A decimated Shiite shrine in Iraq. The smoking World Trade Center site. The scorched cityscape of 1945 Dresden. Among the most indelible scars left by war is the destroyed landscapes, and such architectural devastation damages far more than mere buildings. Robert Bevan argues here that shattered buildings are not merely “collateral damage,” but rather calculated acts of cultural annihilation. From Hitler’s Kristallnacht to the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s statue in the Iraq War, Bevan deftly sifts through military campaigns and their tactics throughout history, and analyzes the cultural impact and catastrophic consequences of architectural destruction. For Bevan, these actions are nothing less than cultural genocide. Ultimately, Bevan forcefully argues for the prosecution of nations that purposely flout established international treaties against destroyed architecture. A passionate and thought-provoking cri de coeur, The Destruction of Memory raises questions about the costs of war that run deeper than blood and money. “The idea of a global inheritance seems to have fallen by the wayside and lessons that should have long ago been learned are still being recklessly disregarded. This is what makes Bevan’s book relevant, even much of the destruction of which it speaks is still under way.”— Financial Times Magazine “The message of Robert Bevan’s devastating book is that war is about killing cultures, identities and memories as much as it is about killing people and occupying territory.”— Sunday Times “As Bevan’s fascinating, melancholy book shows, symbolic buildings have long been targeted in and out of war as a particular kind of mnemonic violence against those to whom they are special.”— The Guardian
Bevan establishes a strong case that "the myriad ways in which the world's built cultures have been destroyed by violent acts" (262) serve as both prelude (e.g., the burning of synagogues as part of the Kristallnacht pogrom) and accompaniment (e.g., the felling of the Mostar Bridge during the 1990s Balkans conflict) to genocide and ethnic cleansing, what he refers to as "cultural cleansing." He analyzes those ways in the ensuing chapters, provoking rich meditation about the constitutive elements of historical consciousness, the tension between memory and forgetting, the debate over preservation and reconstruction from traditionalist and critical perspectives, and other related considerations. He does so partly because these matters are important in their own right but partly, too, as a plea to carry out the commitments made in such international agreements as the 1954 Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict through international criminal prosecution. His assertive commentary throughout the book reflects his passionate engagement with these issues, effectively conveyed to the reader in a way that, along with its clarity of style, make it a compelling read.
This is not an easy read — and it’s not meant to be. Bevan collects an archive of cases where architecture is not just collateral damage but an active weapon: from Sarajevo to Belfast, Cyprus to Palestine, Warsaw to Aleppo. What I found both powerful and difficult is how he mixes testimony, history, and his own strong opinions. Sometimes that made it heavy, sometimes repetitive, but the weight is necessary.
The book’s strongest moments are when he shows how architecture is inseparable from memory and identity. Destroying a mosque, a church, or even a house is never just a physical act — it’s an attempt to erase the narrative of a people. And equally, rebuilding is never neutral: it can either falsify and sanitize, or it can serve as an act of witness.
I did find, however, that Bevan at times mishandles his references. In one early section, he praises Muslims for reusing sacred sites instead of destroying them, unlike Christians who often demolished. This observation is broadly true, but he supported it by citing a line he described as a Hadith. After digging, I could only trace it back to a mythological poem, not an authenticated Hadith. And Hadith, in Islamic tradition, are among the most rigorously verified sources we have, with chains of transmission and strict records. To conflate a myth with a Hadith shows a lack of awareness of its weight. His point—that Muslims often reused rather than destroyed—is valid, but it should have been grounded in reliable historical evidence, not a misattributed text.
That said, I give him credit for striving to seek truth and to show the moral stakes of architecture.
What stayed with me most: • His analysis of absence — how sometimes ruins and scars are more honest than reconstructions. • His warnings against turning trauma sites into commodified memorials. • His reminder that truth must be recorded first, before heritage can be curated.
For me, this book was not just history, but a mirror to Syria’s future. How we rebuild will decide whether we remember truthfully, or repeat the cycle of erasure.
Not an easy book, not always elegant, and not flawless — but essential.
This book also inspired me to put my own thoughts on paper about Syria’s rebuilding. You can read my article, Syria’s Architecture of Rebuilding: Between Truth and Mercy, here:
Surprisingly more interesting and easy to read than I was expecting. Especially the first 2 chapters ('cultural cleansing' and 'terror'). Lots of stuff to think about. Would love to read more about the different topics here.
In this book, Bevan looks at the destruction of historical architecture during times of armed conflict, especially at the deliberate destruction of architecture as it relates to culture.