Edited by CAL (Collective for Architecture Lebanon), Architecture of the Territory: Constructing National Narratives in the Arab World examines the role that national narratives have in defining the Arab world through the use of architecture and urban planning.
One of several essays of the publication, the following piece by Rand Abdul Jabbar presents the implications surrounding the Minaret of Anah, in Western Iraq, a historic structure which has experienced multiple cycles of destruction and rebirth. Accompanied by an interview with one of the principal archeologists in charge of the most recent reconstruction of the Minaret, the following article interrogates the fragility and symbolism of tangible heritage and draws attention to the importance—and resilience—of collective memory.
Minaret of Anah: Cycles of Conflict, Conservation, and Reconstruction
By Rand Abdul Jabbar
As an artist, my research-based practice engages the cultural and architectural heritage of Iraq. It was through this line of inquiry that I began to explore the active forces threatening the architectural and archeological sites in crisis areas, investigating the extent of the damage inflicted by ISIS on various sites in Iraq. Unfortunately, I came upon a long list of structures and sites that had been destroyed. One such site that I have come to focus my attention on is the Minaret of Anah, situated in a town in Western Iraq that lies directly on the Euphrates River.
I began to explore the active forces threatening the architectural and archeological sites in crisis areas, investigating the extent of the damage inflicted by ISIS on various sites in Iraq.
The earliest visual documentation (Fig. 02)of the minaret can be found in R.F. Chesney’s Narrative of the Euphrates Expedition (1835– 1837) where it is, intentionally or unintentionally, depicted as a spiraling tower. In fact, the minaret is an octagonal structure, eight stories high, with unique carved niche designs repeated across the eight sides of each level. It was later documented by Gertrude Bell during her travels around Iraq in 1909. In Bell’s photographs (Fig. 03-04), the structure appears to be in a decayed state, with the façade and its carved niches clearly eroded by exposure to natural elements over the centuries. Its rehabilitation became one of the first restoration projects to be undertaken by the newly formed Iraqi Department of Antiquities in 1937 (Fig. 05), when the minaret’s base was stabilized and reinforced to avoid collapse. The minaret underwent further repairs during the 1960s that resulted in a complete restoration (Fig. 06)of the shaft and carved niche designs on the façade.
It was around that period that the Iraqi government began formulating plans for the construction of a dam on the Euphrates to regulate its flow and generate hydroelectric power. This would consequentially impact Anah and the minaret in the decades to follow as the town lay directly within the flood area of the reservoir, meaning it would be completely submerged by the elevated water levels. While designs were put in place for the construction of a new, “modern'' city to house Anah’s displaced residents, questions rose as to the fate of its famous minaret.
A study into possible solutions to safeguard the minaret was commissioned by the Iraqi State Board of Antiquities and Heritage, and three proposals were put forward. The first solution (Fig. 07)involved the construction of an octagonal moat surrounding the minaret, allowing access to only the upper levels of the structure. The second solution, (Fig. 08), involved excavating the ground beneath it, laying a raised reinforced concrete footing, and deploying an elaborate mechanism to lift the structure above the projected water levels. The third solution (Fig. 09), the most ambitious of all, proposed dismantling the structure into sixteen separate parts and transporting them across the river to a site in New Anah where the minaret would be reassembled. This final proposal was the one selected, and when the Qadisiya Dam (now known as Haditha Dam) was inaugurated by Saddam Hussein in 1987 and flood waters began to engulf the deserted city, the minaret became the lone surviving structure. The Euphrates, Anah’s lifeblood throughout its four thousand-year-old history, ultimately became the perpetrator of its demise.
When the Qadisiya Dam (now known as Haditha Dam) was inaugurated by Saddam Hussein in 1987 and flood waters began to engulf the deserted city, the minaret became the lone surviving structure
This episode marks the minaret’s first resurrection, and the structure’s subsequent history has unfortunately been characterized by multiple cycles of destruction and rebirth. Following the 2003 invasion of Iraq, American troops occupied the site of the minaret marking it as a target for retaliation. It was destroyed by Al Qaeda in 2006,with an explosion as part of a larger terrorist campaign targeting several Iraqi cultural heritage sites. The minaret was then rebuilt from the rubble in 2012 by a team of local archeologists, led by Yousif Al Diham, only to succumb once again to the destructive will of ISIS militias, who detonated the structure in 2016. It now, once again, lies in ruin. (Fig. 10).
Al Diham (Fig. 01) is an essential partner to this research endeavour, and his diligent efforts to archive the minaret’s history, as well as his direct involvement in the preservation of the structure, have made possible the retelling of this story. The following is a transcript of a conversation with Al Diham conducted at Jameel Arts Centre in Dubai in April 2019, in which he recounts the history of Anah, narrates the cycles of rebirth that the minaret has undergone throughout its history, and provides a crucial first-hand perspective on the challenges faced by archeologists and heritage preservation specialists in areas of conflict.
RAND I wanted to start by asking you to paint a picture of life in historic Anah.
YOUSIF The first mention of the city of Anah dates back to 1852 BCE [...] This means that it is the oldest city in the world to still carry its original, ancient name, to be continuously settled for forty centuries, and to use the same building techniques. Anah is a coastal city bordering the Euphrates River, its timeless lover, the source of its sustenance, its power, and ultimately its destruction. It is 11 kilometers long and its maximum width reaches 250 meters. It is a dreamy, modest, and quiet city, slumbering between the mountain’s embrace and the Euphrates, until it was compelled to surrender to her timeless lover, who drowned her.
It is a dreamy, modest, and quiet city, slumbering between the mountain’s embrace and the Euphrates, until it was compelled to surrender to her timeless lover, who drowned her.
RAND The minaret has, for centuries, served as the primary landmark of Anah. [...] I am interested in exploring the symbolism the minaret holds for the people of Anah, particularly after the submersion of the city in 1987 when it became the lone surviving structure from the old city.
YOUSIFIn order to explain the significance of the minaret for the people of Anah, we must first explain where it was located in the ancient city. It was on an island in the middle of the Euphrates. The island was called Jazirat al Qalaa (Island of the Citadel) because it included walls and towers from the Assyrian period, and the minaret was at the center of this island. The city’s inhabitants are attached to this minaret not because it is an ancient ruin, but because it has become part of their daily lives. They see it every day. The evidence for this is that they have re-used stones from the Assyrian remains that were around the minaret to build their homes, yet they tried to do some preservation work on the minaret in two or three botched attempts.
The city’s inhabitants are attached to this minaret not because it is an ancient ruin, but because it has become part of their daily lives.
There are no written records about the founding date of the minaret or the identity of its founder, but the German Archeologist Herzfeld dates its building to the days of the Uqaylid dynasty. The Uqaylids ruled from 996 to 1096 CE, and the minaret was built during that period, which means that it is one thousand years old. With the building of the Haditha Dam (formerly known as the Al Qadisiya Dam), the minaret became part of the area that would be submerged under the waters of the dam.
Construction on the Haditha Dam began in the late 1970s, but the waters submerged Anah in 1986. Several proposals on how to save the city were put forward. [...] The fourth proposal, and the one that was ultimately adopted, was to section off the minaret into parts, then re-assembling it in a chosen place in the new Anah.
Whoever took the decision to move the minaret was indeed a benefactor to Anah’s inhabitants, because they viewed it with a kind of reverence.
The decision to dismantle the minaret was a daring one as it had no precedent in Iraq. But the Abu Simbel Temple in Egypt was a successful example of such an operation, so the decision was taken to apply the same method. [...] Whoever took the decision to move the minaret was indeed a benefactor to Anah’s inhabitants, because they viewed it with a kind of reverence, and it had remained their only consolation when the waters submerged the city along with its history, stories, and culture. The minaret was moved to a location near the new Anah, where it was directly visible to them, on a daily basis, up until 2006.
It seems that this minaret is fated to receive a blow every twenty years.
RAND The American forces, while present since the invasion in 2003, officially occupied Anah in 2005 and often used the minaret, the tallest structure in the city, as a sniper point—which made it a prime target for Al Qaeda, who eventually detonated the structure in an act of defiance in June of 2006. How did the city react to this catastrophic event? And how did you come to focus your attention on the reconstruction of the minaret?
YOUSIF It seems that this minaret is fated to receive a blow every twenty years. It drowned in 1986, and was blown up in 2006. Many witnesses have said that something happens in this city every twenty years. From the moment the old city of Anah was lost to the waters, the hearts of its people were devoured by sorrow. Many elders passed away, it seems they died from sadness. Twenty years later they blew up the minaret, and the grief this caused equaled the grief that was felt when the old city was lost. On my part, the emotion was indescribable. [...] I had lost my father in 1992, and when I was told that the minaret had fallen, it felt like I was losing him right then and there. I grieved, and grief robs us from the capacity to imagine a future.
After the events of 2003, the United States Armed Forces actually entered the city. [...] Since they entered, a sniper would sometimes climb up to the top of the minaret as it was the highest point in the area, and it became a target for vandalism and bombing. And then, it was blown up on June 7, 2006.
When a barbaric person blows up a ruin, I cannot but rebuild it using its original material rather than procuring new stone.
RAND All that survived from the blast was the base of the minaret—the remainder was reduced to rubble. Many might be critical of the reconstruction effort due to the limited opportunities it offered to re-create a non-surviving site. In many ways, this can be seen as more of a restorative effort—placing more emphasis on achieving (perhaps using modern tools and materials) the final appearance, as opposed to the more widely accepted rehabilitation or renovation of damaged sites. I would like to challenge you to articulate your position in defense of the work that was done. Why did it matter, and was it really the only solution to preserving memory?
YOUSIF Usually when parts of an archeological structure are lost, for example, a wall, its restoration and preservation entails differentiating the original from the restored parts, with the use of color, possibly. But when I lose a monument through human agency rather than through fate, for example, if there had been an earthquake that toppled the minaret, the sadness would be less pronounced; but when a barbaric person blows up a ruin, I cannot but rebuild it using its original material rather than procuring new stone. It would have been possible, easier even for the contractor to rebuild it with new stone, but I made him clean all the original stone from its plaster and wash it with water to get rid of the mineral residues so I can use it for rebuilding the minaret. I had no other choice, it was the only possible decision to make, I had lost it and would rebuild it.
I will rebuild it. It has become a challenge between myself and the terrorists, it’s either them or me. I will rebuild it.
RAND I think that what is important about the rebuilding is not its material integrity but its symbolic value, that the city locals are able to see their minaret standing tall and proud again. Let us talk about your vision for the future of the minaret.
YOUSIF We started rebuilding it in 2012 and completed it in 2013, and in 2016 it fell again. They blew it up again. It is a pile of rubble until this day, and God willing, we will rebuild it.
RAND And if they blow it up again?
YOUSIF I will rebuild it. It has become a challenge between myself and the terrorists, it’s either them or me. I will rebuild it.
Bio
Rand Abdul Jabbar (b. Baghdad, 1990) borrows from and reconstructs the ephemera of place, history and memory, employing design, sculpture and installation as primary mediums of operation. Current research pursuits examine historic, cultural and archaeological narratives, interrogating the fragility of tangible heritage to create and compose forms that draw on artefacts, architecture and mythology. Simultaneously, she explores and contests with individual and collective memory to produce fragmentary reconstructions of historic events and past experiences. Her work has been exhibited at the Shubbak Festival (UK), SAVVY Contemporary (Germany), Rabat Biennale (Morocco), Biennale d’Architecture d’Orléans (France), Warehouse 421, NYU Abu Dhabi Art Gallery, and Jameel Arts Centre (UAE). She has also conducted art residencies with the NTU Centre for Contemporary Art (Singapore), Warehouse 421, the Abu Dhabi Music and Arts Foundation and the Salama bint Hamdan Al Nahyan Foundation (UAE). Abdul Jabbar received a Master of Architecture from Columbia University in 2014.
