In a petition submitted by Philippine Long Distance Telephone (PLDT) in 2022, the company sought to have the Ramon Cojuangco Building removed from the list of Important Cultural Properties (ICPs), citing that the building did not hold cultural significance and did not accurately reflect the architectural style of its designer, Leandro Locsin. Shortly after, architect and architectural historian Gerard Lico was commissioned to conduct a heritage assessment of the building, the findings of which were included in PLDT’s petition and said: “In its present state and in the context of assessing its heritage and cultural significance, the Ramon Cojuangco Building failed to demonstrate architectural and stylistic rarity, techno-scientific innovation, physical integrity and the fundaments of Filipino identity.”
In May 2022, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) carried out an inspection of the building. Their report indicated that, although the structure exhibits certain modifications unlike that of Locsin’s style, these alterations can be reversed. Soon enough, many netizens took to social media to air their opinions, with some agreeing with PLDT’s petition that not all structures by national artists need to be preserved. One Facebook user even commented on NCCA’s post, saying, “Nothing exemplary naman talaga sa itsura ng building. Nothing exceptionally “Filipino” at all.”
Meanwhile, another user noted: “Why is there such a strong animosity against Brutalist style buildings? They keep demolishing it. These are constructed after WWII. We lack passion and love for our culture and its cultural assets such as these heritage structures. A very shameful act of discrediting the goodness of the past and our predecessors. I pray that they would deny the petition and preserve and conserve these historic structures.”
In the midst of this divided discourse, architectural heritage conservation group Brutalist Pilipinas created a 23-page opposition paper to dispute PLDT’s petition, along with help from the Heritage Conservation Society. In their paper, they positioned that citizens “owe it to the future generations to preserve as much as they can, as it is they who will carry on with the task of reevaluating, analyzing, and comprehending the value of Locsin’s oeuvre.”
Although the petition has seen no progress since, the discussion has sparked numerous questions about what qualifies a building for preservation: is it merely its artistic value, or does its historical context also play a vital role? While brutalism has a love-hate affair with the Philippines, there’s no denying its indelible presence in our country. And while it’s impossible to extricate ourselves from the negative connotations associated with these structures, there is much to be gained from remembering the contexts in which these structures were formed.
The Brutalist
Director Brady Corbet’s three-hour-long epic The Brutalist deals with a similar ordeal, as its story revolves around an architect whom history has already written as expunged. By focusing on creating a fictional account, Corbet creates a stand-in for all the artists whose contributions have been overlooked or forgotten. The film recounts the life of László Tóth (Adrien Brody) reaching the shores of America and finding himself at the mercy of rich industrialist Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce), who shortly hires him as an architect for his community building project.
Despite being a fictional account, Corbet has said that László’s character is inspired by real-life architects such as Louis Kahn and Marcel Breuer, who like László, immigrated to the United States and were influenced by the German Bauhaus movement of angular and geometric forms with minimal ornamentation. In an interview with the BBC, Corbet calls the film “a virtual history,” adding that he wanted to pay tribute to those whose work was lost through the Holocaust.
The film’s namesake takes from the raw, concrete structures of the mid-century Brutalist movement, characterized by its rugged textures and stark simplicity. While deemed “soulless” or “plain” by many people, these qualities are a fundamental part of Brutalist design that makes its buildings intrinsically durable. These attributes are also a conduit for Toth to channel his trauma from the Holocaust. As László’s niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) later states, the structure he designed resembles the concentration camps that imprisoned him. Similarly, Brutalist architecture emerged during martial law under former President Ferdinand Marcos Sr., whose dictatorship promoted the construction of Brutalist buildings, which have since become inextricably linked to the brutality of that era.
Interestingly, we don’t even witness the erection of the finished building at the end of The Brutalist; we simply hear about its completion through a speech. This mirrors how, in reality, we often overlook the history and labor that goes into building monuments, only paying notice to their finished form. Here, we take a closer look at the László Toths who enriched the Philippines’ architectural vision, paying tribute to the people who built our cities from the ground up.
Leandro Locsin
Recognized as a pivotal figure in Southeast Asia’s Brutalist movement, Leandro Locsin played a crucial role in the evolution of modern architecture in the Philippines. He is renowned for his iconic structures like the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) Complex, the National Arts Center in Laguna, the Philippine Plaza Hotel, the Makati Stock Exchange Building, the first terminal of what is now known as Ninoy Aquino International Airport, and the now-demolished Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
Locsin initially didn’t start as an architect, but instead shifted to architecture during his last year at the University Santo Tomas’ Conservatory of Music. Locsin was not one to leave anything up to the imagination, designing over 88 buildings in his lifetime — including 11 churches and chapels, 23 public buildings, 48 commercial buildings, and six major hotels in a career that spanned almost four decades.
Felipe Mendoza
Growing up during the American colonial period and experiencing the ravaging impact of the Pacific War, Felipe Mendoza committed himself to the immense challenge of reconstructing the newly independent Manila. As a professor at his alma mater, the Mapua Institute of Technology, he passionately embraced modernism, promoting its principles and advocating for innovative designs that incorporate our local identity. He offered a refreshing departure from the extravagant styles of colonial architecture, which are evident in his designs of the University of the Philippines Los Baños library, the Batasang Pambansa Complex, the Sandiganbayan Building, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs Building, and the Development Academy of the Philippines.
Jorge Ramos
Born to parents who were also architects, Jorge Ramos was responsible for designing many government institutions during the ‘60s and ‘70s, including the Philippine Heart Center in Quezon City, completed in 1975, the Executive Branch Building of the Philippine government, and the Government Service Insurance System (GSIS) Complex.
The GSIS complex was designed in the aftermath of the 1970s fuel crisis to minimize fossil fuel consumption; its terraced structure, reminiscent of the Banaue Rice Terraces, facilitates natural breezes throughout the space.
Gabriel Formoso
As one of the first 100 licensed architects in the Philippines, Gabriel Formoso‘s dedication to design is evident in his enduring landmarks — many of which are situated in his birth city, Makati. This includes the Asian Institute of Management, the Bank of America–Lepanto building, the Manila Peninsula Hotel, and the Pacific Star Building. He also derived inspiration from his travels, visiting the U.S., South America, and Europe to explore emerging trends in commercial and office buildings. Before teaming up with Luis Araneta to establish Gabriel Formoso and Partners in December 1973, now known as GFP Architects, he collaborated with architects Andres Luna and Pablo Antonio.
