The perverse results of this politics of recognition is illustrated here by the official celebration of US occupation. Of course, the whole story is not a monolithic one, and I don't want to present it as such. Anti-colonial violence and a rejection of US imperial power was never fully extinguished in the Philippines, but the story of native resistance is not my focus tonight. The story I tell today is one of the US as a colonizer. My talk tonight focuses on the conception, design, construction, and influence of a single building. The photo on the right was taken close to the time of the building's completion in July of 1926. Just a few weeks before its inauguration, Leonard Wood, then serving as a governor general of the Philippines, arrived to the building site to conduct a final inspection. Upon reading the building's dedication, freshly inscribed into the attic's central panel, Wood immediately ordered its removal. It had once read, erected by the Filipino people as monument to rights one and dedicated by them to the cause of freedom. Wood explained to the Philippine legislature that there were two reasons for this order. The first was supposedly grammatical. Wood argued that the article A was necessary before the word monument. The second reason was that the inscription had been unauthorized. I love this photo on the left because it captures in the glazed expressions of the Philippine senators, their absolute disgust and exasperation with Leonard Wood. In any event, the grammatical correction was both trifling and incorrect. The elimination of punctuations or indefinite articles was a convention of monumental inscriptions. Far from careless, the inscription was in fact a study in the kind of careful wordsmithing born out of a complex politics of recognition. For example, the inscription made no specific reference to independence, only to rights one. Likewise, there was no legal claim to freedom, only a stated belief in the cause of freedom. In other words, the inscription was not an appeal to an imperial sovereign. Rather, it was an appeal to the universal values that the United States claimed to represent. But did the erasure of the inscription change the meaning of the building? And why would a colonial power allow such a building to be built, designed as a monument to a rejection of colonial sovereignty? Why would it allow this to be built in the first place? To begin to answer these questions requires some background. Since the beginning of the US colonial period in the Philippines, in general, Republicans favored colonial retention while Democrats supported Philippine national sovereignty. When Woodrow Wilson became the first Democrat to hold the office of the president since 1893, he moved to fulfill a campaign promise to grant independence to the Philippines. He did this by signing the Jones Act into law in August of 1916. The law contained the first formal commitment to grant the Philippines its national sovereignty. The promise was, however, conditional and it contained no timeline for withdrawal. Nevertheless, the Jones law did provide a framework for a transition, including a provision for the creation of the first fully elected Philippine legislature, a bicameral legislature that since 1907 consisted of a Philippine lower house made up of an elected body of colonial subjects and an upper house at first made up exclusively of American appointees. Elections for an all Filipino upper house were held just two months after the passage of the Jones law. This marked the symbolic beginning of a process referred to as Philippinization, the purpose of which was to rapidly replace all American civil servants in the Philippines with American trained Filipinos. At the end of which, it was presumed the United States would grant the Philippines its independence. Before I proceed an important note, all members of the upper and lower house belonged to a single political party, the Partido Nacionalista, which was first organized as a vehicle for Philippine independence. I will henceforth simply refer to members of the party as Nacionalistas. Following the passage of the Jones law, the colonial government under Wilson worked steadily towards Philippinization. Uncertainty, however, loomed on the horizon in the form of the 1920 presidential election. Would Republicans recount on Wilson's promise to grant the Philippines its independence? In 1920, as Nacionalistas had feared, Republicans retook the executive office. Even worse, the president-elect was Warren G. Harding, the former chair of the Senate Committee on the Philippines and a hardline retentionist. As you can see, however, by the time that Harding was inaugurated, the number of Americans serving in the Philippine insular government had drastically dwindled. Whatever Harding's desires were, Nacionalistas had carefully prepared for the likely election of a Republican president. The centerpiece of their preparations was the construction of a legislative building. Currently, the Philippine legislature met in the Intendencia, the old seat of Spanish colonial governance, which is actually just pictured in the middle of this image here. Simply occupying the Intendencia was viewed by Nacionalistas as an insufficiently powerful symbol. National independence had to take on the appearance of an organic and creative act. Planning began with the selection of a site, which was right here. According to Burnham's original plan, the site was originally intended for the National Library. And I just wanna walk you through the main elements of the plan. This is the old walled city here in Trumiros. This was where the location of the Intendencia. This was to be the original location of the legislative building with the executive office in the center and the two houses on either side. This was to be a series of executive bureaus. And surrounding the old city was to be a series of cultural institutions and municipal institutions, the city hall is there. And then these were supportive offices and actually unique to Burnham's master plans was an entire wing dedicated to the judicial branch of the government. So a design for the library had actually already been developed by Ralph Harrington Doan, the last American consulting architect to serve in the Philippines. Indeed, this is why the site was chosen with only four years before the presidential elections, there wasn't enough time to develop a brand new plans for the legislative building, let alone to begin construction. Thus, National Leases decided to convert the library into the new home of the Philippine legislature. By the time of Harding's inauguration, the legislative building's foundation piles had already been driven into the ground. The optical strategy was obvious. The massive building would be too conspicuous a project to halt without stirring controversy. It would present to the world that Philippine self-determination was not only possible but already extant. Conversely, it would make the American insular regime appear redundant, outdated, and unwelcome. But how would, indeed, how could such a building be presented as an argument for Philippine national sovereignty when it so clearly followed the patterns of a U.S. colonial regime that was still very much in power and designed as it was in the very image of monumental Washington. This absurdity was built into the U.S. colonial project from the very beginning. U.S. officials had difficulty reconciling the annexation of the Philippines with its historical identification as a Democratic Revolutionary Republic. The Democrats and their Nassim Lista collaborators, however, viewed this building not as a monument to national sovereignty as such, but as a monument to the process of Philippinization. The architect's charge then was not to express a will to Philippine nationhood but to tow the line between a desire for sovereignty and a gratefulness to a magnanimous imperial power. The defining difference between the Philippinized architecture and the colonial architecture that preceded it can be reduced to the fact that it was designed, built, and occupied by Filipino bodies. Perhaps no one articulated the significance and nature of Philippinization as precisely as Karmie Thompson, who was then acting as President Calvin Kluge's surrogate in the Philippines. In a speech on the day of the building's inauguration, Karmie announced, and I quote, you have this day consecrated a new home for your deliberations, and your friends across the sea will point with pride to this structure as an index of your material progress. Indeed, the pro-independence lobby in Washington, DC would refer to the legislative building as having been designed by Filipino brains and built by Filipino hands. Though the legislative building was presented as a convincing argument for national sovereignty, it also marked the thematization of the native body. Thompson's emphasis on Filipino brains and hands presented the building not as an architectural accomplishment in itself, but as an extension of the body of the native architect. The body in question belonged to the architect Juan Aladiano, who designed the building in his capacity as the first Filipino co-supervisor of the architectural division of the Bureau of Public Works. His co-supervisor was Tomas Bautista Mapua. Both had already worked for the insular government under their American predecessors. Both Mapua and Araliano had received at least part of their education in the U.S. Mapua graduated from Cornell in 1908 as one of the first products of the Pensionados program, which arranged for participating American universities to waive tuition while the U.S. government paid for travel and living expenses. Upon the completion of their studies, Pensionados were required to serve at least 18 months of government service. Araliano took a less direct path towards the Bureau of Public Works. Born into a cosmopolitan family of Filipino elites, Juan was first exposed to the architectural profession through the work of his father, Luis C. Araliano, an accomplished master builder and assistant to the Catalan architect Joan Josep Ervas I. Eresmendi, who worked as Manila's municipal architect from 1887 to 1893. Following Araliano's father's sudden death, Araliano then just 13 years old quit school, taking a job drafting for the Bureau of Lands. After work hours, he studied painting under one of the Philippines' most acclaimed artists, Lorenzo Guerrero. In 1903, at the age of 16, Araliano sent a painting, Women Descending a Staircase to St. Louis, where it was placed on display amongst the work of other Filipino artists at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. In terms of visitor numbers and revenues earned, the Philippines exhibit at the St. Louis Exposition was the most popular exhibit. It was not, however, artistic accomplishments like those of Araliano's that were the main attraction. Rather, it was Filipinos themselves. More than 1,200 Filipinos arrived to St. Louis in connection with the massive Philippine reservation, an exhibit intended to introduce the American public to their new colonial possession. The symbolism of the reservation's plan was clear and here just I've outlined in red where the Philippine reservation was. The Philippines lay outside of this main area which was called the main picture and as you can see, the fair's neoclassical architecture which was visible from most points within the Philippine reservation served as a sort of civilizational backdrop for the reservation's quote unquote primitive architecture which we'll see in the next slide. Within the reservation, settlements and homes of the archipelago's varied inhabitants built out of materials imported from the Philippines and constructed by the displayed peoples themselves were arranged along a circuit leading the viewer past quote several stages of Filipino development. Four villages placed in a ring surrounding the central plaza represented Igarat, Negrito, the Sian and Moro groups. On the outskirts of the exposition was the camp of the Philippine Constabulary responsible for policing the Filipinos on display. At the center was Plaza Santo Tomas representing the most civilized aspects of Philippine society. In completing their journey through the exposition the fairguror would have experienced evolution as a temporally compressed spectacle. Five years after the St. Louis exposition Araliano made another appearance at another exposition though this time not as an artist represented by his work but as a colonial subject placed on display. Though little is known about Araliano's time at Jamestown it is almost certain that he came not as an example of a savage but as an example of a civilized native. I can say this though we don't know for sure with a fair amount of confidence because organizers of the Philippine exposition at Jamestown agreed to make amends with Filipino elites who considered St. Louis a fiasco. Drawing a revealing analogy one angered nationalista Vincenti Nepomuceno argued the Moros, the Negritos and Igorotes no more represent the Filipinos than the dying Indian represents the people of the United States. As a result fair organizers agreed to exclude Igorotes and Negritos but insisted on the inclusion of the Muslim Moros an exception I will return to shortly. Thus Araliano's cohort of Hispanias and Christianized Filipinos presented their own developed bodies as proof of civilization and in the absence of members of its own dying races of savage minorities. Philippine racism towards its own internal others was not a new phenomenon. In their pursuit of political rights during the Spanish colonial era elite Filipinos put themselves up as examples of Philippine society at large by demonstrating their civilization through their education, sartorial sophistication, artistic achievement, athleticism, eloquence in Spanish and loyalty to Spain. The problem with this glancing attack on Spanish imperial racism was that it predicated political rights on socio-cultural features deemed as civilized ultimately delimiting the boundaries of who could be recognized as representative of the nation. This distinction is further objectified during the US colonial occupation as we can see here in the 1903 Philippine census which draws a very hard line between the archipelago's civilized and wild populations. Whatever the case, Jamestown for Araliano was an indignity he was willing to endure. The price he paid for a ticket to the United States where he intended to study architecture. His eventual destination was Philadelphia where he took a job at the Philadelphia Commercial Museum as a photocolorist to support himself while he pursued his architectural studies at Drexel Institute. When Araliano returned to the Philippines in 1916 he took a job at the Bureau of Public Works eventually taking control of the architectural division of the Bureau. It bears reminding that when he took this job it was only a decade after he placed himself on display at Jamestown. That is to say, by the time that Araliano began his job at the Bureau of Public Works he had experienced on an extraordinary and intimate level the burdens of serving as a model for the nation or in finance words, the burdens of triple personhood. This was a burden he felt acutely on July 16th, 1926, the day he celebrated the inauguration of his largest and most important commission to date the Philippine legislative building. A few months after the inauguration of the legislative building, pro-independence lobbyists invited Araliano back to the United States. This time he was accompanied by his wife, the singer Natividad Ocampo de Araliano, who assisted him in championing the Nacionalista cause. Working as a sort of conjugal team, Natividad sang in concerts while Juan's paintings, sketches and architectural renderings were exhibited at the House Office building. Catching wind of these events, the New York Times ran a short article about Araliano titled, noted architect once posed as wild man at Jamestown. The piece detailed the seemingly miraculous transformation of Araliano, who 20 years after, and this is a quote, 20 years after he first landed in the United States from steerage as a brown-skinned wild man, would return to the United States as a sort of valedictory homecoming. In the article, Araliano's accomplishments, his graduation from an American university, the prizes that he won, his general command of ancient classic lines, dramatized his fictionalized metamorphosis from a wild man into a cultured individual. Far from presenting Araliano's accomplishments as his own, the article instead served to confirm the success and progressive nature of the American colonial project at the precise moment that the United States wished to frame its withdrawal from the Philippines, not as the admission of a historical error, but as evidence of a civilizing mission accomplished. Though his reaction to the Times article is unknown, it is difficult to imagine that Araliano would have been pleased with either posing as a wild man or being called a wild man even if in the past tense. What is certain is that Araliano understood the peculiar constraints of his position. Though narratives of American development of the Filipinos served Americans best, it also advanced the cause of an elite-driven independence movement for which Araliano served as a highly symbolic advocate. That is to say, Araliano understood the strategic value of presenting his own success, even his own body as an accomplishment of his colonizers. But now let us turn to what Araliano actually designed. As I mentioned earlier, Araliano did not design the building from scratch. The legislative building was a redesign of the National Library by his American professor, predecessor, Ralph Harrington Dunn. Araliano's most obvious modification was to the building's portico. Dunn's original design consisted of a simple projection topped by a pediment adorned with a modest shield at its center. Araliano replaced Dunn's simpler portico with an elaborate version that borrowed from the conventions of the triumphal arch. His most direct precedent was very clearly the Trevi Fountain, which Araliano would have seen during his travels through Europe. As a classical type wholly dedicated to communication, the triumphal arch incorporates redundant structural components that support a superimposed semantic structure. Though Araliano's portico is not an arch, the columns do perform redundant duties, bearing both the actual and symbolic weight of the four figures positioned above the capitals, who represent what Philippinologists then considered the four sources of Philippine culture, Chinese, Hindu, Spanish, and Anglo-Saxon. Above the attic, two figures representing the arts and sciences flank a globe on which a Philippine eagle perches. Notes to the triumphal, nods to the triumphal arch take the form of two exedra, each of which house a sculpture, the first entitled home and the second entitled progress. Collectively, these bodies represent a national body, but what did these bodies look like and on what model were they built? The answer is far from straightforward. Starting around at least the late 19th century, the candidate itself was increasingly challenged by the emerging fields of anthropology and ethnology, as seen, for example, in the racialized structural rationalism of Ville Le Duc. For Le Duc, the source of style and structure was not universal, but climatically particular, an ideal encapsulated by Le Duc's concluding exhortation in the habitation of man of all ages to know thyself. To know oneself in this case was not a matter of introspection, but to familiarize oneself with one's own body as an ethnological object, as an environmentally or nationally contingent object. But as anthropologists and practicing in the Philippines knew, the one-to-one relationship between the habitat and the inhabitant was not as clear a diagram as Le Duc presented it to be. And this internal heterogeneity posed a problem to the emerging modern conception of the nation. One of the most important founders of the modern nation state was Woodrow Wilson, who as a history professor at Princeton, once presented Philippine heterogeneity as a condition that disqualified a Filipino claim to national sovereignty. In Woodrow Wilson's words, no people can form a community or be subjected to common forms of government who are as diverse and as heterogeneous as a people of the Philippine Islands. They are of many races, of many stages of development, having nothing in common except that they lived for many hundreds of years under a government which arrested their development. And of course he's referring to the Spanish. As president and more to the point as a president who ultimately promised the Philippines its independence, Wilson had to resolve his early diagnosis of an arrested Philippine development with a campaign promise to leave the Philippines. Wilson's answer to this contradiction was a transitional process of development. Though today we mostly associate development with the post-war era and understand it in mostly economic terms, as I argue in more detail in my book, race was the first object of development practice, the tools of which were education and environmental modification in the form of landscape, architecture and public works projects. As suggested by the image above, education and environmental design could be marshaled towards racial development to act directly on race itself. A second nature enriched by US industrial progress would act as an accelerator of evolutionary time. This developmental framework enabled the US to propose forms of intervention that did not require formal colonial sovereignty. Now we may turn to the legislative building which plays a special role vis-à-vis race development not as environmental agent but as a symbolic projection of its ideal end. To answer what Wilson identified as a problematic heterogeneity, Arrolliano presented a future racial unity. This aim of a future racial unity is most clearly articulated in the building's two identical pediments. Here the Filipino national body is depicted not as one but as three figures, representing the archipelago's three principal island groups. The female figure at the center represents Luzon, to her right sits a male figure that represents Mindanao and to her left is a female figure representing the Visayas. Luzon's sceptre and elevated position identify her as a sovereign. Luzon's regal stoicism is juxtaposed with the defiant expression of Mindanao. Visayas meanwhile cast her gaze downwards in a fully deferential posture. Mindanao and the Visayas face away from each other, illustrating a mythologized conflict between them. Historically, both the Spanish and American colonial regimes regarded the Visayans as the victims of centuries of moral violence. This perception was shaped by the successful Christianization of the Visayans and the largely unsuccessful attempts to colonize and Christianize the moros. Placing Luzon in the center positioned the lowland Filipinos of Luzon as the only paraphrase to protect both defeat and feminize the Visayans and to exert control over the masculinized and martial culture of Mindanao. Here, national stability required that the Christianized Tagalog from Luzon mediate between the moral threat and the Visayans subservience. Depicting subservience as negative was actually new. Under both US and Spanish colonial regimes, obedience was a highly regarded character trait. In the context of national sovereignty however, Visayans submissiveness was viewed as a threat to stability equally as problematic as moral aggression. Luzon is here presented as a power responsible for managing this internecine tribal conflict. This allegory served the purposes of a self-identifying native elite dominated by Tagalogs from Luzon. A group that was both reliably amenable to American political and economic goals and protective of their own claims to power. Luzon, Mindanao and the Visayans do not sit alone but are flanked by personifications of learning, law, commerce and agriculture from left to right. They recline and casual repose somewhat indifferent to the national trio. It is the national trio that must attend to these figures. The defined Mindanao must heed the lesson of law and learning and Visayans draped in a fine cloth of native fiber for which the region is known must follow the lead of commerce and agriculture. The nation in other words must orient itself towards these universal values depicted here as figures racially distinct from the national figures. Perhaps unique to national personifications is that attributes include not only signifying objects but more importantly, costume and ethnographic features. Luzon wears a Barotsaya, a 19th century hispanized version of pre-colonial dress. Noticeably, Luzon's dress is not as fine as that worn by the Visayans and not to the aforementioned weaving skills of the Visayan women. Mindanao, to Luzon's right, is depicted as a male warrior. He wears a form-fitting shirt and holds a Chris, the traditional weapon of the Moros. His sarong and headdress indicate both his geographical origins and his Muslim faith. The native dress of Arleano's national trio differs from both the politicized sartorial choices of the 19th century illustratos, from which means the native elite and illustratos translates literally to enlightened ones. And from the dress of the so-called wild or savage tribes shown in the bottom row, these images are pulled from a major feature in national geographic. Images of these groups that we see in the bottom row appear nowhere in the building. The dress of the national trio splits the difference between these two poles, presenting distinctive those civilized character-giving forms of national expression. Working out which groups were fit for leading a nation was a task worked out self-consciously in the context of Wilsonian internationalism. This was an order sorted out on a global map of nested hierarchies, one in which the Anglo-Saxon assumed a position at the top, while other dominant ethnic groups ordained as relatively more civilized assumed sovereignty over their own national subalterns. This was, in short, a global systematization of techniques of racial management. Thus, though Wilson is celebrated, even today, as a hero of Philippine independence, his advocacy should not be viewed as a cause he championed on account of a belief in racial equality. It was, to the contrary, a means of instantiating race as the basis of a new world order. Within this system, claiming authorship over the idealized native body or the self was a prerequisite for national self-determination. Unlike the native costume, which presents the three figures as culturally distinct, the ethnographic features of the trio were intended to unite them. This is important because for Wilson and others, racial unity was the legitimizing basis of the modern nation state. Just a quick morning, the next slide contains images of human remains. In order to flesh out this racial unity, Arwell Liano and his collaborators turned to ethnological and anthropological descriptions of the typical Filipino. It is likely that they used the work of Henry Otley Byer, who is today still referred to as the Dean of Philippine Anthropology. Byer describes the typical Filipino as a uniform melee type, possessing a medium stature, excellent muscular development, broad shoulders, slender waist, small-handed feet, brown complexion, straight black hair, with virtually no beard or mustache, and black or brown eyes set rather slanting under an intelligent brow. Like many others, Byer viewed the Moros, the majority population in Mindanao, in his words as not savages, but barbarians. Undoubtedly of the same racial stock as the Christianized and Civilized Filipino, though occupying a much lower cultural level. The inclusion of the Moro of Mindanao as part of the national trio demonstrates that it was race and not culture that determined one's eventual eligibility for Philippine citizenship. What we are looking at here is the acceptance of racial diversity only within the circumscribed limits of a hypothesized difference. Such were the mixed terms of legitimizing the power of the nation within a barely diminished Western imperial scaffold, a scaffold frankly represented here by the neoclassical pediment that encloses the entirety of this racialized composition, a striking illustration of Fanon's triple-person schema, one in which Arrolliano is made responsible not only for his body, but for the body of his Tagalog ancestors and for his race, but for fabricating an objectified image of it. Arrolliano, however, was not directly responsible for modeling the figures of the pediment. Beyond sketches and a few directives, Arrolliano left the execution of all his sculptural groups to a set of collaborators. He was not, Arrolliano was not confident that native talent could execute at the unprecedented scale of the building's pediment in order to ensure its successful completion, Arrolliano hired a German sculptor, a man by the name of Otto Fischer-Credo, to both execute the sculptures and to train native Filipino assistants. Fischer-Credo was a recent graduate of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and had previously attended Berlin's Akademie der Kunst. Though classically trained when Fischer-Credo came to the Philippines, he was immediately charged with assimilating the anthropological challenge to the classical tradition. This surplus of ethnological information available to Fischer-Credo did not seem to help him very much. There's a distinct awkwardness to Fischer-Credo's Filipino figures. Luzon is more chair than body, a scaffold for a native costume. Her stiffness is echoed by Mindanao's strange proportions and flattened block-like head. Visayas is the most elegant of the three, but even her posture seems uneasy when compared to the classical figures that flank the Philippine trio. It is not only the modeling of these figures that is awkward, so is Araleano's composition. The national trio is separated from the classical figures by pedestals that serve no allegorical function except to create space between the figures. This distance illustrates that the reconciliation of the post-colonial nation's interracial principle with the classical ideal would not be misinterpreted as a sort of physical intimacy, even if merely symbolic. Today, Fischer-Credo is an obscure figure, a legacy that in the Philippines is intentionally shrouded by the compulsion to attribute Filipino art and architecture to Filipino brains and hands. More often than not, his apprentice, Ramon Martinez, is credited as the author of his pediment sculptures. Despite this, Fischer-Credo's imprint on the Philippines was lasting. Conversely, his work in the Philippines deeply influenced the direction of his own career as constructing personifications of the nation through a representation of race would become for him both a specialty and lifelong pursuit. Fittingly, in 1938, Fischer-Credo then living and working in New York caught wind of new opportunities for artists in his homeland. Back in Germany, he joined legions of German artists whose practice would be defined by the consolidation of race with nation. As an official sculptor for the Third Reich, both Heinrich Himmler and Adolf Hitler sat for him. This is a bust of Hitler that was actually sold in 2006 and the other image is of an Asiatic head, which was recently deaccessioned at UBC in Vancouver. However striking, this is not a story that can be reduced to what may seem an astonishing coincidence. Importantly, it reverses what has long been a perception that particularly dangerous strains of post-colonial nationalisms were inspired or followed the emergence of post-World War I European nationalisms. What the story of Fischer-Credo reveals is a global emergence of modern ethno-nationalisms. For the purposes of architectural history, the historical currents that shaped the biographies of Aureliano and Fischer-Credo offer us a new clue on how to reassess histories of both the architecture of the nation and internationalism. On the left, we have the native's demonstration of a mastery of a Western classical idiom populated by native figures. And on the right, we have a classicism starved of character and endowing ornament. This lack of specificity was part of an attempt to derasinate a Western claim to civilizational origins. We should understand the proliferation of bodies on the left and the stripping of ornament on the right as a single architecture head in in opposite directions. In the post-war period, Aureliano's ornamental bodies reappear in the work of other Filipino architects as a nativism realized in tectonic form. Internationalism, meanwhile, is represented as represented as an expression of pure structure, the formalization of a universalizing technological progress. Despite the common origin of these architectures, they are presented as not only formal but ideological opposites when they are, in fact, strictly speaking, organs of the same organization. Let us now swerve back to the legislative building, which I compare here with the US Capitol building and with Edward Lovett Peirce's Irish House of Parliament, which I'm sure you didn't expect to see. It's included here because Peirce's design was the first legislative building to include two separate chambers for a bicameral legislature. In Peirce's parliament building, the lower house holds pride of place while the upper house, occupied mostly by Anglo-Norman lords, loyal to the English crown, distorts the classical body. Compare this to Thornton's plan for the US Capitol building, which maintains an outward semblance of symmetry while distorting the Palladian diagram to accommodate a dynamic balance of power. In Aureliano's legislative building, we see the return of a perfect symmetry. Though bilateral symmetry is, of course, typical of Bozar plans, it is of particular significance here. Aureliano achieves this symmetry by placing the upper house on top of the lower house. Aureliano's motivation to return a perfect symmetry to the plan was not merely architectural but reflected a new hierarchy introduced to assuage fears of the unpredictable and unruly powers of the ethnos, a racialized population whose political activation is represented by Aureliano and Fischer-Credo's pediment. The importance of this hierarchical order is not only instantiated by the Senate's actually higher position within the building but is emphasized by the Senate Hall's soaring proportions and elaborate decorative program, which I compare in this slide to the relatively modest chambers of the lower house. The Senate session hall was conceived as the sanctum sanctorum of a native elite, a cadre of representative men who were to act as the guiding lights for the ethnos. The ornamental program was intended to valorize a restrained and dispassionate intellect which is articulated not with a generic racialized ideal as is the case with the pediment but rather by portrayals distinguished by their individual character. The room's entire ornamental program was developed and executed by the atelier of Isabella Tampinko, a master wood carver best known for his intricately carved church ceilings. Because of time, we will limit today's discussion to the frieze which you see here just under this halo of naked incandescent bulbs. The frieze is occupied by an unprecedented gathering of 16 global lawmakers plucked from both modern and ancient history, presiding over the most symbolically important positions were the figures on the western and eastern walls. On the western wall was Woodrow Wilson holding a copy of his 14 points and Pope Leo XIII who created a new arch diocese in the Philippines in 1903. On the eastern wall facing the senators were two Filipino figures, Apollonario Mabini, the only recently deceased lawyer and revolutionary leader known as the Brain of the Revolution and Datu Calantiao, whose legal code dating back to 1433 had recently been discovered and transcribed in a 16th century Spanish manuscript. When the manuscript was first discovered in 1913, historians scrambled to include Calantiao's legal code in Philippine textbooks. This discovery could not have come at a better time for Filipino nationalists who often found themselves with no recourse when faced with arguments that legitimize colonial rule by pointing to the indigene's lack of a verifiable civilizational inheritance. As it would turn out, this cosmic gift from the heavens was too good to be true. In the late 60s, an American PhD student who, and they always ruin everything right, studying at the University of Santo Tomas successfully defended a dissertation that argued that Calantiao and his legal code were pure fabrications, invented in 1912 by a Filipino trickster priest and philological hobbyist named Jose E. Marco who sold the fake manuscript for a fabulous sum to the Chicago industrialist, Edward E. Eyre. The manuscript was until 1960, actually considered one of the crown jewels of the Newberry Library in Chicago. It was a disheartening blow for the Filipino elites desperate to endorse a great civilizational past. But is this fake any different from the manufacture of myth and meanings seen throughout the legislative building? Though historians assented to the discovery of Jose Marco's forgery by quietly removing his presence from Philippine textbooks, there's a great deal to learn from Calantiao. As Akbar Abbas argues, the fake is a symptom that enables us to address rather than to dismiss some of the discrepancies of a rapidly developing and seemingly ineluctable global order. Abbas asks us to think of the fake as a social, cultural and historical response to the processes of globalization and to the uneven and unequal relations that globalization has engendered. In this light, the belief in Calantiao is symptomatic of a pathology that is the outcome of impossible demands placed on post-colonial nationals who must provide not only proof of their own development but also of a significant contribution to world history with an ancient history markedly preferred. Now let us consider the freeze in its totality. Its multiculturalism seems to conform to contemporary calls for inclusiveness. For example, we can easily see these figures as a basis of a survey on the global history of law. This diversity, however, does not come without conditions. One of the most problematic of them being the imposition of a civilizational history as a standard for inclusion. To conclude, we will return to the United States, though I should point out we never really left. The image above is of William Howard Taft in front of, oh, sorry, actually, this is the wrong image. Sorry, the image above is of William Howard Taft in front of what was his last great accomplishment, a freestanding Supreme Court building, a collaboration with his close friend, the architect, Cass Gilbert. Though William Howard Taft is best known for being the fattest president to occupy the office, it is far more remarkable that he is the only president to serve as the Chief Justice for the US Supreme Court and as the first civil governor general of the Philippines. Because of time constraints, my connection here will remain suggestive. Throughout his political career, Taft remained keenly interested in the affairs of the Philippines, especially as it related to architecture and interest that he developed during his close collaboration with Daniel Burnham. Here, the sculptor Adolf A. Weinman assembles a group of world leaders conspicuously similar to those selected for the legislative building Senate Session Hall. Sorry, I don't know if I made it clear. This is the freeze that's on the interior of the main chamber of the Supreme Court building. Whether or not the influence was direct and I suspect that it was, the takeaway remains the same. What we are seeing here is an attempt to articulate a relationship of a nation to its political institutions of internationalism, a political reconfiguration that includes if it does not begin with the ascent of the formerly colonized to the new structure of empire. To really conclude, my aim tonight has not been to argue for this history's inclusion within a global history. Rather, I have attempted to present this history as itself part of a history of inclusivity in order to demonstrate how inclusion with an asterisk should also be understood as a part of a history of a colonial violence or it could be, let's say, captured by powers that impose colonial violence. The asterisk appended to this inclusion is one that requires self-thematization as the price of admission. Fanon himself never quite accepted nor did he ever fully reject his own self-thematization, his triple personhood. The thematization of his body is not what he wanted. He did not want to be an object. In his words, he wanted simply to be a person among other persons. At the same time, he accepted and affirmed his own objectification on an intellectual level because racial inequality persists. There are, Fanon realized, no alternatives to triple personhood. The history that I have presented today, today, one of expert mimicry, specious heritage, genius fakes and master performances, resists admission into a historical canon, a carefully infected body that nevertheless both claims and demands authenticity. A better understanding of the world, its requirements and how we work as architects and historians within it will require not only inclusive histories, but also entirely reconstructed ones. This process of reconstruction will begin with a recognition that all of history, including this one, belongs not to a particular people, but to all of us. Diana, I first want to thank you for an illuminating, engaging and complex lecture that thinks with legal documents, sculpture, plaques, freezes, pediments, buildings themselves, which we see more rarely, plans and paintings, about possibly the largest of questions that architecture as a discipline and we as historians confront. That is to think, sit with and theorize architectural histories of the racial state, to analyze its present, its past, and to recognize, as you say, that quote, all of history, including this one, belongs to all of us. In a short formal response, I want to mark that with this lecture, you make a critical argument for me about questions of the canon, taking a decided stance beyond and in a way against the framework of adding. Rather, you call for serious interrogation to render legible strategies that mobilize and deploy systems of oppression, including in architectural registers and in specific and in the specific context of the racial state. Architecture is not a mirror image or a contingency in this nexus, but central to it. You say that in the larger context of your book, quote, race was the first object of development practice, the tools of which were education and environmental modification in the form of landscape architecture and public works projects, end of quote. Toward the conclusion that we just heard, you further explicate this point, arguing that quote, while nativism realized in tectonic forms and expression of poor structures, the formalization of the race-nated technological process, seem, so I'm stressing seem to be ideological opposites, but were in fact, organs of the same organization and remain so. And the reasons for this seeming opposition is clear. Has it been established as the through line in architect writing, for example, in so many texts on tropical architecture? For me, that's one of the many theoretical questions and theoretical contributions in your lecture tonight is your insistence, your way of making us see that both of these architectural expressions are two sides of the same coin or organs of the same organization and not ideological opposites. They are, in your words, global system meditation of techniques of racial management and ways to itterize racialization as its fundamental basis from in this talk, the late 19th century, and its analog techniques in the post-war period. That left Matton's work was uniquely dedicated to the history and theory of modernity. Your lecture tonight for me is a reminder of one of the important points of his modernity unbound. That is, in so many ways, that your work theorizes and historicizes the need to document not only how, and now I'm quoting Martin's, the monolithic construct of modern architecture and how it began to crack, but to produce the historiographic work to untangle histories of modernity while highlighting how much there's still to do for architectural historians. Staying with Martin's, I want to thank you for a lecture that, and again, I'm quoting, open up material we thought we knew. It would be impossible for me to think of the US capital, for example, without thinking of the Philippines now, and I think that it's really important, and you've insisted to me that this is a US history, and I really understand how you're kind of plotting this for us, and that familiarizes us with works and figures that will be, at least I have so far not come to know. In doing so, and at the same time, you've also shown that it is necessary to quote, keep the material open rather than closing it down once more. So to get our conversation started for tonight, I want to pose three questions and then we'll field questions from the audience one by one. The first concerns the longer arc of your book, and I thought maybe we can actually do it in reverse. I'll maybe ask the first question, maybe the last question that we might discuss. So the first concerns the longer arc of the book, and to place the history of racialization you've laid out tonight in conversation with the histories of global development you cite towards the end in the post-war period. I'm also interested here in how histories of militarization in the Philippines that continue actual hard fought rebellions that you mentioned in the beginning of your talk, the violent quashing of them by the American government, first in 1898, square with the history you've narrated and also with continued and tacit forms and active forms of violence that your book overall covers. My second question is a fact that you noted in one of our previous conversations and I hope it's okay. I share this with the larger group. Those are, and maybe this will bring us elsewhere, but I thought to put it on the table, the co-constituent histories of US settler colonial violence and colonial violence in the architectural and political personnel that you found to be linked through strategies and spatial histories and spatial technologies. And then finally I'm also wondering if diasporic histories and methodologies and you also flag those in the beginning, resistant histories maybe, where and are and have been useful to you in thinking with politics of language and visual reality you encounter, the fact that there today between 100 and 200 languages commonly spoken in the Philippines and that life and culture created on more than 7,000 islands. I also have a question what that means for your research. I found the moment, the plaque that you started with incredibly important as a technique of resistance from the plaque to the trick. And so in addition to careful wordsmithing and these type of tricks that moves are there other instances you've come across that push back openly against the colonial state, questioning its very foundations in small acts and actions including maybe repair, stewardship, maintenance of cultural and even maybe environmental practices or assertion of language. Thank you so much Diana and I'm really looking forward to the discussion. I might start with sort of the response to the last question about other pushback too. I mean and as I suggested that the resistance to first to Spanish and then American and then to colonialism and then to Philippine national hegemony is never extinguished and this is particularly pronounced with indigenous communities and with the Moro communities sort of historically in the Philippine South. Obviously that hasn't been my focus today but I mean a lot of people are doing this work actually will Davis up there. He's looking at especially indigenous communities who are resisting the construction of dams which are sort of sponsored at first by the World Bank and the IMF and now sponsored by Korean and Chinese development agencies and sort of modeled after the IMF in many ways and so yes, I mean this is something that I'm both interested in and care about but is not necessarily the focus of my own scholarship but it is important to note that in fact like that resistance is always there and I think in my own work I think I am actually as I just got my reader responses back trying to rebalance the archive and in a sense like to make sure that no work should actually be without that view sort of robustly represented and so that is I guess the direction of my edits. The first question I had my pen ran out of ink justice I was trying to record your second question. So, but you had a question about militarization. It's really interesting that of course is like a really interesting question right now. I mean the Philippines was always of interest to the United States mostly as a strategic position both in terms of its importance both in terms of it's providing access to a historically reticent Chinese market and also as a militarily important strategic point and we see that now of course because the United States has just announced and the Philippines has announced it's sort of welcome of the construction of new military bases in the Philippines in relation to the current threat of a Chinese takeover of Taiwan. And so this is a history that's ongoing and yeah and so that actually one of the last chapters in my book is dedicated to this particular aspect of sort of colonial history because it is one of the most persistent especially if we're talking about architecture and the built environment. Yes, I mean the, so it's in very early stages and I think Manuel might be watching right now. So if you are, hi Manuel. So Manuel and I are actually, he gave a talk in MIT and I just happened to notice like in a couple of his captions I was like, oh, what is that figure doing there? Is like a couple figures that overlapped in our archives. If Manuel Schwarzberg works on the Cahuilla Indians and David Barrows is the main figure who we're looking at and collaborating on a piece right now and he sort of got his degree at University of Chicago in anthropology studying that he wrote the first ethnobotany of the Cahuilla Indians and he ended up holding several different colonial offices in the Philippines and sort of the transfer of that knowledge from California to the Philippines is something that is of a particular interest to us. I mean one of, I mean in terms of an architecture history what's really totally fascinating which has fascinated us is the fact that I mean there's this sort of not very well known magazine called The Craftsman that was published out of California sort of coming out of William Moore coming out of arts and crafts. The first article is a republication I think news from nowhere and by Billy Morris of course and this was a California publication in the Philippines like actually the Department of Education actually published as a part of the colonial project a magazine called The Philippine Craftsman which was directly modeled after the California Craftsman and so on an aesthetic register this was something that a sort of knowledge transference that was being developed. Sorry for giving it away Manuel. Sorry. I think we'll open it up to questions from the audience. Lucia, I can revise my terminology. It was brilliant and especially a very tight sort of holding together of sort of repertoire of both colonial critique with architectural history as a planning history and also iconography. All of this reading of freezes. So sort of classicism is back of course it's not really back but yeah. So I'm very interested in this critique that you're making of the usual distinction between post-war internationalism and pre-war internationalism and again I applaud your drawing on these post-colonial theorists Fanon who's drawing from his experience with the French Empire and you have Akbar Abbas who's drawing from the British and then you have some Spanish stuff but I wonder if we couldn't actually think of the U.S. as a counter example which also never joined the League of Nations as you know it was his idea and then he didn't join and so maybe you're. He wanted to but the U.S. wouldn't have sent to it. Right so the U.S. was able to benefit from this interwar internationalism which was an institutionalized. You could get German sculptors and French trained you know whatever the softer internationalism was more part of it and so therefore the image that I have of your bureaucrats training the you know the bureaucrats are leaving behind is one where you're forcing them to do something else it's not recognition it's not Fanon it's not quite Akbar's it's the kind of forcing that you do when you force someone to look at iconography like you force people to look at sculpture that's very very different so it's a slightly different picture than what you're saying where there's simultaneously decorative racialized classicism and stripped Swiss classicism it's not quite that. It's true and yeah I mean I think and I found myself you know I just spent a lot of time with those pediments and I you know and and just had to think about them I didn't you know I didn't have a sort of methodological approach that I like like a pre-digested methodological approach that I brought to it but it's true in the sense that I like that was slowly revealed to me that this was essentially an exercise in soft power that was sort of specifically and so carefully calibrated as you know as an aesthetic practice and so yeah and I you know I thank you for that because you know it is let's say not you know maybe I need to do a deeper dive into other into other sort of parallel instances of this happening in other post-colonial nations but I don't know that it exists to this level I mean I just and so I think it is interesting that yeah and to you know one of my one of my problems that I keep reaffirming is US exceptionalism you know and on the one hand I keep wanting to disavow it right but then I'm the other hand I'm like oh my gosh this didn't happen anywhere else you know and I'm just like okay I just have to accept it. Exactly that and that is okay that is that's good I'm gonna write that down I got it works now. I have five pens now. Hi Diana thanks for a fantastic lecture. I have a question about your reading of the building itself that in a way maybe follows on Lucia's question about what we could call kind of different flavors of neoclassicism and obviously your reading of the building through the body both in terms of the subjectivity of the architect and the program of the freeze totally convincing but at the same time that slide you have of the legislative building in the League of Nations is really intriguing because there is such a contrast and so I'm just wondering if there's something slightly zoomed out kind of at the level of style or language that could be valuable to you because to me that difference suggests sort of two questions one is how the building would have been received you at some point you said sort of you know a direct quotation of monumental Washington and I'm curious if that's you know it's not the kind of rationalist federal neoclassicism which you know and it's quite baroque right it was interesting to see the Trevi fountain thing and then the other question just very quickly is if that intriguing fork in the road you posit is quite so simple or maybe limited to the question of the body or not the body because of course it seems like there's also a kind of temporal access right like leaving behind the body is also trying to leave behind history and modernism which does not make it progressive or any less imperialist but is maybe something to consider and then also just the whole question of ornament it's not just the sculptures it's you know the capitals et cetera and ornament itself of course is deeply racialized at this point so that could be interesting anyway I'd love to hear what you think about the question of style thank you. Well that's a lot of questions Julianne. Yeah actually the chapter before this focuses on non-figural ornament actually because interestingly Ralph Harrington Doan who was the last American architect to work in the Philippines did not include any Filipino figures in any of his architecture and so he was sort of left with the capitals of the equatoria like all of these sort of elements of neoclassical architecture to essentially attempt to articulate a tropical neoclassicism and so and which was of course deeply racialized and so but not as explicit as the bodies and I think yes different flavors of it's not strictly sort of a federal neocolonialism yes but why we're splitting hairs here Julianne. It yeah I could come up with like some kind of kind of answer to that but I feel like it would be disingenuous. Okay hello hello I thought it was a fantastic talk and I just really loved it. I was interested in sort of what you do with Philippine collaboration and collaborationist politics where illustrators I mean and by the 30s that's not even necessarily a word that folks would use are actually quite supportive of an American colonial project and adopt much of it as their own and so how does that and that's something that's just always true even from the beginning of the Philippine-American war and so I'm just wondering how that I didn't hear a lot about that and I'm wondering how it shaped your analysis. Yeah I mean so yeah I mean I guess I could have been more explicit about that but yes that this that there was this moment where I talked about how under the Republicans it seemed oppositional but in fact this began as a collaboration with Wilson but that almost sets up a false opposition. In fact there was collaboration with the Republicans as well there were different sort of models of colonial governance that the Democrats and the Republicans were trying to develop and so collaboration didn't look the same or have the same ambit but absolutely especially the native elite and I want to make that clear that this is what it's representing not a subaltern population or the morose or any other group who remained in opposition to US imperialism but as far as the mostly Tagalog native elite there was a yes absolutely in every corner a sort of collaboration is an enterprise and so and it benefited them right as the sort of new national hegemonic power. Absolutely brilliant from beginning to end so I just lower the tone with a sort of the end of the thing but it struck me that the the pediment is not very legible right you can almost not see it so I was interested in your reflections on that and I said to imagine well it was meant to be seen from the United States that would be more of a kind of a horizontal view and so you could see it but I noticed your analysis was you had this kind of spectacular sort of flat arm and so for example when you read when you described that the figures were slightly clumsy then I thought well might depend on the perspective but the question is something a little bit I mean I think one could pursue that a little bit more because it's a sort of you're analyzing bodies and if you think of the body of the spectator would it be right to say that the sort of triumphal entry is associated with the lower house and the pediment is associated with the upper house and so therefore the sort of in a way lack of legibility somehow relates to a kind of elitism in the most direct sense like up in the air is this higher resolution, racial resolution as you portray it right and down below it's sort of fun and games more sexualized, more it's a fountain like you know sort of Disney, it's sort of Disney at the beat and that's kind of at the level of stairs public you showed this beautiful image of a real crowd around that whereas one imagines I suppose that in the upper house there's a gallery but even access to that gallery would be highly limited so I just I mean just kind of trying to think like I suppose the question would be who's the audience for the decorative regime which you read like with the precision that was I think just exhilarating. So actually I did, it's interesting and that's part of what I edited out the fact that the pediment actually would only be visible from a very significant distance and as you can see from the original design of the library like there was no attention paid to the pediment and that is because it would have been invisible almost invisible to the audience and I feel like I don't have a straightforward answer for that except to say that there was this need to fill every single corner of this building with some sort of symbolic meaning and despite the fact that it wasn't visible you know that there was just still this compulsion or very visible and so because I've tried to contend with that like even in the photographs it's the only way you got that image straight on was it's a drone that's like the first and so that's like the first time it's been photographed that way and so and before that you just have these incredibly awkward images of it and so yeah I mean I don't know that I've fully contended with that yet but I mean I think was there a connection was there this idea that the Senate was supposed to respond to the pediment? I don't think so like because I think it would have been very hard I feel like to maintain I mean I can't say this for sure but it would have been hard to maintain that connection when you're in the interior I mean I guess where you sit in the interior maybe there's like some sense of that I do really feel like the audience despite the awkwardness of the perspective I do feel like the audience for the pediment is the ethnos versus the interior which was really this sort of this body of representative men as everyone said just the way you have traversed through the micro to the macro and back again is really magnificent I want to go to the middle because I think I have sort of a two-part question one is what happened to the organization of that interior when you go from the library which is again supposed to represent a certain national identity to the legislature and what happens when that what kind of reorganization when it was that American architect versus a Filipino architect and then I'm gonna make a jump to your wonderful piece in architecture and development to the you know because you made the league of nation modernism then now you in that piece you talk about the corporate modernism of the Rice Institute versus the regionalist national but both are national institutes of the coconut coconut story so that's a leap between you know that's so just a comparison first between the library to the legislator and then is there anything you want to say about the way in which the administrative those are all administrative institutes the library, the legislature, the side to the rice the coconuts yeah about the role that these institutions play within yeah there are I mean that's the thing I mean one of the it's incredibly convenient to use these examples right I mean because they present themselves as symbols and have an explicitly sort of ideological like desire to express an ideological point and so I mean I think you know maybe I should choose some I mean I really am just a one-trick pony so I really have to I really have to figure out like some other things to think about besides the architecture of these institutions but it is but it's true I mean I they present themselves as incredibly I mean they're a gift to historians in the sense that we are that it's interesting that even though that this is sort of these are sort of explicitly made arguments that they still managed to elude architecture history and so so yeah I mean I'm just I'm just here writing it down while we wait for another question from the audience I did have a question for you that maybe might be moot in terms of the question of visibility but when you were presenting today I also started to think about racialized notions of gender in the pediments and how the composition also seems to suggest a path like merely in directionality maybe of basically how this process of quote-unquote development will unfold so by that I mean on one hand I was starting to think that um I had a question around family maybe at the center um like the nation as family and then on the other hand also the really violent um gendered language that we see displayed both in through your narrative about people and in the sculptures that are portrayed in the pediments so I'm thinking especially of the feminists for example um yeah so yeah I yeah I think the nation as family is a really interesting one and it actually is invoked by so many different parties Woodrow Wilson famously family like League of Nations is based on this idea of a family of nations but I think the notion of family is interesting in the like there is this sort of variety of sexual tensions that are and tensions between gender present in the in the pediment um a sort of intent to suppress a sort of um you know with the sort of aggression of the Moorah of Mindanao it's very important that he's turning away from the female figures um and uh you know this is me reading a little more deeply into it and then um but also um you know that there's a sort of yeah I mean the sort of deference of of the Visayan figure I mean I think all of this is um a weirdly tied to I don't know if this is so much tied to family um but it's a weirdly um they they're trying to represent a sort of reproduction of the nation without suggesting that that happens with any sort of act of any sort of act that reproduction requires um and um and and that that the sort of Moors of like uh decency or just um yeah uh an attempt to um yeah uh sort of de-sexualize um the question of gender I was very struck by the fact that the three figures in the center of the pediments were almost non-gendered where after ones on the size of western figures uh one of the Renaissance convention of the you know female body model really like a male body and nude also yeah I think there's something really peculiar going on there that this is actually I I write about this um in the book it was edited out out of here it's it's strange that there are these like sort of conventions of modesty applied to the women in the center but her classical convention the women and men on the on the exterior are nude yes and yeah it's sort of extremely muscled and um and so yeah I I don't know that I actually thought of the musculature as much as I thought about the lack of clothing um but um but but it is profoundly strange I mean I think it's something I yeah I mean I think it's something that can definitely be yeah that I have to think about more oh yes yeah no we yeah I I I I bear the burden of that history every day Anna thank you so much for this talk I okay I'm so struck by your comment that um this episode resists you know sort of being admission into the canon and in that sense this text this billing kind of enact that if one can say a triple bind that the you know other the subject is in which is that which is that it's just never enough it's never authentic enough it's never canonical it's just never and so then by doing this work of writing this history kind of so one is you know the story you tell about how this is enacting a kind of disciplinary violence you know in terms of the field of architecture and architects being trained and I was so struck by the fact that uh Arilano Arilano Arilano Arilano Arilano Arilano sorry um is a colorist and then there's those images of uh colorized images of the from the national geographic and what is this work of like represent yeah it's just just throwing it out there but okay so there's a kind of disciplinary violence enacted by this work of producing this architect but then by recounting the story I imagine that you are also enacting a kind of disciplinary violence but in the field of architectural history and I want to know more about that I want to know about how you think about this you know telling a story that resists being told in any kind of I mean the thing is I I think one of the things I was thinking about is like how could this possibly fit within a canon it's like full of it's full of disingenuousness and fakes and it's like this it's this idea of um of total fabrication and um and uh you know and it's um and this is something I'm really interested in um but one that I I mean I I don't actually find it hard to imagine a class for example top by color um that where you would have a class like that would introduce the problem of fakes in architecture I mean I I don't think it could ever be a canonical um it could ever stand as a canonical um figure within architecture history though and and and in a sense like that that is um yeah I mean in a sense that is the sort of disciplinary violence I guess I intend to do right I mean I say this you know I say this with deep end the ambivalence because I teach an architecture history survey and I I've like resolved to come from the position of love like that's the only way the students will will take it um and uh but but I think um so trying to understand the relationship of this research work to um to uh to teaching is is one I I mean I feel like I'm constantly trying to contend with but yeah I have to figure that out I have to figure out what the consequences are to to the discipline and and what I what I want that to be but I don't know isn't attempting to just try reversing the argument right that the canon is the sort of preeminent zone of the fake hmm that's true right if you think I mean just start with um authorship the gendering of authorship so it's it's the rendering of mastery to to to a kind of fictitious figure who wasn't in fact involved in the production right so that would be one line another line would be there are no straight lines in the path and on so is that is its canonical state is the precision of its fakery right that the next one would be well anyway what about those columns pertaining to be trees like in other words we would have to do a kind of typo a kind of typology of fakery and then position your fake in the middle of it so it might not be it can't get into the canon because it's not a fake it might be it's a particular you know kind of fake yeah and and taking it one step further that fakeness wouldn't be as it were in the object but in its history and transformation and so on I think one of the beautiful qualities if I understood you right about the argument that when when the fake was exposed as a fake it didn't seem to lose its authority maybe for the museum in the states was a bit of a problem but it it in a way in a way the aura was magnified right so I'm just saying so in terms of your general claim it couldn't get in maybe it kind of gets in really fast yeah actually there's an interesting story about Kalantiao so I did say and I had to eliminate so many things for brevity like I did say that historians quietly removed Kalantiao from history textbooks but that's not actually completely true he remained in several Philippine textbooks and in fact Marcos who is after the discovery of Kalantiao's fakery actually introduces a Kalantiao medal for for sort of national accomplishments and so this is so it's profoundly weird moment I'm revealing moment yeah I mean the value I mean it somehow has not did not lose its aura I find that really confusing but but maybe it's even maybe it even yeah maybe it even exaggerated it yes it's a kind of side question but I think the answer is that the canon evolves or develops and so that New York Times headline you had it was so polite and so politically correct already whatever it was it was like in 1927 accomplished Filipino architect was once quote-unquote on display you know it was so can you talk about that a little bit that already the US is so quick and the press the liberal press is already so quick to be inclusive exactly yeah yeah I don't know if I I don't know if I can address that I guess maybe just to make it easier for you not highfalutin academic discourse or political discourse but just like popular culture cultural discourse where these perceptions are kind of consumed it's so it's it's totally I mean because it's St. Louis there was I you know the New York Times would have been exceptional in this regard I mean I think I should have included other sort of you know I the New York Times article was still problematic but a lot of articles published in St. Louis at the time and in California where the Igorots moved after they actually they actually were paid side shows like after the St. Louis fair specifically the Igorots and where they traveled you know the press followed and there was a far less polite treatment of them in the popular press and so yeah I mean I think in that in that regard this is the New York Times pieces well yeah that that was the thing is like the consumption of dogs was like a sort of ritual that was the thing in St. Louis that they it was actually like a ritual practice but then they were made to do it every day like twice a day performing that for others and so you know and it's there are many histories that include the sort of actual perspective of the people who were placed on display and those are actually very interesting and actually artists have looked at generations of the people afterwards placed on display and seen what happened to them because most of them in the United States and so it's yeah but to answer your question a variety of responses one last comment just as I was thinking about Athea's comment of that it's never enough and you reminding us to really take seriously what it means what a fake means and of responding to international and really global impossibilities and pressures I do wonder if aside from taking that seriously just maybe to mark that it's also a really creative act to imagine a legal framework and a past legal framework and to imagine into the void or to imagine I guess the impossible so I just wanted to say that because not all fakes are creative I guess thank you so much Diana