Alcatraz Reimagined - Power, Place, and the Politics of Adaptive Re-use

REUTERS

Trump’s plan to reopen Alcatraz as a working prison is more than architectural spectacle—it’s a dangerous act of political memory-making.

Introduction

Alcatraz is one of the most recognisable sites in the American cultural landscape. Though not designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is a National Historic Landmark, managed by the National Park Service and visited by over 1.5 million people each year. Its ruins, surrounded by cold waters and urban skyline, serve not just as a tourist destination but as a meditation on justice, punishment, and the layered meanings of history.

This week President Donald Trump proposed to reopen and expand Alcatraz as a functioning prison. He described it on his platform, Truth Social, as a “Big Hulk… rusting and rotten,” yet also “something that is both horrible and beautiful and strong and miserable.” It’s a statement full of contradiction—but also clear political intent.

As an adaptive reuse specialist, I want to ask: What does it mean to take a ruin like Alcatraz and return it to function? And what does such a transformation communicate—not just architecturally, but ideologically?

Adaptive Reuse or Authoritarian Symbolism?

Trump’s proposal is not simply about infrastructure. From an architectural perspective, it could be framed as a high-profile example of adaptive reuse—a site brought back into service, infused with new meaning, made legible to a public audience once more.

But this is not neutral territory. Alcatraz is a symbol. Reactivating it as a prison imposes a singular, polarising narrative over a space currently preserved in deliberate ambiguity. It would turn a place of memory into a monument of political ideology—one that speaks loudly about punishment, control, and state power.

As Rapoport (1976) and Driessen (1995) argue, “The built environment provides cues for behaviour, meaning that architecture too is a means of nonverbal communication. Hence, because of its visibility and durability, architecture has often acquired a symbolism reflecting political, social and ideological aspects of society and it of course, takes prime position in all debates on inference or rank and status.” Alcatraz’s reactivation would not simply signal functionality—it would speak of status, hierarchy, and who society chooses to exclude.

Fear as a Political Tool

This proposal also invites us to think about how built space is used to mobilise emotion. Political organisations have long reproduced fear through the process of memorialisation. “Orations publicly mobilise fear, while monuments act as constant reminders of the violence of the collective other,” as noted in recent scholarship. The community, it continues, “is thus never allowed to forget the chosen narrative.”

In this light, Trump’s Alcatraz is not a solution to crime but a stage for political storytelling. It is a reassertion of disciplinary power—one that could easily turn into a spectacle of punishment aimed at reassuring some, while intimidating many.

Who Controls the Meaning of Place?

The stakes are high. As Entrikin (1991) reminds us, those who control the meaning of place yield power and influence. Alcatraz is not a blank slate—it is a place with memory, pain, defiance, and myth embedded in its walls. Rewriting its meaning through architectural intervention is not just an act of design, but one of domination.

As Sumaratojo (2004) puts it, a sense of place is built through shared perceptions. Controlling those perceptions—deciding what did or did not happen in a place—is a central strategy for any political project seeking legitimacy. Adaptive reuse, in this context, can either deepen public reflection or be used to narrow it.

Remaking the Nation’s Image

This is about more than a building. As Benedict Anderson wrote, “It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow members... yet in the minds of each lives the image of their identity.” What happens to Alcatraz will shape that imagined identity.

Reopening Alcatraz as a prison tells a specific story about what America is—and who it is for. It recasts the nation’s identity not around reconciliation or justice reform, but around punishment, control, and a nostalgia for authoritarianism. It reimagines the American people not as a diverse, pluralistic collective, but as an audience for the spectacle of strength.

Conclusion: The Responsibility of Reuse

Adaptive reuse is not just a technical task—it is a moral and political act. To alter a place like Alcatraz is to alter the story of who we are, and what we believe justice looks like.

Trump’s proposal is seductive in its theatricality. It promises power, order, and visual dominance. But without care, empathy, and an understanding of the layered histories embedded in Alcatraz’s ruin, this proposal risks turning a national monument into a monument of fear.

What is preserved—and how—is never just a question of heritage. It is always a question of who gets to shape the future.