Erasing Doubt in N.Y. Plan

The Lower Manhattan Development Corp.’s decision last week to solicit new designs for the World Trade Center site is the kind of backward step that should be greeted with a measured degree of praise.

Last month, when the agency unveiled six designs for the site, the plans were met with open hostility. The public, at a hearing that was one of the largest in New York City’s history, attacked them as an inadequate response to the site’s symbolic importance. Critics derided the proposals for their lack of imagination.

The development corporation’s latest shift in strategy is an attempt to reverse some of the damage done by that initial announcement. The agency will select five firms by the end of September to take part in a limited competition for the site’s design. Each firm will then be paid a $40,000 stipend to develop the proposals, which must be submitted by Nov. 30. The field will be narrowed to three candidates by the end of the year, and a final design will be selected by mid-2003.

The result could possibly be a higher level of design. But the selection process is also part of the story. It will send an important signal about how much our democratic values matter. By limiting the number of participants in the competition to five, the agency is ensuring that the debate about ground zero’s future will remain relatively narrow. And in that sense, the competition falls far short of the kind of open discourse that is the public’s right.

To call the development corporation’s process a competition is somewhat misleading. Real competitions are open to anyone--that is, to any designer willing to sacrifice the time, energy and money it takes to produce a viable proposal. Typically, a jury whittles down the original list of entries, which can number in the hundreds, to a handful of finalists. The finalists usually then compete in a second round before a winner is selected.

In the development corporation process, the initial list of finalists will be selected in response to a formal “request for qualifications,” meaning that they will not have to produce a design. Instead, the five will be selected according to their level of experience and examples of past work. Given the number of state and local groups vying for control of the site, it remains unclear who will actually make the final decision.

Such hybrid competitions have become a favorite of major American institutions in recent years. The reason is control. Open competitions allow architects to work in relative freedom and seclusion, far from the watchful gaze of the client. The results are often unexpected. In a more limited competition, the client usually works more closely with the architectural teams in mapping out a shared vision. The point of that input, the argument goes, is to ensure that architects don’t stray too far from their mandate to indulge in irrelevant fantasies.

Yet open competitions are not a new phenomenon. Sir Charles Barry’s House of Parliament in London, for example, whose soaring gothic spires overlook the River Thames, was commissioned in 1835 after a competition that drew 97 entries, many of them by amateurs. Charles Garnier’s 1875 Paris Opera House, an ornate pastiche of classical styles, was selected over 171 entries. In more recent memory, Renzo Piano and Richard Rogers’ controversial 1971 design for Paris’ Pompidou Center, with its pumped-up high-tech exterior, was selected out of 681 entries. All of these buildings are now considered beloved landmarks in their respective cities.

When competitions go wrong, it is almost always because of the quality of the jury, which can make muddle-headed decisions. In a 1989 competition for Paris’ Tres Grand Bibliotheque, for example, which drew 250 entrants, most independent observers felt that Rem Koolhaas’ proposal--a gigantic glass cube with a series of amoeba-shaped public halls carved through its translucent form--was the most compelling. But Koolhaas came in second to French architect Dominique Perrault, and most now view the competition as a missed opportunity.

That may be the real reason that juries, usually made up of political appointees, often feel so uneasy about an open competition process. It could make them look dumb. Great losing designs linger in the imagination--a testament to what could have been.

The Lower Manhattan Development Corp., still feeling the sting from last month’s public hearing, seems to have become more sensitive to such issues. As part of their revamped strategy, agency officials have invited New York New Visions--a coalition of architects, planners and business leaders--to take part in the selection process and to make recommendations for the short list. The idea is to bring in more outside expertise. But the coalition is not as independent as it may seem. Many of the agency’s initial guidelines for the site were drawn from an unsolicited document New York New Visions unveiled in January.

In the past few months, the development corporation guidelines have only become more specific. They originally required a mix of commercial, retail and housing in the 16-acre site, reestablishment of part of the former street grid, and designating the footprints of the former World Trade Center towers as memorial space. A recent addition calls for the creation of a grand promenade along West Street that would link the site to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island ferries in Battery Park.

The development corporation says that the current guidelines are a reflection of an emerging public consensus. The promenade, for example, was met with widespread public approval at the July hearing. And the agency is also continuing to reach out to various communities. It will hold the first of a series of new hearings in the five boroughs and New Jersey starting tonight.

But pandering to the public is not the same as offering it a choice. The public may be able to condemn a design, but it cannot imagine what it has not yet seen. That is the role of the architect--to create real proposals that can be debated, attacked or admired. In doing so, they broaden the discussion.

Opening the process to such a degree of public scrutiny would take courage. In a very real sense, the public would have more of a say in the site’s future. It could push aside the desires of developers and downtown stakeholders that have so much invested in the site’s commercial value. Of course, that may be exactly what the development corporation is trying to avoid. If the public falls in love with a project, for example, would the agency be able to reject it?

The unspoken assumption is that the public is incapable of grasping the complex issues that the site’s redevelopment involves. Worse still, they may derail a process already in motion. The agency is following a rigid timetable, and restarting the competition has set the agency six months behind schedule.

But getting the process right is obviously worth the sacrifice in time. The lesson of the July hearing was that the average New Yorker understands architecture’s importance in fulfilling the site’s symbolic mission. They also know mediocrity when they see it. And they have made it clear that they consider the site part of the public realm.

Politicians, planners and critics have a role to play in all of this. They should offer their expertise. They should seek to educate the public on the implications of certain design and planning decisions. Ultimately, the network of politicians and agencies that rule the site will make the final decision.

Indeed, only opening the process to the widest possible range of ideas will prevent another misstep. Doing so would serve as a meaningful response to the barbarity of the Sept. 11 attacks. It would reaffirm our faith in the messiness of the democratic process. That is a message that would resonate.