Building Power: Italy's Colonial Architecture and Urbanism, 1923-1940

Building Power: Italy's Colonial Architecture and Urbanism, 1923-1940Author(s): Mia FullerReviewed work(s):Source: Cultural Anthropology, Vol. 3, No. 4 (Nov., 1988), pp. 455-487Published by: Wiley-Blackwell on behalf of the American Anthropological AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/656489 .Accessed: 26/08/2012 01:31

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Building Power: Italy's Colonial Architecture

and Urbanism, 1923-1940 Mia Fuller

Department of Anthropology University of California, Berkeley

It has become part of the anthropological repertoire to address the interpre- tation and articulation of cultural experience, although its historical unfolding is still often ignored. In this article I treat a particular experience and its articulation over almost two decades. That experience is colonialism in general, but specifically it is the spatial organization of bodies and built forms in two of Italy's colonies, Libya and Ethiopia, during the Fascist era (1922-43).

This project can be categorized as an interpretive one, since its principal concern is with the usage of certain terms vis-h-vis certain practices, and its main thrust is to observe a change over time in the way this relationship was articulated. Also it is essentially comparative, not only in its diachronic comparison across historical moments but also in that it spans across colonies. It is not a direct comparison of the two colonies as places in their own right, but as constituted and mediated by the Italian colonialist discourse. And colonialist discourse, above all, is the subject of this article.

In the 1920s and 1930s in Libya, and in Ethiopia in the late 1930s, Italian architects had the opportunity to conduct experiments in colonial architecture and urban planning on a vast scale. In the process of developing these colonial labo- ratories, they fumbled with and partially resolved several issues of colonial ideology concerning the significance of colonial architecture and the negotiation of a colonial identity with respect to Europe and the local populations.

In the Libyan context the architects confronted problems stemming from the distinction between "Italian" and "primitive" architecture, and they were preoccupied with architectural form. Modernitd ("modernity") was an overriding concern in this moment of Italian architectural discourse, as it implied the presentation of Italy's character to the rest of Europe. The crucial function of architecture was to gain status vis-a-vis other European nations. This status was to be regained, for Italy had been a great power (even if in antiquity), and was currently existing in a fallen state.

The setting of Ethiopia generated a different set of concerns, and the entire discourse of colonial architecture and urbanism changed as of 1936, the year of the proclamation of the Italian Fascist Empire. Here whole cities were being de-

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456 CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY

signed or refurbished for colonial usage, and the issues at stake were those of control, regulation, planning, and above all, power. The most important criterion was that of race. A building's function was to confront the local population, not Europe, with Italian power, and its form per se was secondary. Also it was city form rather than architectural form that exercised the regulating power of Italian dominion. Specifically, planning was expected to facilitate the precise art of dis- tinguishing and dividing within the living space of the colonial context the metropolitan Self from the colonized Other, and to accommodate, or control, their juxtaposed existences.

Before turning to the architects' texts themselves, this article examines the ideological setting in which the debates regarding the colonies took place. First, I discuss some of the claims made by the colonial expansionist movement about the colonization of Libya, as well as the different ideology that colored the colonization of Ethiopia. Next I describe the debates-contemporaneous with those concerning the nature of colonial architecture in Libya-involving the nature, meaning, and especially the form of Fascist architecture.

Then I discuss the Italian colonial architectural discourse in three periods that correspond to breaks and reorientations of that discourse in the architectural journals: (1) from 1923 to 1928, when the topics were principally archaeology, geography, and architectural history, and the extent to which they were useful in the colonial enterprise; (2) from 1929, when the nature of colonial architecture emerged as the dominant concern, to 1936, when the shift to a discourse of planning began to occur; and (3) from 1937 to 1940, when the new questions of colonial urbanism became fully pronounced. I am primarily interested in the strik-

ingly different treatments in these journals of Libya, a space for the realization of modernitd, and of Ethiopia, where it is barely even mentioned.

Prologue

"Our fathers cleared the path to new civilization . . . we would be failing our country if we did not enlarge our field of activity," said Francesco Crispi, the

great Minister of Foreign Affairs, in 1889 (Segre 1974:11-12). The Italian Co- lonial Institute was created in 1906 by the government. A series of congresses followed, and by 1914 a clearly defined ideology had emerged favoring an au- thoritarian state and colonial expansion.

Just after the war in Libya had begun in 1911, the poet Giovanni Pascoli

expressed the expansionist themes in a speech stressing Italy's right to the Libyan soil on the basis of geographical proximity and Roman heritage:

We were already there . . . we left signs that not even the Berbers, the Bedouins and the Turks could erase; signs of our humanity and civilization, signs . . . that we are not Berbers, Bedouins and Turks. We are returning. [Segre 1974:22]

From its beginnings, the discourse of Italy's colonial architecture in Libya con- centrated on Italy's recognition of its own traces, or "signs," and destiny in his-

tory, in the Libyan buildings and Roman ruins. These traces indicated Italy's ca-

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pacity for empire, and therefore its inevitable (to the expansionists) reacquisition of empire, this time in the guise of Fascism.

The image of Libya as it had been under Roman rule informed what it would become once more under Italian rule. In the past, Libya had been "abundant with waters and crops and green with trees and gardens." It was presently a desert because of the "inertia of the nomadic and slothful population." Italian emigrants would build roads, till fields, and erect houses and ports (Segre 1974:22).

The potential richness of Libya, its possible suitability for massive settlement by Italians who otherwise would continue to emigrate to other parts of Eu- rope and to the Americas for work, was the key to legitimizing the expansionist position. In the ancient world Libya had been famed for its richness and fertility; the colonialists supported their belief in Libya's great promise of wealth with frequent references to Greek and Roman classics. Furthermore the ruins of ancient Leptis Magna, Sabratha, and the Pentapolis were proof of the area's agricultural and urban character in the past.

The name itself, "Libya," which was sometimes used by the Turks, was adopted for the new colony, for its connotations of ancient dominion and empire:

In ancient times all of North Africa except Egypt was known as Libya. With the de- struction of Carthage and the creation of a Roman province known as "Africa," the term "Libya" fell into disuse . . . the name "Libya" was revived by Italian scholars ... at the turn of the century, and was officially adopted at the time of the conquest. [Segre 1974:193]

The conquest of Ethiopia, on the other hand, was not prefaced with such elaborate justifications. As of 1934, the colonial ideology took on new tones of violence and racism, to which Mussolini had previously been opposed, but which were close to the German ideological position. Indeed, in 1935 a rapprochement with Germany became apparent. In the same year the Ethiopian campaign was begun, and enjoyed great popular support. In 1936, at the end of the campaign, the Italian Empire was proclaimed, and from then on racist rhetoric was dominant. Italy held other colonies-Somalia, Albania, the Dodecanese Islands of the Ae- gean Sea-but, as they are not discussed in the architectural journals, they are ignored here.

In addition, I must also briefly consider those struggles that aimed to deter- mine the character and form of Fascist architecture. In the first decade and a half of this century, nationalism was becoming central to Italian public opinion, and at this same moment the entirely new orientation of Futurism began to emerge, specifically with the appearance in 1909 of Marinetti's Foundation Manifesto. The movement's major characteristic was its radical break from the past and the latter's determinism, both formal and ideological (see Banham 1960). Futurism entered the architectural arena as of the 1914 exhibition of Sant'Elia's drawings, titled "Citti Nuova," "The New City." Sant'Elia pleaded "the historical and human necessity for a radical renewal of Italian architecture, that had fallen into an academic eclecticism lacking any vital spark" (Veronesi 1964:114).


The Great War marked the end of Futurism's age of influence. In its wake came a return to classicism, in the form of the Novecento Italiano movement (Be- nevolo 1971:562; Frampton 1980:215). Benevolo points out that, as must be the case with any neoclassical movement, "the novecentisti remained prisoners of the old dilemma-past or future-and could suggest only a return to certain models of the past" (Benevolo 1971:563).

It was unlikely that all architects would remain happy with neoclassicism for long. In 1926 the Gruppo 7 (Group 7), which was exactly that, a group of seven architects, namely Terragni, Figini, Pollini, Frette, Larco, Rava, and Libera, declared itself. The Group's aim was to retain and combine Futurism's commitment to industrial form and the Novecento's nationalist premise and classicism, while leaving aside the former's rejection of all tradition and the latter's predominant use of classical forms. The result, Rationalism, was the Italian version of architectural modernism.

In terms of form, this means that "the clear expression of structure, strip and corner windows, continuous horizontal balconies or protruding slabs, the use of exposed concrete and extensive glazing" (Doordan 1983:27) were to constitute a vocabulary as essential and universal as arches and columns had been to classical architecture. Furthermore, a crucial standard was functionality, in other words, a building's appropriateness for its purpose and its setting.

One problem raised by these architectural criteria is that while the Ration- alists were eager to design Fascist buildings, their vision was not well suited to creating monuments for the representation of Fascist power. Fascism rejected Ra- tionalism in the long run, but it is important to note that it never settled on any one architectural representation. There were essentially two strains in competition, the historicist and the radical, and eventually the former more or less won, in that it survived Rationalism.'

A caveat is needed about modernitd, to clarify that it does not mean "modernism," which is the modern movement in architecture. My goal here is to ap- prehend it as a rhetorical device applied in this context and bent to particular needs, specifically organizing the colonial cultural experience, by a generation of architects. Although in purely architectural terms it does directly signify a quality, "modern," namely functionality or Rationalism, there are many instances, quoted below, when it has no explicit referent but apparently points to an ideal trait that Italy wished to possess. Hence it is rhetorical in that it is mainly a statement, albeit vague, about Italian identity in the discursive construction of the Lib-

yan colony.

1923-1928: Architecture, Archaeology, and Geography

It was not until 1920 that a university training in architecture, as a discipline apart from the history of art, became available in Italy. Previously, the study of architecture was bound up with its history, and Italian design was felt to have been limited by and to repetition and reworking of antiquated forms. In his article of 1924, Venturi made two comments about the significance of this new formal train-

BUILDING POWER 459

ing, ones which articulated major themes that pervade all the attempts to develop a distinctly Italian colonial architecture.

One was that Italian architecture would now free itself from its academic setting, and enter into "the reality of life" (Venturi 1924:120).2 The other referred to "all those who hope to see Italy return to its traditional position of dominance in the field of architecture" (Venturi 1924:125). The discourse of a "truly moder, Italian, colonial architecture" which fully emerged in the late 1920s con- sistently indicated that the function of this architecture, outside of its immediate purposes in the colonies, was to recast Italy's identity vis-a-vis the other European nations. The conquest of Libya was only the first step toward this recasting, which now had to be made visible, sensible, to the rest of the world (Europe), and architecture was a major means of this "return to dominance."

By 1920, the architectural profession was accorded by the state its own place within the universities. With regard to Libya, architects were to implement the expression and design of Italy's new identity as a colonizing nation, which was to go hand in hand with Italy's return to architectural distinction.

The study of ancient forms of architecture also had its contribution to make to the growing interest in, and documentation of, colonial Libya.3 Archaeology revealed in detail the extent of ancient Roman remains, and even made more recent structures yield consistent traces of Roman influence. According to Roma- nelli (1923), domestic architecture in Tripoli lacked "art" and was not in any sense "notable" prior to the Turkish conquest of 1551. After 1551, the city regained its lost monumentality; but the remoteness of Turkey allowed its architectural influence to be downplayed in comparison to Italy's 'after the mid-sixteenth century . . . [when] all the Mediterranean countries [were] re-awakening to the breath of life which our peninsula radiate[d] with the energy and vigor of its re- naissance" (Romanelli 1923:193). The Turks had colonized Libya, but the "art" of the architectural vestiges of their rule was nonetheless argued to be Italian.

Romanelli's study (1923) described buildings and motifs, as often as possible, in Roman, Italian, or European terms. Ornamental capitals seemed to be "distant memories" of Roman ones (p. 200); the general shape of Tripoli's residential buildings was a typical Near Eastern one, and yet it more nearly resem- bled that of Roman houses than any other "Oriental" house plan (p. 195); arches were "between the Roman and the Arab" (p. 202); local tradition was "more Roman and Byzantine than it was Arab" (p. 205), or it could be seen as "Ro- mano-Tripolitanian and Byzantine-Tripolitanian" (p. 206). The author also detected the influences of 17th-century Spain, and the French Baroque (pp. 204, 207).

The inevitable implication of these various interpretations of archaeological materials was that the single persistent and determining architectural, and therefore cultural, influence in Tripoli had been that of the Romans. The fact that the traces of that influence were still visible in 1923 was made to signify that Libya's only "culture" had always been Italian, and the recent colonization was merely a return to the past, and hence legitimate, condition. Romanelli's essay was a good example of rewriting origin myths to legitimize present situations: through-


out the text, he established the Italian character of Tripoli's architecture, and his final conclusion was that the genesis itself of that architecture had been authenti- cally Italian.

The archaeological knowledge of the new colony was part and parcel of the establishment of colonial power. This was evident in the preoccupation with jus- tifying the recent colonization by emphasizing the one long past. Geographers, on the other hand, wanted to participate directly in the establishment of power by bringing to it the knowledge of economic, political, and physical conditions in the colony, as the most solid basis for the elaboration of a colonial domain:

The formation of a colonial science . . . requires, beyond scientific analysis, the ac- curate and profound knowledge of the geographical environments and of the societies inhabiting them .... The goal [is to] form our own colonial and foreign doctrine supported by a scientific basis .... Geography ... which understood in its true sense, is physical, political, and economic all at once, is a sure, realistic basis . . . in coping with physical and human problems. [Vachelli 1928:159]

It was one of the main thrusts of the role of geography in successful colonization to study

the human element ... we need to know and to dominate the native, to know how to use him for what he can yield according to his physical and psychical characteris- tics, to his morals and his religion. [Vachelli 1928:160]

The ultimate ends of geographical knowledge were to make the best use of the resources available to colonial power; here again, the elaboration of power and the knowledge of the territory in which it was to be elaborated were indistin- guishable. They certainly were for Vachelli, who characterized colonization as "a work of gradual construction" (Vachelli 1928:160), which in itself meant geographical knowledge. To study and to construct, expand, colonize, were simul- taneous, synonymous activities.4

1929-1936: Colonial Architecture

In the journals of this period, the representation of ongoing work in colonial building was of two kinds: one consisted in pictorial reports of new buildings, lacking any background information and with only aesthetic comments. The other consisted in more theoretical, dogmatic articles discussing the essential themes of colonial architectural thought. Here it is apparent when modernitd refers to architectural modernism, and when to that quality which architects wished to iden-

tify with Italy itself.

Colonial Buildings

The most striking feature of these brief reports, taken as a group, is that they almost exclusively depicted buildings of a public character. Housing per se did not appear until 1933 and 1935, almost as an afterthought in the sequence of re-

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ports. This of course does not mean that housing was not a principal concern in Libya, nor that it was not being built. What it does indicate is that it was more significant for Italian readers-the Italian public, and Europe-to witness the visible, monumental facets of ongoing construction.

It was in public buildings that the new status of Italy, the great colonial power, manifested itself best initially. It was only later that colonial architecture as a whole, and then the planning of entire cities, would become the means for the manifestation of Italy's power and "civilization."

Monuments. Both the Pavilion of the Governatorato di Roma at the Fiera di Tripoli (Limongelli 1929) and the triumphal arch in Tripoli by Carlo Enrico Rava (Domus 1931a) were presented without commentary (Figures 1, 2). Rava's arch was later described (Architettura 1935) as "in full equilibrium between romanitd [Romanity], acclimatization, and modernitd." By the time of this description, however, it was also felt to have a provisional appearance in comparison with the architect's more recent arch (Figure 3), which had a "greater Roman majesty and a powerful military severity . . . [and was inspired] by the primitive and almost

rudimentary forms of the local architecture" (Architettura 1935:28). The virtues of drawing inspiration from the local "primitive forms" will become apparent later in this section, since these were an integral part of the colonial architectural discourse.

Public Space. There were two contests for projects for the Piazza della Cat- tedrale in Tripoli, the first in 1929 and the second in 1930. No prize was awarded the first time, although Architettura ed Arti Decorative published one of the 1929 reports (Architettura ed Arti Decorative 1930).

The same journal documented the four projects that were awarded prizes in 1930 (Architettura ed Arti Decorative 1931 a). Although "the theme proposed for the Piazza . . . [was] an appearance fit for a large modern city," all the projects were found to have one of two flaws, one being "an excessive stylistic adherence to the types of minor Mediterranean housing," and the other "too great an emphasis on classical monumental styles." The former was reflected by the Libera project (Figures 4, 5). The latter group shared a "common will to create an ex- pressive architectonic whole, monumentally inspired by Roman tradition, with forms which nonetheless are in harmony . . . with certain local tonalities." The winning project (Figures 6, 7), which fell into this category, was chosen because it was "pure in its Italic derivation."

Other examples of what was meant by "too classical" are shown in Figures 8 and 9, each from the other two prize-winning projects. The dichotomy between minor Mediterranean building types and the Roman classical heritage was a strong one in the minds of the architects, or at least in the collective jargon of the young colonial architecture. It was usually stated and negated at the same time, however, as in the last quoted sentence: buildings could both be classical and reflect local forms.

The Governor's Residence. About the Governor's residence in Benghazi, not much was said except to point out its "Italian and classical origin" and its "fresh modernitd" (Architettura ed Arti Decorative 193 lb) (Figure 10).


Religious Architecture. The architects who designed the new church at

Suani-ben-Aden, near Tripoli (Figure 11), wrote:

The fusion of originally Romano-christian elements with indigenous African elements, which is inspired by the historical evolution itself, and therefore the architectural evolution as well, of Mediterranean Africa, suggests the elements on the basis of which to create an architecture which would be religious and colonial, but above all moder. [Rava and Larco 1931 a]

This statement is illustrative of the attempts, in the more elaborate writings of the time, to reconcile the Roman and the African by means of a common "Med- iterranean" ground, and of the repeated evasion of the complication of buildings being simultaneously Roman and African, by referring to "Mediterranean" traits and evolution.

Hotels. The Hotel at the site of Leptis Magna (Figure 12) and the Croce del Sud (Figures 13, 14) were simply described as "moderno" (Rava and Larco

1931b).

Villas. In the presentation of the building restored for Governor Volpi, it was claimed that despite its traditional structure, it was restored following

the most modern and Rational criteria. ... It is the first example ... in an Italian colony, of what the French and other foreigners have been doing for already twenty years, in Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco, giving new life to the old, Arab residences, with modernita of intentions and of views. [Domus 193 1b:46] (Figure 15)

This last use of "modernita" suggests that it is a kind of vision, rather than a

straightforward type of design.

Housing in Tripoli. The "popular housing" represented in Figure 16 was described in terms of the "Mediterranean" tradition and not the (classical) Ro- man: "the architecture is derived from the typical motifs one finds on our Medi- terranean shores, where every plastic element has an eminently structural value"

(Architettura 1933). The two residences in Figures 17 and 18 were presented without the refer-

ences to the Roman or classical tradition that prevailed in characterizations of

public buildings.

[These buildings] have the appropriate sense of that "colonial" character . .. they are spontaneously conceived in their climate, in their environment, in their function, which is why they are truly "colonial." [Fariello 1933:150]

Here "colonial" simply meant "functional."

The Idea of Colonial Architecture

The themes briefly referred to in the presentations of individual buildings,

namely the impact on other European countries of the new/ancient Italian spirit

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Limon-cli ( I\ 'J)

Figure 1 Pavilion of the Governatorato di Roma at the Fiera di Tripoli, by Limongelli, 1929.

Figure 2 Arch by Rava in Tripoli, 1931.


Figure 3 Arch by Rava in Somalia, 1935.

Architettura ed Arti Decorative ( 1931 a)

Figure 4 Piazza della Cattedrale competition: project by Libera, Tripoli, 1930.

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Arcnilcitura ca Arl uccoratlve t l i a)

Figure 5 Piazza della Cattedrale competition: project by Libera, Tripoli, 1930.

Arcnierrtura ea Anl uecoratlve Ii. la)

Figure 6 Piazza della Cattedrale competition: winning project by Morandi et al., Tripoli, 1930.


Architettura ed Arti Decorative (1931 a)

Figure 7 Piazza della Cattedrale competition: winning project by Morandi et al., Tripoli, 1930.

Arclitcttura ed Ai

Figure 8 Piazza della Cattedrale competition: Tripoli, 1930.

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Figure 9 Piazza della Cattedrale competition: Tripoli, 1930.

Architettura ed Arti Decorative (1931 b)

Figure 10 Governor's Residence at Benghazi, 1931.


Figure 11 Church at Suani-ben-Aden, Libya, by Larco and Rava, 1931.

Rava and Larco (1931 b)

Figure 12 Hotel at Leptis Magna, Libya, by Larco and Rava, 1931.

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Figure 13 Hotel Croce del Sud, in Somalia, by Rava, no date.

Domus 4:29 (August 1931)

Figure 14 Hotel Croce del Sud, in Somalia, by Rava, no date.


Figure 15 Governor Volpi's villa in Libya.

Architettura (1933)

Figure 16 Popular housing in Tripoli, 1933.

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Figure 17 House in Tripoli by Fariello, 1933.

Figure 18 House in Tripoli by Fariello, 1933.

Fariello (1933)


as expressed in its colonial architecture; romantid, modernitd; local forms as a source of inspiration or at least a measure of comparison; the distinctions between the Mediterranean and the classical, and the Roman and the African; were the crucial foci in the attempts to write a charter for "colonial architecture."

To some extent, the practical aspects of design and construction were at stake. Hence the interest in local architectural solutions: "a knowledge of the architectonic problems of our colonies, of the traditions of their past, of the char- acteristics of their present, is lacking," claimed Rava (193 la:39).

The Italian architects admired the local forms, insisted that they must be studied, and their best features adapted to their own designs: "the impulse of vig- orous primitivity," meaning the geometric simplicity of local shapes, "is per- fectly in tune with our most up-to-date modem tastes" (Rava 1931a:89). How- ever, it is clear from the extent to which they justified this interest in the Libyan architecture, that its virtues had to be reconciled to its stated artlessness and in-

feriority. Their justifications included the claim that the Libyan buildings were them-

selves "colonial," since Libya had been colonized by Turkey, and that like all colonial buildings, these were Rational(ist) in form (Rava 1931b:35), in other words, implicitly appropriate in their setting.

Second, the study of local forms was described as essential to the creation of a colonial architecture:

The original Libyan architecture provides us with all the desirable elements to create our own colonial architecture of today, which should be truly worthy of Imperial It- aly ... [these elements are its] Rationalism, most modem simplicity of exterior forms, perfect adaptation to the necessities of the African climate, and perfect harmony with Libyan nature. [Rava 1931b:36]

Third came the explicative tour de force. Here the "real" basis for using Libyan building as a model was that the latter was actually Roman. Rava declared that the local work bore "the true tradition of Rome, the unerasable . . . imprint of its dominion" (Rava 1931a:41). He detected Roman elements throughout North African housing, even "in the primitive Berber architecture."

[This] Roman influence (the real one, that of the practical organizing spirit of Rome . . .), [is] as of now, the most vital [element] in the design of the Arab-Turkish house, whose Rational plan is the exact reproduction of that of the ancient classical house . . . [and] best answers to the climate and the exigencies of the colonial life. [Rava 1931a:89]

The conclusion this leads to is that architects must use local examples, since these were actually the vessels of the Roman spirit. To imitate Libyan forms, therefore, was not to imitate local forms, but to obey the incentive of "Latinity" (Latinitd):

The Arab house . .. is nothing more than the ancient Roman house, faithfully repro- duced. ... We will be deriving nothing from the Arabs, but will realign ourselves

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with the true, great Roman tradition, which has admirably resisted through the cen- turies ... Taking up again, with modernitd of intentions, the classical house design conserved in the Arab one, we will perpetuate the work of Rome, creating the new in its traces. . . . We will thus conclude the eternal task of Latinity . . . [and be able to] renew and complete the still primitive local architecture of our colony, with all the most modem technical and practical innovations. [Rava 1931b:36]

In this statement there were several solutions. First, by redescribing the Arab house as Roman, architects could imitate indigenous architecture without borrow-

ing from the colonized. Libya was denied history, identity, culture; it was the

repository of modem Italy's "roots." And thus by imitation of the indigenous architecture, Italy re-met and regained a history-basing its present occupation in its ancient status, and thereby also gaining new status in the present.

Second, although referring to the architectural achievements of the ancient Roman Empire conferred status on the new architecture, to blatantly repeat them was seen as retrograde, unmodem. With the addition of the notion of modernitd, architects could imitate the classical while claiming creativity.

Third, by invoking the term "Mediterranean," architects could overcome the difference between "Italian" and "African." These two formed a necessary dichotomy, from the point of view of the colonists. But since architects wanted their designs to be both "purely" Italian and similar to the local ones, some common ground was necessary. Indeed, Libyan architecture could again be seen as

"really" Italian, thanks to "the general Mediterranean character which . . . renders the very Italian local architecture of our Libyan coasts akin to that of our other Mediterranean coasts" (Rava 193 la:89). This "general Mediterranean character" eliminated all the problems posed by history and historical relation-

ships. The Mediterranean vision was one of

white cubes and sunny terraces . . . natural and climatic conditions themselves gen- erate the architectonic forms . . . no element is superfluous . . . it fully satisfies our modem aesthetic. [Rava 1931b:32]

In all the attempts to define the new architectural style, the goal was modernitd. The buildings should be primitive/local and Italian/classical,5 but implicit in this addition of traits was the notion that it would yield more than the sum of its parts, namely, a modem character, a new Italian identity.

Two rationales are at work here. The more superficial is the concern of the colonial architects with uniformity: again and again, they called for Italy's new status to be unequivocally expressed in a distinct, uniform style. Modernitd, whatever else it meant, described this hoped-for accomplishment.

The other rationale had to do with the notion of history implied and the claim that all Libyan architecture was in truth Roman. Libya was denied any history or identity of its own; its architecture had only one raison d'etre: the safekeeping of modem Italy's "roots," which were now to be the starting point for Italy toward the future. With the statement of "modernitcd," Italy, or the Latin spirit, became both antecedent and consequent.


We will be able to . . . consider that we have impressed . . . [in our buildings] . . . the lasting sign of our present greatness, of our new civilization. . . . We will find again . . . the Latinity of an architecture which is, above all, profoundly Mediterranean . . . [and with it] that rebirth of a "Mediterranean spirit" . . . the moment [has come] for the creation of a truly modem colonial architecture of our own. [Rava 1931b:36]

These architects were more preoccupied with their status as "moderns" vis- a-vis Europe than with the impression made upon Libyans, who, after all, had no

art, architecture, or history to claim as their own. Rava feared that the Italian Pavilion at the Paris fair (Esposizione Coloniale di Parigi), which was a small

copy of the Basilica of Septimius Severus at Leptis Magna, would lead the viewer to believe, "in error, that today's Italy, Imperial and Fascist, hasn't the force within to create its own, contemporary, colonial architecture" (1931a:39), thus

needing to resort to its own antiquity for model forms. Italian writers were well aware of French and English colonial building

forms, as was clear in the comparisons to Lyautey's accomplishments in Mo-

rocco, or in the following incitation to Italian architects: "England never feared

losing its prestige in its efforts to create its colonial architecture for the use of

Europeans, by which it succeeded in imposing, in all its territories, the now universal 'bungalow' type, the perfect organism for the life of whites in the colonies!" (Rava 1931b:35).

The point of these comments, however, was not so much to justify an interest in the colonial architecture of other European nations, as to try to do better: "It-

aly . . . can do much better than other peoples have, by avoiding their mistakes and assimilating what they learned at great costs" (Piccinato 1936a:22-23). Italy had a great destiny to live up to, not only with respect to the colonies or its own

history, but also to Europe. Italian architects were called upon to create works which

reflect the ideal climate of their time, the climate of Latin modernita: ... the . . . Rationalist architecture of Europe awaits a supreme gift . . . from the Italians, who have arrived late on the scene: the gift of free intelligence. IRava 1931c:43]

Finally, the colonies, at peace, were a site at which to do battle with Europe, and colonial architecture was the means, or weapon. "We are the fatal and secular vessels . . . of this eternal Latin spirit (spirito latino) which is returning to invade

Europe" (Rava 1931c:44). From this point of view, architects were themselves soldiers in this "war of cultures" against Europe.

This analogy is hardly dissonant with the way in which architects-at least those represented in the journals-viewed themselves. In 1932 Architettura ed Arti Decorative became Architettura, as it came under the direction of the Na- tional Fascist Union of Architects (Sindacato Nazionale Fascista Architetti). On this occasion the new editor stated that the aim was to strive for good totalitarian architecture (Piacentini 1932:1-2), "in accord with the political, social, and civic

aspirations of the Italy of today."

BUILDING POWER 475

But it was not until 1936 that "colonial architecture" explicitly became a

problem of "colonial architectonic politics" (Rava 1936a:8). With the recent

conquest of Ethiopia, many of the initial motifs of colonial architecture were re-

worked, and reiterated with new enthusiasm. "It is an entirely new concept of

'building politics' . . . which must be formed" (Rava 1936a:9). Looking back, architectural errors committed in Libya were pointed out. To prevent their repetition, a "unitary vision" was called for which should be implemented by sending young architects, under the supervision of more experienced ones, to the colonies for a number of years each. "In this way a true and proper hierarchy would be created . . . which should itself be directly controlled by the State, through the

Ministry of the Colonies" (Rava 1936a:9). Rava's appeal was for a military sort of hierarchy, which should function with as much unison and effectiveness as

possible. The most experienced colonial architects should form a Colonial Architec-

tural Council (Consulta Coloniale per l'Architettura) "so as to guarantee control over all the principal architectural and urbanistic problems . . . which should all be framed by a unitary programme . . . one single great work plan" (Rava 1936a:9).

The comparison of Italy's architectural approach with those of other Euro-

pean nations was still a major topic in 1936, but by now the Italian outlook was more critical, and more specific as to what was worth studying: Rava visited French and English colonies, and determined that on the whole, France and En-

gland had not had much success in living up to

the great problem of colonial architecture . . . the only significant example of unified organization in a grand style, especially in terms of urbanism, is provided by French Morocco, essentially thanks to the work and will of that great colonialist, Mar6chal Lyautey. [Rava 1936a:8]

Along with the repetition of old concerns appeared many new signs of attention to detail, within the discussion of the plans currently being drawn up for Ad- dis Ababa (Ethiopia). For the first time, separate quarters for colonists and natives were mentioned, but spatial differentiation within the city extended far beyond racial distinctions:

[In these plans] we find principles which are fundamental to the healthy and vital creation of each new colonial center, such as the total separation of the European city from the indigenous city, and an adequate zoning study (. .. allowing for a zone of refined neighborhoods, one middle-class, one ... popular . . and an industrial zone, one for hospitals, etc.). [Rava 1936b:29]

Another new emphasis was on the need for an impressive, monumental city center, "where all the military and civic offices [would] be together" (Rava 1936b:29). Here the planners were consciously using the French transformation of Rabat (Morocco) as a model, which had "a true and proper governmental acropolis, dominant in the midst of vast gardens . . . this experiment in Ra-


bat . . . is to be thought of as an example of the affirmation of power" (Rava 1936b:29). But here the goal of monumentality was no longer to impress Europe alone; for the first time (in the literature), it was directed to the indigenous inhabitants of the colony. In the plan for Addis Ababa the architects consciously used the "concept [of] acting upon the indigenous mentality, impressing it with the isolated grandeur of power" (Rava 1936b:29). It was not only the central offices which were thought of as a means to this end: "A point . . . of capital concern relative to the prestige of the conquering nation vis-a-vis the submitted populations, is that of the residences of civil servants and the military," which therefore should be particularly Italian and moderno-in a word, colonial (Rava 1936b:29).

This new comprehensiveness of details within an overarching plan arose with the opportunity for colonial urbanism, the planning of entire cities, some of them new, in Ethiopia. Colonial urbanism was an expanded field for the same concerns that had defined Libyan colonial architecture, which had been more frag- mentary in its approach: "to realize . . . in the most genuine Fascist

spirit . . . the totalitarian concept of a truly Imperial affirmation" (Rava 1936b:30).

As for architecture, by 1936, a clearer picture of its actual elements had begun to emerge. Whereas in 1931 the function of design was still described as "to create a typical exotic atmosphere" (Rava 1931d:34), by now a sort of typology, albeit weak, of colonial housing types and features was being developed alongside the inclusive city plans for Ethiopia. This reflected the colonialists' special housing needs in connection with their life-style:

To create a cool shelter by which to screen the sun out ... [and the] blinding light, the heavy dust . . . and which . . . provides spacious areas fit to receive friends and contain that social life which is characteristic of life in the colonial cities; this is the physiognomy of the house in the colonies. [Piccinato 1936a:23]

In particular, the verandah was essential to the colonial life: "it is . . . the place of rest and leisure during the coolest hours of the day . . . [where] one welcomes

friends, receives guests, relaxes, reads," and thus must be regarded as "an important constituent element" rather than as an accessory to the house (Piccinato 1936b: 16-17).

Courtyards were also accorded much importance, and tribute was paid to the bungalow, "the most typical and . . . most genuine house-form of the European civilization in the tropical colonies" (Piccinato 1936b: 15) (Figure 19).

As the scale on which colonial dominance by means of architecture had suddenly expanded with the possibility of colonial urbanism, attention to the smaller details increased also. Previously, it had been thought that Italian architects should learn from local forms, but in what specific ways had never been clear. Now architects were surveying local materials, and one by one, judging whether they were useful to the colonial life (Piccinato 1936c:9). For instance, a new type of door needed to be designed, allowing for both closure and ventilation, a so- phistication not necessitated by the natives' "much more primitive and modest needs" (Piccinato 1936c:9).

BUILDING POWER 477

Piccinato (1936b)

Figure 19 Bungalow in Kenya, no date.

By 1936 "colonial architecture" was no longer informed by a vague set of statements, but in the Ethiopian context had diversified into several sets of particular concerns, one being the beginnings of colonial urbanism per se, and another a simplified, more direct approach to the designs of particular buildings.

1937-1940: Colonial Urbanism

In 1937 major plans and precepts for the "new" cities of Ethiopia were elab- orately documented in Architettura. In fact, for the most part these cities were already in existence, but by virtue of the Italians' planning, the latter considered that these cities were of their own design. Clear distinctions were drawn: plans must be different for cities of different population, "according to whether the new cities will have a reduced white population and thus an essentially colonial character, or a numerous Italian population and urbanistic traits similar to those of European cities" (Bosio 1937a:419).

Control, of inhabitants and the movement of traffic, as well as of the construction of buildings following a systematic plan, was the predominant concern. Exact spatial delimitations, and the relative situation of areas, were the substance of urbanistic discourse. Each and every building must form part of, and be determined by, a preconceived, comprehensive piano regolatore ("regulating plan")(Bosio 1937a:421). But control was seen as really permeating the very shape of the city, and its possible development:

Every urban zone will be subject to precise norms which will regulate (regoleranno) construction, in urbanistic discipline and in perfect correspondence with the regulating plan (piano regolatore), following a program of succession. [Bosio 1937b:776]

This kind of control was also an essential part of the planning process itself, which was both supported and directed by an array of plans and aerial views of the city sites (Figures 20, 21).


Figure 20 Aerial view of Addis Ababa, no date.

Figure 21 Aerial view of Jimma, no date.

BUILDING POWER 479

The ruling guideline for planning was that of race. Most planning details followed from the separation of blacks from whites, and the effort to keep blacks as invisible as possible to whites, while also ensuring that "the natives" could not help but see the visible signs of white power.

For all of the cities under consideration (Addis Ababa, Gondar, Jimma, Des-

sye), traffic to and from the markets was to be directed so as to expose the whites to the locals as little as possible:

An important problem is to channel the traffic of caravans away from the national traffic: caravans and the indigenous traffic will end up in the indigenous quarter... It must reach the indigenous market and quarter without going through the [Italian part of the] city. The national market will be separate from the indigenous one, although it will have frequent commerce with it. IBosio 1937a:427]

Locals would have restricted access to the Italian market: "the natives will be conceded commerce in such zones, but in no case will they reside in them" (Bosio 1937b:774). Indigenous quarters also were planned in function of the access whites must have to their (indigenous) central civic buildings: "the Coptic church, amid a composition in green, will dominate the quarter; one piazza will contain the tribunal, the indigenous school and the hospital" (Bosio 1937b:774). But the problem remained of isolating whites from blacks as much as possible, even in their entry into the "native" areas: "functionaries will be able to go [to this same piazza, by [a] road independent from the indigenous traffic" (Bosio 1937b:774). Control thus extended not only to the loci of residence and daily activities and commerce, but blacks and whites were to move about within the city with as little contact as possible.

On a larger scale, it was the city proper that was perceived by its planners as an instrument of dominance:6

It will be possible to plan concentric cities with urban zoning plans centered around a knoll or spur, where, as though it were an acropolis, the buildings of Government, the element of conquest and domination, will constitute the urban hierarchy of the city which should formally make evident the predominance of white over black, and vi- sually admonish that every piazza seeks our supremacy over the infantile, primitive indigenous population. [Bosio 1937a:429]7

This was an express statement that space, landforms, as well as how these were built up, were the vehicles and expression of power-and consequently, indistin-

guishable from the extension of power. At this moment in the development of Italian colonial architectural thought emerged a sort of cognitive colonialism, an

attempt, no longer merely to control Ethiopians, or their movements, but to ensure that the habitat of the "native" population was pre-inhabited by an Italian power which was to be, in their perception, everywhere.

One way of achieving this effect upon the locals was to absorb, or take on, the visible aspects of the previous ruling power. In the already existing Addis Ababa, which Italians had to accommodate for themselves, "the insertion of the new center among the buildings which already represented the major expression


of the Abyssinian dynasty's reign, reaffirms the total superimposition of It-

aly's domination" (Guidi and Valle 1937:761). It would be erroneous to conclude that the only human subjects of this

planned control were the non-Italians, even though the texts only emphasized the colonists' accommodation and never used the term "control" in connection with their daily lives and movements. The ultimate impact of planning could only be control over all traffic. Furthermore, planning entered in far greater detail into

every aspect of the colonists' lives than into those of nonwhites. Another point of interest is the manipulation of the landscape, the search for

effect, in the segregation of blacks from whites. In contrast to the utter artifice of such planning, the actual barriers were either "green," that is, vegetational, or of water, as in the case of Addis Ababa, which had two riverbeds, seasonally channeling rapidwaters. Hence they were thought of as "natural" barriers, just as much as that differentiating black and white. In the latter case, the lines of

spatial separation were based on the course of the riverbeds (Figure 22):

It is these torrents . . . which will provide the means . . . for imposing the regulating plan (piano regolatore) with respect to the segregation of the indigenous city ....

: : : - :: :0 : : ::: :j i\::;:: : :-- - ^ 00 ^^ : :

: . :'^.--:-.1 \V.,-,i

: : 00 0 0 0 fE10 ddVs'bab: Riverbeds ': .: . \ . : ̂ ; ': ::J/; :!!~? ;. l 1

{ \ : ,

II

; ' : ' ' : :f : : : :: ' :: l 1 I

j: 1 11111: :1 :: l :: r -1: ..w4wU. QIJARTS?RE QJTATIE RI QUATIO EO tR 0 C 'E. T't.O INO) NO CtCAKAAEA iTALANO U 10 V E 0 PO TICTCO

Guidi and Valle (1937)

Figure 22 Addis Ababa: Riverbeds.

BUILDING POWER 481

The fundamental criterion ... is the net separation between indigenous and Italian quarters . . . the torrents . . .constitute the natural lines of separation. [Guidi and Valle 1937:760]

Elsewhere, "green .. .will constitute .. .the best frontier between the Italian

quarter and the indigenous one (the latter always being built downwind), an efficient protection from the epidemic diseases frequently found in the unhygienic indigenous life (Bosio 1937a:43 1).8 "Green" should also play a part in the indigenous areas themselves, which were described as

uniform and gathered together in organized plans to facilitate ventilation. . . . The abundant vegetation will interrupt the uniform monotony of these rudimentary complexes . . . it is useless to pave the roads. [Bosio 1937a:431] (Figure 23)

Meanwhile the contents of the Italian "center," which were to be protected from the local presence by these barricades of vegetation, should "have a practical architecture, simple and dignified, rich in frescoes, mosaics and sculp- tures . . . the best affirmation of today's Italian capacity for artistic expansion" (Bosio 1937a:425). These areas should also contain landscaped vegetation, but here it was as ornament, rather than a "natural barrier" against blacks or their diseases, or as interruption of monotony (Figure 24).

Throughout these plans, the indigenous living areas were referred to as

"quarters," usually in oppositions to the Italian "city" or "center." This reflects an attitude toward the locally found structures which was the opposite of that when plans had been made for Libya. There, imitation or adaptation of the local architecture had been a goal, and one to be extensively justified. Here instead, the initial premise was that there was little or nothing for the Italian planners to learn from the local buildings or overall layout of cities: in general, these were perceived as unplanned, haphazard, "disordered" (Bosio 1937a:422). Addis Ababa in particular was qualified as "the true Negro city, that is, the unhappy result of the incapacity that blacks on the whole and Ethiopians especially have for [organization]" (Guidi and Valle 1937:755).

The categories for planning nonindigenous zones were: service, industrial, military, residential (upper-class, apartment buildings, working-class-these "each with a garden"), schools, sports complexes, markets, hospitals, hotels (Bosio 1937b, 1937c, 1937d).9 Other major guidelines for planning, besides the definition of the center/acropolis and its quality of "triumph" (Bosio 1937b:774), included the placement of "more economical but nonetheless distinguished" residences in close proximity to this center (Guidi and Valle 1937:763). The indigenous market, although at a safe distance, was situated in relation to the Italian one so as to be a source of entertainment, or local flavor, especially for the tourists:

The suk is immediately adjacent to the European commercial zone, off the road which connects the old and the new centers, since it is, as in all colonial cities, one of the major attractions for the resident Europeans as well as for the tourists. [Guidi and Valle 1937:762]


zIOwtE 3?ER tS IMS

I -

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Figure 23 Addis Ababa: Green.

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Figure 24 Addis Ababa: Landscaping.

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BUILDING POWER 483

What emerges in these articles is a comprehensive, urbanistic approach, in which the criteria for planning were explicit. They were not issues in themselves: the point was to put together cities, not to be modem, define modernitd, or be Latin in spirit, but to be dominant on the ground. In comparison, the previous work toward architecture in Libya had been on a microscopic scale, and depen- dent on a number of emotionally loaded but otherwise unclear, impractical motifs. Certainly the overt racial distinctions that served as premises in Ethiopian planning made the task much clearer than it had been in Libya, where the writers had been persistently caught up in the dual attempt both to distinguish Italy from Lib- ya, and to assimilate the two on some common historical or "spirit"-ual ground.

In this difference-between the architectural discourse concerning Libya and that concerning Ethiopia-it appears as though the Italian architects and planners could only fully practice "colonial architecture" in structuring the colonization of a country (namely Ethiopia) that had been acquired without the justification of historical right (as Libya had been). Perhaps what had "entitled" Italy to colonize Libya, its former identity with and ownership of it, was also a major impediment to any straightforward planning for the colonists in Libya, since it led to compli- cations in the formulation of a clear difference between colonizers and colonized in the organization of colonial space.

In other words, the colonial architecture developed in the Libyan context was overprescribed, and thus limited in its scope, by the closed circle of the very cultural categories, and the complex relationships among them, which were meant to facilitate its development. Meanwhile, the planning for Ethiopia reveals a shift away from the theme of modernita and to that of piano regolatore, and "regulation" in general.

There are two reasons for this shift in discourse. One, the conquest of Ethio- pia was a Fascist venture, and was not so much ideologically based in regaining lost ground in the competition with European nations as it was in the notion of Italy as an imperial power in the world. Two, the architects of the late 1920s and early 1930s had been Rationalists. Their principal interest had been in modern, functional architecture; the later planners, on the other hand, pursued monumentality and the deliberate articulation of space and power. Whereas in Libya the goal had been to appear modem in the eyes of Europe by building modem structures, in Ethiopia the point was to demonstrate Italian power over the local audi- ence by designing powerful buildings and cities. Buildings were political, and aesthetics were secondary. The piano regolatore of Ethiopia was not so much a rhetorical device as it was an instrument; whereas modernita had been abstract, this was as practical as possible.

While the emphasis, then, was on planning on a vast scale in Ethiopia, the counterpoint of that scale appeared in 1940, when urbanism also appeared as a concern with the details of urban living. At this point the interior decoration, or furnishings for urban colonial life, became a full-fledged market in these journals. The point of the new designs was to "provide high-class accommodations for every need of the colonial life" (Rava 1940:21). What were once seen as primitive, indigenous traits now became subject to stylization: colony dwellers were


categorized as "nomads" or "settlers," and should purchase their furniture ac-

cordingly. There were textiles, Italian in design but hand-woven by Libyans. Ear- thenware dining services "renew the old techniques of North African pot- ters . . . (who themselves perpetuate an art inherited from Rome, the colonizer and conqueror)" (Rava 1940:22).

The "Mediterranean" trait had been transposed from living quarters to the ornamentation of those quarters; it reappeared here, no longer in the context of national identity. Otherwise that trait was newly imputed in that it was not Lib-

yans, not Italians, who were re-finding their "roots" in the "primitive" by means of the "modem," and their products were destined to be marketed in Italy:

The return of the indigenous craftsmen to the primitive sources, free from the infiltra- tions, adulterations and superimpositions of an entirely false Arab/Moorish "style," from a false local bazaar coloring, will be brought about on modern designs of a very controlled taste . .. [this will be] an anti-exotic production, of a happily "Mediter- ranean" character ... which should make it appropriate and refined, not only for the colonies, but also in Italy. [Rava 1940:23]

Epilogue

By the end of this progression of the Italian colonial-architectural discourse, its most interesting aspect is the diversification of foci which had taken place. Initially, it was isolated buildings, removed, as it were, from any political, geo- graphic, or urban context which held the architects' attention: they were in search of "art." By the time modernitd had become the object of their quest, the focus was still upon individual buildings. It was only with the conquest of Ethiopia- aided, no doubt, by the awareness of Lyautey's works in Morocco, and of the

contemporary architectural discourse in Nazi Germany-that architecture as a manifestation and means of power itself became the topic. From then on, the whole city, urban space, and planning were invested with political meanings. Hence the focus, apparently suddenly, became expanded as much as possible. At the same time, the expression of Italian power also confined itself to such small

dimensions, in furnishings, as to be politically trite. The most expansive use of space, land, territory in the colonies as a bed of

power, came in 1939, when Libya was decreed to be Italy's "fourth shore" and therefore no more than a territorial/spatial extension of Italy. It was also then, when all the native Libyans suddenly found themselves not in Libya, but in Italy, that they were "barred from acquiring metropolitan citizenship," that is, from

being Italians, by another decree creating a "special Italian citizenship" (citta- dinanza italiana speciale) (Segre 1974:104-105). The most global effect of power by spatial means was, overnight, to change Libyans in Italian Libya into virtual

immigrants in Italy, whereas the initial aim of colonization had been for Italians to emigrate to Libya.

BUILDING POWER 485

Notes

Acknowledgments. I want to thank Nezar Al-Sayyad, James Faubion, Blair Fuller, Marcia Inhorn, Paul Rabinow, and William Shack for their invaluable criticisms, suggestions, and encouragement. 'See Benevolo's further analysis of the fact that all totalitarian regimes of the period, namely Italy, Germany, and Russia, blocked the modem movement. Despite the vast dif- ferences between them, in each case efficient national control was best suited by the pre- dictable forms of neoclassicism (1971:574-576). Also see Simeone (1978) for a compa- rable phenomenon in folklore studies.

2All translations from Italian sources are mine.

3In metropolitan Italy as well, archaeological finds had an enormous impact on the forms valued by Fascist architects (see MacDonald 1982).

4Compare with Foucault on "the process by which knowledge functions as a form of power and disseminates the effects of power" in geographically analytical knowledge, and the "circulation of notions . . . between geographical and strategic discourses" (1981:69). 5This dual concern with, and reference to, both the indigenous local styles and those of the colonizing nation, is also found in the discourse of British colonial architecture in Delhi. Compare King (1976:32).

6Compare with King on Horvath's model of the "colonial city, of which the major explan- atory variable is dominance . . . this latter variable . . . partially accounts for the fact that . . . the component sectors of the colonial city were kept separate, deliberately pre- venting the development of . . . diffusion and interaction" (Horvath 1969; King 1976:14). 7This notion of architectural artifacts seeking "supremacy" in and by themselves is also found in the Fascist architectural thought of Germany. Compare the statement of Hitler's architect, Albert Speer, in a recent interview: "my buildings were intended, as I specified in 1936, not only to express the nature of our movement. They were to be a part of the movement themselves. . . . For Hitler [building] was one part of the political will of the National Socialist movement" (Leitner 1982:48). 8This spatial gap between black and white areas for the protection of health, King calls "the 'sanitary space' " (King 1976:37). "Physical space in the colonial settlement and between it and the indigenous city, is organised according to mid- and late nineteenth century . . . medical theories which . . . assume a causal connection between aerial distance and bacterial infection" (King 1976:37).

9Rigorous separation of urban areas is, according to King, the defining principle of colonial urbanism: "the colonial city is that urban area . . . most typically characterised by the physical segregation of its ethnic, social and cultural component groups" (King 1976:17; emphasis in original). The planning categories reflect the colonial social structure, which, in contrast to the indigenous one, "was increasingly differentiated in terms of occupation, income, life-style and . .. location, style and scale of residential expectation" (King 1976:36).

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Building Power: Italy's Colonial Architecture and Urbanism, 1923-1940

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