IT IS DIFFICULT to imagine Ho Chi Minh city without its glittering towers of glass and steel looming over the urban sprawl. Home to around 9m people, Vietnam’s commercial capital is its most populous city; yet prior to the 1960s, high-rise buildings were rare in Saigon, as it was known until 1975. The one that went up during that decade at 151 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia in downtown Saigon was pioneering: it offered a solution to the question of where to house the city’s rapidly growing population, inspiring the construction of similar dwellings elsewhere. And it was an example of Vietnamese modernism, an architectural movement that evolved during Vietnam’s struggle for independence from France (it was eventually won in 1954).
Modernism was spreading around the world at the time, and would become the most important design movement of the 20th century. Adherents to the style in Vietnam incorporated their country’s traditional design into the modernist gospel, which eschewed ornament and prioritised function over form. The resulting visual effect—concrete, angular forms—was arresting and contrasted with the fussy French villas of colonial times. The movement helped enshrine a modern Vietnamese identity in cities.
It was also a pragmatic response to the tropical climate. To ward off the sweltering temperatures Vietnamese modernists drew on pre-colonial building techniques that kept structures cool and well ventilated. These features, now known as “bioclimatic”, became a hallmark of the style. At 151 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia exterior corridors shielded apartments from the sun and narrow gaps in the walls funnelled the breeze to the living areas.
Similar tricks appear elsewhere in Ho Chi Minh city. A narrow pool greets visitors at the entrance of the General Sciences Library, a masterpiece that was finished in 1971. The presence of water in front of a building nods to phong thuy, the Vietnamese iteration of feng shui, and also acts as rudimentary air conditioning. The water cools the air as it passes over, helping to regulate the temperature inside the library. Further measures to reduce heat include a brise soleil façade, an elaborate ventilation shade which deflects sunlight. Mel Schenck, the author of “Southern Vietnamese Modernist Architecture”, describes the library as “one of the first modern green buildings in the world”. In the context of the current scramble to lower the hefty carbon footprint of the global property industry—close to 40% of global energy-related carbon-dioxide emissions—the modernists in Vietnam were ahead of their time.
In a bid to squeeze more people into smaller spaces and maximise profits, urban planners in Ho Chi Minh city now seem content to run roughshod over this history. The block at 151 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia will probably be demolished. Its tenants were evicted and today it lies derelict, choked by unruly foliage. The fate of other buildings in Vietnam also depends on developers’ whims. Mr Schenck estimates that over 90% of heritage buildings are not protected in Vietnam; of the few that are, several are from the colonial era, perhaps because they draw tourists.
Despite official neglect, there is renewed interest in Vietnamese modernism. Local architects are drawing on the movement’s features and inherently sustainable design to enhance contemporary projects. Earlier this year t3 Architects restored a modernist house in Ho Chi Minh city from the 1950s for The Cocoa Project, a sustainable chocolatier. They revived the lightwells, through which hot air rises up and out of the building, and replanted the front garden to increase ventilation. These renovations improved the house’s energy efficiency.
“Upcycling” an existing structure, as t3 did, often results in lower carbon emissions than tearing it down and rebuilding from scratch. In Vietnam, like much of the world, this method of construction remains the exception rather than the norm. In Hanoi, the capital, a studio called 1+1>2 Architects recently transformed a former primary school into the Vietnam Institute for Advanced Study in Mathematics along modernist lines. Plant-strewn, open-air corridors, similar to those at 151 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia, overlook a courtyard; minimalist sunshades keep classrooms cool. The architects estimate that the overall impact on the environment has been 20-30% lower than if the original school had been demolished. Not only are such buildings more environmentally sound, they also “build on the natural and cultural essence of the area”, says Hoang Thuc Hao, founder of 1+1>2 Architects.
By salvaging modernist ideas to spruce up contemporary buildings, architects in Vietnam are paying homage to a rich architectural legacy—and setting a standard for green building techniques. Before pulling down more modernist marvels, developers in Ho Chi Minh city should remember that often the best ideas are old ones.
By The Economist
