Tilburg's Blue Building Revisited: 'Emptied Space' and the Threat of Invisibility

About a decade ago, a group of Tilburgers began their efforts to protect Tilburg's ugliest building — unofficially named 'The blue building' — from demolition (Het blauwe gebouw, n.d.). They ultimately failed, as the local government raised various reasons for its destruction. With its historical utilisation by the city's social services, it did not fit the area's industrial railway heritage narrative. The building also contained asbestos, and it had been empty for some time, leading to "disturbance in the neighbourhood through break-ins and vandalism" (Gemeente Tilburg, n.d.). According to the municipality, The blue building's location would serve the local community better if it could be used for a different purpose. About two years ago, the ugliest building of Tilburg met its demise to make room for up to 150 apartments. Those apartments, however, have not yet been constructed. The site of The blue building is an 'emptied space'.

By Inge Beekmans

Figure 1: This picture from February 2, 2023 shows the beginning of the demolition of The blue building.

A few months before its planned demolition, Diggit Magazine published this article about digital interactions that focus on the building, which examined how interactions on Facebook and Instagram about the building's planned demolition relate to Tilburg's narrative of 'beautiful ugliness'. The article concluded by demonstrating how some of the more visible discourses about the building — which mostly focused on its aesthetic and historical value — rendered conflicting, disempowered discourses less visible. Now, approximately two years after the start of the buildings' demolition, this follow-up article returns to its present-day empty site to revisit the issue of its demolition in relation to the site's contemporary emptiness. This revisit is inspired by Space, Politics, Heritage: Engaging in a political geography of heritagisation by Lois et al. (2024), which, among other things, describes the effects of the demolition of a prison in Madrid, and the consequent emptiness of its former location. Following a brief description of the study of Lois et al. (2024), an analysis of The blue building's (lack of) remnants links the notion of 'emptied space' to the post-digital importance of (in)visibility. 

Spatial politics, heritage power, and emptied space

According to Lois et al. (2024), the development of the concept of 'Authorized Heritage Discourse' (Smith, 2006) — 'AHD' — has produced "political readings of heritage" (Lois et al., 2024, p. 449) that focus on various dimensions of cultural heritage, including the spatial one. This dimension is of great significance, as the construction of a space can massively impact the heritage that can become (in)visible in that particular space. 

Despite the local community's and former prisoners' desire to use at least part of the prison "to recover the memory of political prisoners", the prison was demolished in 2008, "turning it into an empty space".

To demonstrate how the process of 'heritagisation' — "the process through which objects, places and practices are conceptualised as cultural heritage" (FutureLearn, 2022) — is linked to spatial politics, Lois et al. (2024) discuss multiple sites that are considered 'heritage' by at least some members of the regarding local community. One of these sites is the former Carabanchel prison in Madrid. The prison was constructed in 1944 by prisoners of the Francoist regime and used as a political prison, before falling into disrepair after Spain became a democracy. Despite the local community's and former prisoners' desire to use at least part of the prison "to recover the memory of political prisoners", the prison was almost completely demolished in 2008, "turning it into an empty space" (Lois et al., 2024, p. 456).

By gaelx via Wikimedia Commons

Figure 2: A sign at the Carabanchel prison in Madrid highlights the local community's persuasion that the prison will be demolished for speculative purposes, and that they will not be allowed to preserve part of the prison as a symbol for the commemoration of the Francoist regime.

According to Lois et al. (2024), the case of the former Carabanchel prison demonstrates how "the official memory" is "managed by the political elite or a dominant group to create a normative understanding of the past" (p. 456). The physical 'elimination' of uncomfortable heritage, forgetfulness and erasure are key management strategies in this process. These strategies are particularly prominent in Spain, since "the state produced no explicit narrative of rupture with the dictatorship", leading to policies that can be characterised as "inaction, and discomfort towards elements associated with the period" and the feeling that "any memory of repression should be consigned to oblivion" (Lois et al., 2024, p. 458). 

The 'void' — or 'emptied space' — gave visibility to the 'heritage power' of the nation-state, and necessitated the relocation of the 'prison memories' that had emerged.

Though the eventual demolition of the prison largely "erased the possibilities of a physical place where different narratives could have been rearticulated in the form of museums, archives, performances or any other scenario negotiated in its reconstruction" (Lois et al., 2024, p. 458), the transformation of the former prison into a 'voided space' also produced new opportunities for heritagisation. The 'void' — or 'emptied space' — gave visibility to the 'heritage power' of the nation-state, and necessitated the relocation of the 'prison memories' that had emerged as part of the anti-demolition protest of the local community and former prisoners. 

Nowadays, the former Carabanchel prison is a member of Sites of Conscience, a global network that fights political erasures of the past in compliance with the motto that "remembering is a form of resistance" (Sites of Conscience, 2022). Via this network, visibility is generated for a Blogspot webpage and a social media account that publish stories about former prisoners, request information about missing persons associated with the former Carabanchel prison, and organize protests. Though the buildings of the Carabanchel prison were "reduced to dust", its partially disembodied memories survive online.

By Inge Beekmans

Figure 3: This picture shows the 'emptied space' of The blue building on November 8, 2024 from approximately the same position as Figure 1.

Is there meaning to the blue void?

Before delving into the case of what used to be The blue building, its contemporary 'empty space', and questions about (in)visibility, it should be clear that The blue building cannot be linked to notions of dictatorial rule, false imprisonment and other gross human rights violations. The blue building can, however, easily be understood as a space "marked by tragedy or traumatic events to be forgotten or erased" (Lois et al., 2024, p. 458). This observation also emerged in the previous article about The blue building, in which the building's historical function as a social services building played a significant role in angry responses to efforts to protect the building: "[...] that some people start to proclaim that this is such a beautiful building [...] I know that many of them have never been unemployed and have never had to deal with this shit building." 

For the Tilburgers that were (indirectly) affected by the collapse of Tilburg’s textile industry — starting from the 1950s — and the decline of other industrial activities, The blue building is a reminder of a period of shame, desperation and poverty that reverberates to this day. From this perspective, the building can be understood as 'dark heritage', and its destruction as linked to the idea that the "need to remember often competes with the equally strong pressure to forget" (Sites of Conscience, 2022). When given the choice, it seems logical that many people would prefer not to be reminded of their city's historical decline and impoverishment by a building where they needed to 'beg' for social benefits from their local government. 

Fotograaf Publieke Werken Tilburg via het Regionaal Archief Tilburg

Figure 4: This picture from 1978 shows The blue building when it was still in use.

Like the former Carabanchel prison in Madrid, the empty space of The blue building also indexes the power of particular actors to decide which narratives about the past should receive attention. In the case of The blue building, multiple documents from the municipality reveal the wish to construct a single, unambiguous narrative for the Spoorzone, the area in which The blue building was located. In a document from 2018 about the "direction" of the Spoorzone, for instance, the point is raised that the Spoorzone should get a "new identity" that follows a "clear direction" (Bogdan & Van Broeck, 2018). In this document, ten "decisions that form the basis for the identity of the Spoorzone" are introduced. The first, and most prominent, are: (1) "Reusing heritage for varying users and functions", (2) "Preserving the industrial character: rough, tough and unpolished", (3) "Providing time and space for the development of a breeding ground", (4) "Providing space for start-ups, entrepreneurship and education", and (5) "Becoming the focal point of the urban knowledge economy". 

Though the first decision could have resulted in the survival of The blue building, all subsequent decisions herald its impossible position. Contrary to the other buildings in the Spoorzone, The blue building did not belong to the "rough, though" and "industrial" historical railway yard heritage, nor did it naturally ooze the creative-capitalist, future-oriented thinking that imbues the sphere of 'breeding grounds', 'start-ups' and 'urban knowledge economies'. The blue building was not 'unpolished', it was just ugly. The gap between a future filled with highly educated entrepreneurs and the memory of unemployed working class Tilburgers turned out to be irreconcilable. 

The blue building did not belong to the "rough, though" and "industrial" historical railway yard heritage, nor did it naturally ooze the creative-capitalist, future-oriented thinking that imbues the sphere of 'breeding grounds', 'start-ups' and 'urban knowledge economies'.

But does the demolition of The blue building really entail historical poverty is being 'consigned to oblivion'? And which 'normative understanding of the past' might be introduced in its place? Like the demolition of the former Carabanchel prison, the demolition of The blue building "erased the possibilities of a physical place where different narratives could have been rearticulated" (Lois et al., 2024, p. 458). However, what makes historical poverty different from, for instance, prison memories and other types of heritage, is the idea that the heritage of 'the poor' is often marked by invisibility and absence. Touristic experiences pass by disadvantaged communities (Goulding et al., 2018), and the display cases in museums that could have shown their objects are often empty, as there are very few objects to display (Kelly, 2010) — either because poor communities had less possessions, or because their possessions were not deemed sufficiently valuable to preserve. In this sense, The blue building's contemporary 'emptied space' might direct attention to the fact that here, poverty is yet again characterized by a lack of resources and physical presence, rather than by abundance and unignorable visibility. A similar point is made by Tilburg's Quiet Community, which argues that poverty is often suffered in silence, and therefore aims to make 'hidden poverty' more perceptible by giving poor people a voice. 

The fact that the location of The blue building is a voided space, could be both meaningful and fitting, if it was properly contextualized and operated. Similar to Tilburg's Quiet Community's attempts to transform quietness into noise and voice, The blue building's empty space could be set up to cry out its vacuity. The empty space, however, will soon be filled by a building with approximately 150 'median-expensive' rental apartments (Gemeente Tilburg, 2017). Though housing shortages render the fate of The blue building understandable, it is clear that following the physical erasure of the possibility to use The blue building's location to give visibility to historical poverty, the potential for less affluent people to produce new memories in its former location is now also being negated.

Relocating the memories of The blue building

The eventual physical erasure of The blue building and its emptied space will of course not automatically cause all memories of the site to be forgotten. The local archive, for instance, preserves multiple pictures from the building (see Figure 4), as well as the social services' old archives. The most prominent 'relocation' of The blue building, however, is taking place on social media. The Facebook and Instagram account @keeptilburgugly in particular draws attention to the former building. After initially focusing on the building's ugliness, the social media account switched to encouraging people to memorise the physical appearance of the building — "RIP our blue building... take a good look once more" — (see Figure 5), before eventually commemorating the demolition of The blue building in its profile picture (see Figure 6).

By @keeptilburgugly

Figure 5: This screenshot from a @keeptilburgugly Instagram post uses a screenshot of a news article about the demolition of The blue building, accompanied by the text: "Just a short while and than will never see this again. That's a shame! RIP our blue building... take a good look once more". The text indexes the city's local dialect.

By @keeptilburgugly

Figure 6: This screenshot from the @keeptilburgugly Instagram account shows that an illustration of the demolition of The blue building is used as a profile image.

Both the profile picture of @keeptilburgugly and its social media post focus on demolition and aesthetics, rather than on the past function of the building. However, one of the comments underneath the post does appear to recall the building's relationship with unemployment and poverty: "[...] the best performance ever: the dissatisfied welfare recipient who, during an attempt to storm the building, got stuck at the entrance". Though this incident may have occurred roughly as it is described on Instagram, its post-ironic characterisation as the 'best performance ever' demonstrates how the actions of the welfare recipients are jokingly remembered as entertaining. Despite the account's generally self-deprecating attitude, many of the relocated memories of The blue building don't include 'the poor', and when they do, these memories are about 'the poor', rather than by or of them. 

On @keeptilburgugly, The blue building has been transformed into the emblem of a particular narrative about the city of Tilburg. This narrative is marked by the celebration of the city's ugliness and inclination towards demolition, and by its mocking attitude regarding both these topics and other historically constructed characteristics of the city. As such, its mockery might include poor people, but is mostly focused on other contextual factors, making it highly unlikely that the memories of disadvantaged Tilburgers can be relocated to its Instagram and Facebook pages.

The politics of remembering in online-offline spaces

This brief analysis of the digital relocation of The blue building's memories reveals that there is one vital element Lois et al. (2024) fail to address: Even though online spaces can become havens for memories that no longer have a physical memorial place, these online spaces are far from devoid of power relations. Nation-states and local governments have the 'heritage power' to manage the physical memory of the past, while actors who understand the mechanisms and affordances of online platforms have the power to shape its digital counterpart. 

By kruikenemblemen.nl

Figure 7: This screenshot from the website kruikenemblemen.nl shows a fabric patch of The blue building that can be bought for 5,95 euros and sewn to an individual's carnival clothing — which should be a blue peasant's smock, in the case of Tilburg.

In addition to the large amount of uptake @keeptilburgugly generates, other social media posts and digital practices clearly confirm the account's impact and resourcefulness. The profile image of the account is not merely an illustration. It also exists in the shape of a fabric patch that can be bought for 5,95 euros on a website that specialises in emblems that can be sewn to people's carnival costumes — the 'boerenkiel', in the case of Tilburg. The digital popularity of @keeptilburgugly's perspective on The blue building is being commodified. This results in fresh physical visibility for the building, but only from the viewpoint of a particular narrative about the building — that of ugliness, a joking attitude and demolition —, for a particular group of Tilburgers, and during a limited period of time: Shrovetide. 

The texts that accompany the sales page of the fabric patch — "KEEP TILBURG UGLY" and "for the insiders" — signal that the message of the patch is indeed directed at a specific group of people that are 'in the know'. These are not necessarily the people who have physically experienced the interior of the building. The patch is meant for people who empathise with the post-ironic objective to 'keep Tilburg ugly', and are therefore both concerned with the practice of demolition and with remembering The blue building's physical (ugly) appearance. The patch can be bought and worn to express 'membership' of this particular community (Blommaert & Varis, 2015), which consequently incorporates The blue building into its intangible heritage and identity discourse.

By kruikenemblemen.nl

Figure 8: This screenshot from the website kruikenemblemen.nl shows a (most probably) fake review of Elon Musk with the review text: "Fantastic, hybrid and next level emblemen of Kruikenstad. Love it!".

A final observation that can be mentioned, concerns the reviews that are shown on the bottom of the webpage. These are evidently fake, as they, for instance, feature Elon Musk — a highly unlikely person to celebrate carnival in Tilburg — and William II of the Netherlands, the king that is most popular in Tilburg, and died there on March 17, 1849. Musk is presented as finding the fabric patches "fantastic", "hybrid" and "next level". On the one hand, the fake review reveals the website's mockery — like @keeptilburgugly — and its satirical attitude towards tech billionaires and entrepreneurs, who use empty rhetoric like 'hybrid' and 'next level' to communicate their transient excitement, before moving on to their next venture. On the other hand, the use of Musk highlights the websites' awareness of its own position in a networked collection of online spaces that are dominated by major tech corporations, and the consequent need to conform to the dominant discourses and mechanisms of the internet.

Conclusion: A new space for ugliness, not trauma

By looking at The blue building from the perspective of the former Carabanchel prison, this article has managed to foreground some potentially new perspectives about both cases. Every transformation of a potential heritage site into an 'emptied space' reveals which actors hold 'heritage power', and can thus demonstrate something about the (in)visibility and (lack of) resources of the heritage community that might have been linked to the site. Though their memories can be relocated to novel, digital spaces, this process never occurs easily, automatically, and without novel challenges for people who are less resourceful. Online, just like offline, visibility is granted to the narratives that are favoured by the people that have the resources to ensure they are heard, as they are able to take advantage of the algorithms and affordances of online platforms. A physical place where stories about unemployment and impoverishment could have been told, is inherited by apartments for the 'median-rich', the commodified discourse of post-ironic beautiful ugliness, and the celebration of Tilburg's novel identity. There is literally no space for an ugly building that reminds people of the historically induced poverty of an ugly city. Not in the physical environment, nor in the virtual.

References