Figure 1: The Mausoleum of Augustus (Augusteum) pictured within the larger city of Rome. While buildings have cropped up around the structure, the site endures as a site of history and memory despite the steady appearance of modern city structures. (28-23 B.C. Rome: Mausoleum of Augustus: aerial view: Mausoleum and surrounding buildings; photo courtesy of ARTSTOR included under the Terms and Conditions of Use.)

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Through a visual analysis of Rome and its historic sites, it is clear that Liz’s remarks are spot on. The landscape of the city has grown around and between sites like the Augusteum; it grounds the city in history and the legacy of empire in which it is situated (figure 1). Away from its borders, cars, streets, and agglomerated buildings establish the modern ethos of Rome as a global city, inviting visitors like Liz who seek new frontiers in its built environment. How then can such places be considered “wounds” of the city? When such value can be taken from these places as urban heritage, should we classify these areas of “ruin” and history as “wounds?” I believe the answer to this question lies beyond what any single person can perceive of the city and its inhabitants; Liz is daunted by the grandeur of the Augusteum but is biased by the pain of her divorce. Whether or not spaces like the Augusteum are considered “wounds” of the city depends entirely on the way city inhabitants embrace or reject the urban heritage within historic sites. 

In recent years, the city of Rome has decided to rebuild the Augusteum; beginning in 2013, the restoration project took massive steps to allow public viewing of the edifice to commence (Fundazione Tim and ROMA, n.d.). Rome has decided conclusively to display the “wounds” of the city openly, inviting all members of the public to peruse its history and the violence therein. It might not be a beautiful or even appealing history, but the act of restoration does not classify the Augusteum as an injury of the larger city: restoration and healing can be necessary with or without a wound. Instead, Rome is now illuminating a conflict from hundreds of years in its past, asking its citizenry to critique its pride and embrace of imperialism; it decisively avoids erasing history. We might choose to bandage a wound to shield it from the world, but Rome has done differently. Liz is right: embracing sites of ruin and the notion of urban heritage is the path to transformation. 

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Beyond the Roman city and the Augusteum, sites outside of Europe take a similar approach to embracing urban heritage and difficult histories. In India, Hyderabad is a place where the vibrancy of urban life meets “ruin.” Chowmahalla Palace stands within the mosaic of Hyderabad as a reminder of its colonial past; formerly the residence of the Nizam,—the hereditary ruler of Hyderabad—the Palace transposes the oppression of the British Raj onto the modern city.

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Hyderabad is ripe with diversity and complexity. Though it is situated within the south of India, the city is home to residents from all over South Asia—from the Middle East to parts of Nepal and beyond. Over many years, the city has poured much time and effort into restoring the palace, both as a center for tourism and as an important historical site. This history is deeply complex and wrought with a legacy of conflict that has defined the experience of Indian citizens and members of the Indian diaspora. Like Rome, Chowmahalla endures as urban heritage and memory; it asks city dwellers to grapple with India’s history of colonialism and British imperialism that has left indelible wounds on its people. But these places can be sites of celebration and renewal as well. We need not hide behind the wounds of history to survive; by honoring struggle, we triumph over the narratives that define these “ruins” as humiliating or wrong.

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Over this past summer, my family and I took a trip to see Chowmahalla Palace in its entirety. We explored the splendorous throne room, the lively palace grounds, and the remarkable royal car collection from long ago. Perhaps against my better judgment, my brother and I took a photo together on the grounds of Chowmahalla. My mom gently instructed us to be respectful of the space and to participate in photography not as tourists, but as Indian Americans returning to a place that has always been a bit distant. My brother is not just my sibling; he is my twin. And having grown accustomed to each other, we could not help but laugh and celebrate our new connection to the place we had not seen in many years. In our photo together, he and I are smiling and laughing with each other, celebrating our newfound connection to the heritage of my mom’s urban home. Not all history can or should be celebrated in this way; but when our embrace of history warrants something more than solemnity, I offer celebration as the best alternative. Be connected to and vivacious within the gift of these urban “ruins.”