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The Urbanist
Tall Stories 504: Caracas’s El Helicoide – from mall to political prison to rebirth
00:06:10
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- [00:10]
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We've heard many stories of buildings with tough histories being transformed into spaces for culture and commerce. But what happens when a structure goes in the opposite direction? In Caracas, one proposed mall turned notorious political prison is trying to be reborn again. But will and should the structure's torturous past be forgotten? You're listening to Tall Stories, a Monocle production brought to you by the team behind the Urbanist. I'm Andrew Tuck. In this episode, Camille Rodriguez Montilla investigates a building in Caracas with a dark history, but a hopeful future.
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A concrete spiral carved into a hill interrupts the view of the working class neighborhoods of San Pedro and San Agustin in south central Caracas. The building is visible from almost anywhere in Caracas, easily distinguishable by its stair like shape. Yet for decades it has remained out of reach for the city physically, politically, symbolically. Like many architectural gems in Venezuela's capital, it was meant to embody wealth and and modernity in the 1950s. In 1956, under the dictatorship of Marcos Perez Jimenez, Venezuela was in the middle of an oil fueled transformation. Highways cut through mountains, towers rose from the capital and the government projected an image of order, progress and modernity. Le Licoyda was meant to be its crown jewel. A futuristic mall that you could drive through a continuous spiral ramp winding its way up the hill. The plan included a heliport, 300 boutiques, eight cinemas, a five star hotel and a show palace. Architecturally, it was an achievement. The hill itself, Roca Tarpella, was not removed. Instead, a lerichoide was built into it, around it. Because of it, reinforced concrete made the curves possible, a geometry that rejected straight lines in favor of movement. It was a statement turned into a building. But like many statements made too loudly, it didn't last. In 1958, the Perez Jimenez dictatorship collapsed and the project lost its political and financial backing. The construction stopped. What remained was an unfinished, out of place shell. For years it stood abandoned, weathered, stained, slowly observed into Karaka's contradictions. Academics have described it as a modern ruin, and I couldn't agree more. In the 1970s, the Venezuelan state took control of the structure. By the 1980s, parts of it were being used by security forces. Elleicoya transitioned from would be mall to the headquarters of Sevin, Venezuela's repressive intelligence service. Following the nationwide protest of 2014, it became the detention center for political prisoners, young students, teachers and workers tired of repression, poverty and hunger. El Helicoide's transformation was not just functional, it was architectural and in essence, what was meant to be. A place where distraction became a torture center. The simrans designed for circulation became mechanism of control and the spaces meant for commerce became cells. Cultural theorist Celesto Lalquiaga captured this transformation with the phrase the that still defines the building. From Prince to the sad story of Elle colla de Rocatarpella. From the peak of architectural ambition and economic wealth to the biggest torture center in Latin America, national and international organizations have documented what happens inside, from forced disappearances to torture, electric shocks, isolation and even murder. Former detainees describe a place where time dissolves and the conditions are inhumane. Hell on earth. Light and darkness are controlled and used as a method for torture, and the architecture itself has become part of the punishment. The building became an instrument for torture and repression. Following the capture of President Nicolas Maduro and lawmaker First Lady Celia Flores, the meaning of a lelikoide is once again being rewritten. Acting President Del C. Rodriguez announced the closure of El Helicoide and its transformation into a social, sports, cultural and commercial center. The announcement echoes the building's original promise, but the weight of what it has been remains. El Elicoide is a timeline of a country that once projected certainty, followed by a rupture that left projects unfinished, of a system that repurposed ambition into control. But in a place where memory is embedded in walls, where history lingers in corridors, the question is unavoidable. Can a place that has broken so so many bring people together?
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Tall Stories is a Monocle production from the team behind the Urbanist. This episode was written by Camille Rodriguez Montilla and produced and edited by David Stevens. Be sure to subscribe to the podcast to receive new episodes every week. Tuck goodbye and thank you for listening. City Lovers.