Lejla Odobasic Novo
a sense of physical unease and a sense of disorientation which could the interrelated experience of entering the original camp and the condition of being displaced. Thus, the corridor demarks a passage into a different reality; it symbolizes the shift from the state of belonging to that of being unwanted, segregated and potentially even obliterated. The exhibition area, facing page, is a large hall-like space divided into temporary and permanent conditions. Looking around the exhibition hall one finds no windows, no reference to the outside world; there is no escaping the weight of the absence in the underbelly of the building. The atmosphere here is silent. The heart of the permanent exhibition, which illustrates the chronological history of the camp, is a long table that parallels the form of the building itself. It takes us through the cyclical and repeating patterns of displacement in the camp from the Republican refugees of the Spanish Civil War, to deported Jews and Roma during WWII, detained German soldiers, the National Liberation Front and Algerian Harkis. Looking at photographs and listening to the personal stories of the detainees is an intimate experience. One cannot help but imagine the conditions under which these people left their homes, the journey they undertook on the way to Rivesaltes, their living conditions in the camp and whether they ever found their way back home. Here, I cannot separate my personal history of displacement, bringing back memories of leaving besieged Sarajevo with my family in the early 1990s. We also lived in a camp of sorts in Libya for four years before we made our way to Canada. Thoughts then wander to the current waves of migrants living in devasting conditions in temporary camps throughout the Balkans while they are desperately trying to make their way into the EU, many of whom perish under horrific conditions while migrating towards a better future.
Closer to the barracks we can see a tilted form, above, the footprint of the former assembly area, emerging from the ground. It is the same ochre colour as the landscape that surrounds it, rendering an illusion that the ground itself is titling up. The building, 230 metres long and only 14 metres wide, silently inclines towards the sky as it is both submerged and emerges from the depths of the earth. It lies almost flat on the west side at the entrance to the site and rises slightly towards the east to meet the roof height of the surrounding barracks. This visual connection enables us to form a relationship with the camp buildings in their varying states of weather-beaten erosion. Rather than taking the curved path to the barracks, and looking for the history of the place, one follows a straight ramp which descends into the depths of the earth and into the new museum, right. The space gets darker as one proceeds deeper to an abrupt stop at the entrance. Here we feel the cut in the ground where the entire building exposes its full vastness and its nested state. The memorial is compressed between the sky and the earth, between the darkness and the light, between remembering and forgetting. Once in the building, ties with the outside world are cut as the memorial offers no outside view except to the sky. Three patios structure the organisation of learning labs, a social area and offices, all the while providing a certain sense of comfort. A tranquil yet lonely feeling reigns in the softly lit oversized reception hall that completes the transition into the underworld of the memorial. Passing this point, we enter a small waiting area lit by one of the three courtyards. Next to the courtyard is a long narrow corridor lit with artificial light from below. Entering the corridor, one loses all sight of natural light while its length makes it impossible to predict what is on the other side. As the eyes adjust to the darkness, the relatively long walk down the corridor, brings both
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on site review 36: our material future
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