7 Sites of Mexico City’s Architectural Diversity, from Baroque to Brutalist

Mexico City is a flourishing metropolis with a plethora of historic and modernist architectural sites. Here are a few attractions scattered around the city.

A street at the center of Mexico City. Flickr user Franx’. CC BY-NC 2.0.

A Gothic cathedral sits next to a glassy business building. Brick houses with arabesque detailing overlook the noisy streets full of men in suits and street food vendors. Mexico City is growing every year; its multiplicity of neighborhoods hosts a variety of architectural styles and people from all over the globe. Often regarded as an oasis of modernity in the entirety of Latin America, this urban center has been labeled the “next Paris'' or as a new version of New York. Given its history of colonialism and its willful modernization under Porfirio Diaz, Mexico City’s compilation of architecture is oftentimes representative of its past and present. Here’s a cursory glance at a few of Mexico City’s sites of modernization, and the contradictions at play in these structures. 

The Central Library of the National Autonomous University on a gloomy day. Mark Hogan. CC BY-SA 2.0.

1. Central Library of the National Autonomous University

Juan O’Gorman’s Central Library of the National Autonomous University (UNAM) is a spectacle to behold. This behemoth holds the qualities of international modernist architecture: its 14-story frame sits above a glassy ground floor which looks over a neatly gridded yard. Yet, O’Gorman’s building doesn’t possess the stoicism of standard midcentury modern architecture; its distinctively Mexican-themed mural makes the building a historic storybook. Like a visual epic, the “Historical Representation of Culture” mural includes the expansive timeline of pre-conquest Mexico, the Spanish conquest, Mexican modernization and Mexico’s future. One can spot mosaics of the beginnings of Tenochtitlan, and the clash between pre-Hispanic Mexico and vehicles of Spanish colonialism. O’Gorman believed his mosaics of these cultural signifiers would make the library “different from the rest of the buildings within University City” by giving it a distinctly “Mexican character.” 

A corner of the exterior of Casa Luis Barragan. Forgemind Archimedia. CC BY 2.0.

2. Casa Luis Barragan

Casa Luis Barragan, which was built in 1948, looks as if it were suspended in time and space: colorful red walls jut into the placid blue sky, although they are immobile in detail and structure. Luis Barragan is a world-renowned architect whose eccentric architectural style can be recognized in his buildings’ solid colors, geometric shapes and sparsity of details. This vibrant house is a foil of O’Gorman’s direct homage to Mexico as a nation; it highlights formalist qualities over political values, which Barragan considered secondary to his architecture. Barragan is an expert at manipulating elements of nature. The play of shadows within the structure itself and the use of greenery turns an otherwise intimidating monument into a livable habitat. Although countless travel journals have attached Mexican modernist themes to Barragan’s home, it resists the supposed markers of “Mexican” aesthetics and remains a private site of great accomplishment.

Thousands visit the Basilica de Guadalupe daily. Alex Marduk. CC BY 2.0.

3. Basilica de Guadalupe 

Pedro Ramirez Vazquez’s seminal work, the Basilica de Guadalupe, is a sacred destination for thousands of Catholics around the world. The area it sits on, Tepeyac, was originally a place where Aztecs worshipped Tonantzin, or “the divine mother.” As a result of the suppression of Aztec religions during Spanish occupation, the Basilica de Guadalupe was built for Our Lady of Guadalupe who was said to have appeared before St. Juan Diego. The original colonial basilica was severely damaged in 1921 in a bomb attack, but Vazquez’s new Basilica de Guadalupe renovated the sacred site. This site was just one of Vazquez’s projects dedicated to industrializing Mexico, as shown in its modernist disk shape and the sheer mass of its structure.

Monumento a la Revolucion sitting at the city center. Ismael Villafranco. CC BY 2.0.

4. Monumento a la Revolucion

Located in the Cuauhtemoc borough of Mexico City, Monumento a la Revolucion is a stately memorial which celebrates the Mexican Revolution of 1910. Mirroring many of the United States’ federal buildings in Washington, the monument’s perfectly symmetrical Roman dome is fortified by brick pillars which meet at the four corners of the structure. Carlos Obregon Santacilia continued the project after it had been abandoned by both the state and the French architect they commissioned for the building, Emile Benard. Oliverio Martinez’s smooth sculptural representations of independence, reform, agrarian laws and labor laws protect the mausoleum on its four corners. In this marriage of neoclassical elements and Mexican nationalism, the Mexican government actively constructs its origin story via the conventions of Roman and French architecture.

Close-up shot of Martinez’s sculpture on Monumento a la Revolucion. Flickr user tchelseat. CC BY-NC 2.0.

A view of the facade of La Santisima Church. Wikimedia user Protoplasmakid. CC BY-SA 3.0.

5. La Santisima Church

La Santisima Church is covered in the Spanish churrigueresque style, which is the Baroque style that was dominant in Spain during the 18th century. Its facades are adorned with ornate carvings of the apostles, angels, Jesus and Mary placed in between its many columns. Although it appears relatively normal in a city full of extravagant churches, the distinctive religious iconography on its exterior deems La Santisima Church worthy of close attention.

Museo Soumaya shines brightly on sunny days. Flickr user Dan. CC BY 2.0.

6. Museo Soumaya

No piece of architecture screams “contemporary” like the Museo Soumaya. Museo Soumaya, which houses thousands of sculptures and paintings from pre-Hispanic Mesoamerica up to European impressionist works, is a piece of art itself. The Plaza Carso building in particular is an intriguing malformed shape dressed in millions of aluminum hexagons. Taking inspiration from Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim in New York, Fernando Romero designed the Plaza Carso as an enigma: the concept behind the work is intentionally vague, and the usefulness of its parabolic shape questionable. 

Front view of Museo Anahuacalli. Javier Castañón. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

7. Museo Anahuacalli

Although Diego Rivera is widely known for his painted murals, his exploration of three-dimensional design is just as noteworthy. Rivera’s Museo Anahuacalli was made of his own accord; Rivera wanted a space for his collection of over 50,000 relics of pre-Hispanic Mesoamerica. The style of the building is an amalgam of various Mesoamerican styles, taking inspiration from Teotihuacan and the temples of the Mayans and Aztecs. The exterior of the museum has the symmetry of neoclassical architecture, while its interior is heavily influenced by the Aztec pyramid. 

Many scholars speculate that the development of uniquely “Mexican” architecture, seen through Mexico City’s plethora of sites, stems from a desire for national representation. Mexico City’s postcolonial realities are found in its very infrastructure: one cannot ignore the presence of Catholicism, the reminders of a pre-Hispanic Mesoamerica, and the complications of deliberate industrialization. Juan O’Gorman’s library attempts to artfully marry the past, present and future. Casa Barragan is the work of a maverick who resists the narrative of a national architecture. The grandiose Basilica de Guadalupe is holy ground for millions of Catholics, yet it strays from the Gothic style of typical European cathedrals. 

The sheer amount of voices and styles in this sprawling metropolis is telling of its complicated relationship with modernization. There is no shortage of historic, formal, religious and artistic values in each of Mexico City’s buildings. 

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Heather Lim

Heather recently earned her B.A. in Literatures in English from University of California, San Diego. She was editor of the Arts and Culture section of The Triton, a student-run newspaper. She plans on working in art criticism, which combines her love of visual art with her passion for journalism.  

Unpacking the Nagorno-Karabakh Conflict and the Armenian Diaspora

The renewed conflict in the South Caucasus region has its roots in long-standing historical divisions between Turkey and Armenia. 

A view of Mount Ararat. West. CC2.0

Tensions between Azerbaijan and Armenia have been renewed due to the ongoing territorial dispute over Nagorno-Karabakh. Fighting started up again on Sept. 27 and has caused massive upheaval and casualties on both sides. Backed by Turkey, the Azerbaijani military bombed Nagorno-Karabakh’s regional capital of Stepanakert with intense artillery fire, while Armenia launched missiles at Ganja (Azerbaijan’s second-largest city), putting citizens in grave danger. Officials speculate that the last two weeks of fighting have proven to be the worst since a cease-fire was brokered by Russia in 1994. Although another cease-fire is a possibility, there is no prediction of what will come next. “Don’t discount the possibility of this turning into something much larger,” said Kevork Oskanian from the University of Birmingham in England. “Once a conflict like this kicks off, it has a dynamic of its own and you don’t know where it will go.”

A Brief History of the Nagorno-Karabakh Dispute

A map of the Nagorno-Karabakh region. Achemish. Wikimedia Commons. CC4.0

The recent fighting is a result of a renewed 32-year-long military conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia. The territory of Nagorno-Karabakh, also known as Artsakh to Armenians, contains a population of about 150,000. Although completely surrounded by Muslim-majority Azerbaijan, it is governed and claimed by Christian Armenians. Josef Stalin gave the territory to Azerbaijan in 1921 and made it an autonomous region two years later. Initially, the territorial dispute was not violent, as both Armenia and Azerbaijan were under the stronghold of the Soviet Union. However, nationalistic and militaristic tensions increased between the two nations when the USSR began to dissolve. The fighting began in 1991, which resulted in 30,000 casualties and over one million displaced. Although a cease-fire was agreed to in 1994, no official peace deal has been reached. Armenia is happier with the status quo than Azerbaijan, as it was able to reclaim 20% of surrounding land during the fighting in the ‘90s (shown in yellow on the map above). However, Azerbaijan still has a large population of people displaced by the fighting who want to return to their homes. 

Why Turkey is Supporting Azerbaijan

Azerbaijani and Turkish flags in Izmir, Turkey. Anzola. CC 2.0

Azerbaijan is often referred to as a little brother to Turkey, due to the two nations’ connections through cultural, linguistic and religious ties.The two have a relationship built on trade and mutual exchange. Azerbaijan provides a large portion of Turkey’s gas and oil, where the money in return is used to buy weapons from Turkey. Azerbaijan is currently using military weapons provided by Turkey to strike Nagorno-Karabakh, allowing Turkey to increase its political presence in the region. Underpinning Turkey’s involvement in the conflict are the events of 1915, where 1.5 million Armenians were killed under the direction of the Ottoman Empire (present-day Turkey), which many consider a genocide but Turkey denies. Many Armenians see Azerbaijan’s alliance with Turkey as a resurfacing of these events, providing an ultimate threat to their existence and statehood. 

The Conflict Reaches the Armenian Diaspora

An Armenian church in Los Angeles. Steeds. CC2.0

Although Armenia has a population of 3 million, the diaspora population is estimated to be much larger, with notable communities in Australia, Russia, Lebanon, France and Southern California. Although the events of 1915 resulted in mass migrations of Armenians around the world, the diaspora goes as far back as the Middle Ages. Throughout history, many Armenians migrated to new corners of the world due to political upheaval. Armenian merchants often traveled to trade and sell wares, playing a key role in the economies of China, India and Persia. Armenia’s long history of migration and displacement has resulted in a strengthened cultural identity in diaspora communities. Many notable Armenian celebrities, including Kim Kardashian and Serj Tankian, are strong proponents of the Armenian cause, posting on social media to raise awareness of the Nagorno-Karabakh dispute. Armenian lobby groups have held protests in Southern California, as well as asking Armenian-Americans to bring awareness of the conflict to representatives and congresspeople. Some Armenians even contemplate returning to their country to fight Azerbaijan. According to Alex Galitsky, part of the Armenian National Committee of America’s western region, “I think a lot of people see themselves as bearing some responsibility for the defense of our nation.” 

The conflict in Nagorno-Karabakh continues to escalate as nationalistic and militaristic tendencies fuel both sides. True peace will only be reached if Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan are willing to begin the difficult work of listening and embracing each other’s conflicting histories and narratives.

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Megan Gürer

Megan is a Turkish-American student at Wellesley College in Massachusetts studying Biological Sciences. Passionate about environmental issues and learning about other cultures, she dreams of exploring the globe. In her free time, she enjoys cooking, singing, and composing music.

VIDEO: Indonesia's Mentawai Tribe

To give Joshua Cowan’s film even deeper meaning, it’s important to understand context. Mentawai is an archipelago found off the west coast of Sumatra (Indonesia) consisting of approximately 70 islands and islets. The history of the people is often debated, but as early as 1954, under Indonesia’s goal of national unity and cultural adaptation, the National Government began introducing civilization programs designed to integrate the tribal groups into the social and cultural mainstream of the country. This, for native Mentawai, meant the eradication of Arat Sabulungan — the animist belief system that links the supernatural powers of ancestral spirits to the ecology of the rainforest — ; the forced surrender, burning and destruction of possessions used to facilitate cultural or ritual behavior; and their Sikerei (shamans) being disrobed, beaten, and forced into slave labor and imprisonment.

Under Pancasila — the official, foundational philosophical theory of Indonesia — the Indonesian state should be based on the Five Principles: Indonesian nationalism; Internationalism, or Humanism; Consent, or Democracy; Social prosperity; and Belief in One God. Based on the Indonesian notion ‘belief in one God’, there are officially only five religions recognized: Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. Which, for the Mentawai Islands, resulted in an immediate influx of missionaries and an increase in violence and pressure on the people to adopt change. In the end many chose Christianity due to its flexible views on the possession and consumption of pigs, which play an integral role in Mentawai history and culture.

By the late 1980’s loggers had devastated the forests of Sipora, North and South Pagai. In 1980, WWF (World Wildlife Fund) published a report entitled ‘Saving Siberut’ which, along with the support of other organizations – primarily UNESCO and Survival International – and other additional international interest, helped persuade the Indonesian government to cancel logging concessions and declare the forests of Siberut a biosphere reserve. With this, the people in the Mentawai found that they were once again free to practice their native cultural activities – at least in areas away from the villages.

However, by this point, and as it remains today, the number of Indigenous people still actively practicing the cultural customs, rituals and ceremonies of Arat Sabulungan had already been limited to a very small population of clans primarily located around the Sarereiket and Sakuddei regions in the south of Siberut Island.

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Raeann Mason

Raeann is an avid traveler, digital storyteller and guide writer. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Mass Comm & Media Studies from the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism & Mass Communication. Passionate about a/effective journalism and cultural exchange, she is an advocate of international solidarity and people's liberation. As the founder of ROAM + WRITE and EIC of Monarch Magazine, Raeann hopes to reshape the culture of travel and hospitality to be ethically sound and sustainable.

Visiting National Parks Could Change Your Thinking About Patriotism

When I took a post-college job as a seasonal ranger at Grand Teton National Park 23 years ago, I noticed right away that my “Smokey Bear” hat carried some serious emotional baggage. As I later wrote in my book, “Reclaiming Nostalgia: Longing for Nature in American Literature,” park visitors saw the hat as an icon of tradition and romance, a symbol of a simpler era long gone.

For many Americans the physical grandeur of parks like Grand Teton, Yosemite and Yellowstone also inspires patriotic pride. Twenty-first-century patriotism is a touchy subject, increasingly claimed by America’s conservative right. But the national park system is designed to be democratic – protecting lands that belong to the public for all to enjoy – and politically neutral. The parks are spaces where love of country can be shared by all.

But some sites send more complex messages. In my new book, “Memorials Matter: Emotion, Environment, and Public Memory at American Historical Sites,” I explore how patriotism plays out at sites where education, not recreation, is the priority. To research it I visited seven memorials to see how their structures and natural landscapes inspire patriotism and other emotions.

For me, and I suspect for many, national memorials elicit conflicting feelings: pride in our nation’s achievements, but also guilt, regret or anger over the costs of progress. Patriotism, especially at sites of shame, can be unsettling – and I see this as a good thing. In my view, honestly confronting the darker parts of U.S. history as well as its best moments is good for tourism, for patriotism and for the nation.

Whose history?

Patriotism has roots in the Latin “patriotia,” meaning “fellow countryman.” It’s common to feel patriotic pride in U.S. technological achievements or military strength, but Americans also glory in the diversity and beauty of our natural landscapes. That kind of patriotism, I think, has the potential to be more inclusive, less divisive and more socially and environmentally just.

National memorials can summon more than one kind of patriotism. Take Mount Rushmore, which was designed explicitly to evoke national pride. Tourists walk the Avenue of Flags, marvel at the labor required to carve four U.S. presidents’ faces out of granite and applaud when rangers invite military veterans onstage during visitor programs. Patriotism at Rushmore centers on labor, progress and the “great men” that the site describes as founding, expanding and defending the U.S.

But there are other perspectives. Viewed from the Peter Norbeck Overlook, a short drive from the main site, the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln are tiny elements embedded in the expansive Black Hills region. The Black Hills were and still are a sacred place for Lakota peoples that they never willingly relinquished. Viewing Mount Rushmore this way puts those rock faces in context and raises questions about history and justice.

Mt. Rushmore National Memorial in South Dakota, viewed from the Peter Norbeck Overlook. Jennifer Ladino, CC BY-ND

Some national monuments conduct reenactments to help visitors relive the past and feel a sense of history and authenticity. At Golden Spike National Historic Site in Utah, tourists can view replica steam locomotives and watch a reenactment of driving the spike that completed the first transcontinental railroad.

This park also ties patriotism to technology, labor, unity and progress. But it downplays countless lives lost during construction, including a disproportionate number of Chinese laborers. There’s an implied whiteness to the patriotism here, although those Chinese workers are receiving belated recognition.

Away from the main complex, however, visitors can see an impressive natural landscape carved by geologic forces. At “Chinaman’s Arch,” they can read about ancient Lake Bonneville, which once covered 20,000 square miles. Against the backdrop of geologic time, human labor and technological power look less impressive. A different feeling of patriotism emerges here that can embrace the physical country all Americans share.

Chinese railroad workers in California’s Sierra Nevada mountains, photographed between 1865 and 1869. Alfred Hart/Library of Congress

Sites of shame

Even sites where visitors are meant to feel remorse leave some room for patriotism. But at places like Manzanar National Historic Site in California – one of 10 camps where over 110,000 Japanese Americans were incarcerated during World War II – natural and textual cues prevent any easy patriotic reflexes.

Reconstructed guard towers and barracks help visitors perceive the experience of being detained. I could imagine Japanese-Americans’ shame as I entered claustrophobic buildings and touched the rough straw that filled makeshift mattresses. Many visitors doubtlessly associate mountains with adventure and freedom, but some incarcerees saw the nearby Sierra Nevada as barricades reinforcing the camp’s barbed wire fence.

Rangers play up these emotional tensions on their tours. One ranger positioned a group of schoolchildren atop what were once latrines, and asked them: “Will it happen again? We don’t know. We hope not. We have to stand up for what is right.” Instead of a self-congratulatory sense of being a good citizen, Manzanar leaves visitors with unsettling questions and mixed feelings.

Young tourists experience the humiliating lack of privacy at Manzanar National Historic Site. Jennifer Ladino, CC BY-ND

Humble patriotism

Visiting and writing about these sites made me consider what it would take to recast patriotism as collective pride in the United States’ diverse landscapes and peoples. I believe one essential ingredient is compassion. Recent controversies over Confederate monuments showed that many Americans were unwilling to imagine how public memorials could be offensive or traumatic for others.

Greater clarity about value systems can also help. Psychologists have found striking differences between the moral frameworks that shape liberals’ and conservatives’ views. Conservatives generally prioritize purity, sanctity and loyalty, while liberals tend to value justice in the form of concerns about fairness and harm. In my view, patriotism could bridge the apparent gap between these moral foundations.

My research suggests that visits to memorial sites are helpful for recognizing our interdependence with each other, as inhabitants of a common country. In her recent book, “The Hour of Land: A Personal Topography of America’s National Parks,” Terry Tempest Williams wonders, “What is the relevance of our national parks in the twenty-first century – and how might these public commons bring us back home to a united state of humility?” Places like Manzanar and Golden Spike are part of a common heritage embedded in public lands. It’s our responsibility as citizens to visit these places with both pride and humility.

JENNIFER LADINO is an Associate Professor of English, University of Idaho.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION