Identity Within Architecture: A Gulf Arabian Visual Rhetoric Project

Introduction

Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) is a branch campus that offers undergraduate and graduate degrees from four distinct Engineering programs within the Hamid Bin Khalifa University (HBKU) complex. Negotiated to open its doors under the previous queen of Qatar, Her Highness Sheikha Moza Al-Misnedd, and her umbrella company, Qatar Foundation, TAMUQ is more than a branch campus on the global university stage. The campus is also a symbol of emerging identities in the Gulf region, which encompasses inhabitants of Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) as well as Qatar. Alongside the local pearl divers and the nomadic Bedouin tribes that often form a stereotypical view of the region to outsiders, the region is now welcoming outside institutions and building spaces to house them, which reflect the past and what some consider to be the Gulf’s future. During His Highness Sheikh Hamid Al-Thani’s rule, Qatar’s natural gas reserves resulted in a newfound affluence that funded museums, Doha’s captivating skyline, and world events such as the Asian Games and 2022 FIFA World Cup. Some of the most prestigious educational institutes from the Global North, including Carnegie Mellon, Cornell, and NYU, now are firmly established in Qatar.

Located on the outskirts of the majestic skyline between Doha and Al-Wajba Palace lies the HBKU complex where TAMUQ is located. Cultural mores make it difficult for young women to leave Qatar for education, which led Sheikha Moza to seek reform. One of her projects was expanding HBKU entities like TAMUQ to provide greater access to education for underserved groups. Alongside TAMUQ in the HBKU complex, Carnegie Mellon offers IT and Business degrees; Cornell offers a premedical program; Georgetown offers a degree in diplomacy; Virginia Commonwealth offers a degree in fashion design; and Northwestern offers an undergraduate degree in journalism. TAMUQ thus foreshadowed a larger cultural and educational development that is carried out in its architecture, which successfully incorporates design aspects that acknowledge engineering, the changing identity in Qatar, and Qatari traditional values.

Qatar’s educational reform is not without controversy. On the one hand, critics such as Mazawi (1999), suggest that these spaces can undercut the reforms they embody, and, on the other hand, local conservatives have labeled these spaces “Sin City,” accusing coeducational institutions of weakening traditional morality. TAMUQ was the first coeducational higher institution with classrooms and other working spaces such as the library, computer labs, and student center that are open to all students regardless of gender. Local Arabic newspapers criticized families for allowing coeducation, and HBKU’s students have been publicly shamed by Qatar’s more conservative thinkers. This controversy was not new territory for Sheikha Moza, who challenged gendered norms by allowing herself to be photographed, showing her hair and shaking hands with men, all of which are taboo for women in the conservative Wahabist sect of Islam. As Liloia (2019) makes clear, the Qatari government, in supporting the HBKU complex, had to balance two sometimes competing aims, “elevat[ing] traditional family roles” and “using women’s increased educational and career opportunities to present itself in an appealing way to the international community” (p. 346).

Like Sheikha Moza, the TAMUQ buildings encompass changing expectations as well as traditional Qatari culture. Finished in 2007 by AIA Gold Medal award-winning Mexican architect Ricardo Legorreta, TAMUQ both challenges and encompasses the Arabian Gulf tradition. Salama (2008) writes that the TAMUQ buildings “respond to the contextual characteristics mandated by climatic and symbolic attributes to the needs of users, to the city and also to the artistic and spiritual needs of the people” while maintaining traditional boundaries between “gender-related activities” (p. 82). By maintaining these traditional mores in environments that respond to new problems, this architecture reinforces the era of shifting identities not only in Qatar but also other Gulf states. TAMUQ inscribes into its spaces a blend of tradition and innovation, letting these spaces speak to the challenges of negotiating a sometimes uneasy union of old and new.

Intertextual word sculptures, Quranic scripture, bubbling fountains, rose marble flooring and walls, lush vegetation, and a grand “X” and “O” in the blue atrium space all contribute to a larger spectacle in an otherwise austere desert environment. An indirect message within this space is an inspiration to Qatari students, that change can happen, regardless of gender. And change, indeed, is happening. Sheikha Moza, as Liloia (2019) argues, has been represented “as a model for young Qatari women” (p. 352) who faced formidable challenges to establish western-style coeducation. This move, as Lee (2021) argues, leaves Qatar and the UAE “fac[ing] pushback from their more conservative, traditional constituents who criticize the government for liberalizing and ‘Westernizing’ education and eroding Islamic values and Arab identity in the process” (p. 115). As a spatial response, TAMUQ’s architecture reflects Sheikha Moza's reverence for education, reminding the local student population that anything is possible.

TAMUQ’s spaces are awe-inspiring and their rhetoric requires a meaningful framework through which to observe and critique. Foss (2004) offers such a framework, which I will use in connection with Rogoff’s (2004) notion of a “curious eye” (p. 386) to explore how the extraordinary visual rhetoric of the TAMUQ buildings exemplify a new identity. Central to this discussion is my own position as an American and former expat who experienced this architecture. This article emphasizes how TAMUQ creates embodied experiences of gender, education, and “sin” that highlight developments in education and also new identities in a heterotopic space, one which “is capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible” (Foucault, 1984, p. 6). As an outsider who observed local and expatriate populations in Qatar for over 17 years, I draw on my own experiences, linking autoethnography to existing discussions focused on the implications of identity and its intersections with visual rhetoric. My embodied experience helps to frame a space to create identity and level out the difference, demonstrating the wide-ranging power of visual messages. An exploration of published literature will also assist in grounding and assessing the implications of identity versus visual rhetoric, as suggested by Koolhaas’ Delirious New York (1994) and Picon’s Digital Culture in Architecture (2010). The former work takes the reader on a detailed tour through a turn-of-the-century park on Coney Island while the latter explores digital culture’s profound influence on architecture.

Literature Review

The many identities reflected in TAMUQ’s campus spaces suggests that, like the identities of the people who inhabit them, these spaces function as an amalgam of old and new Qatar, paying homage to the past and attempting to welcome the future. Thus, we might see TAMUQ as a kind of heterotopia, what Foucault (1984) described as “counter-sites, a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the real sites, all the other real sites that can be found within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted” (p. 3). By creating new architecture, Arabian Gulf societies reimagine their narratives and, in a sense, create something that is not yet true. This architecture is, therefore, aspirational, merging reminders of a more traditional with a newer, splashier narrative, and the possibilities for new identities. Walking around these architectural juggernauts makes one feel that the rest of the country reflects the education, power, and design savvy that is found in HBKU. TAMUQ and the other American institutions do not speak for Qatar as a whole, but this spatial and visual language is becoming increasingly louder, as new constructions connect and tower along the skyline, along with new museums and hotel buildings. It is as though the visual rhetoric of this tiny nation is attempting to rewrite history and install a more artistic, educated, glorious, and somewhat fabled narrative.

The messages, the TAMUQ buildings offer, depend on the viewer, consistent with ideas in previous scholarship on visual rhetorics. For instance, the linguistic, denoted, and connoted messages of images will influence the viewer analyzing these buildings, demonstrating the varied ways these embodied spaces can be viewed. Space might be a lingua franca, a way of communication that transcends the physical boundaries of the buildings themselves. Foss (2004) provides a framework which in defining visual rhetoric, involves three different stages or emphases: “nature deals with the components, qualities, and characteristics of visual artifacts; function concerns the communicative effects of visual rhetoric on audiences; and evaluation is the process of assessing visual artifacts” (pp. 304–305). In using Foss’s framework, this article concentrates on nature and function, as the formal qualities of the TAMUQ buildings and their effect on the viewer who enters this heterotopic space are paramount.

Seeing these effects requires, as Foss (2004) notes, “attention to two primary components – presented elements and suggested elements” (p. 307). Presented elements are space, medium, and color whereas suggested elements are what the intended audience infers. By analyzing these elements, the rhetorical critic can discover much of an artifact’s meaning. The function of the artifact, which is not the same as its purpose, “might range from memorializing individuals to creating feelings of warmth and coziness to encouraging viewers to explore self-imposed limitations” (p. 308). Peterson (2001) offers a different approach, asserting that “rather than beginning with ‘the’ image, a critic begins with sensory visual stimuli: light, line, color, perspective, shading, volume, scale, etc.” (p. 23). Peterson contends that focusing attention on images leads to circularity, which happens when a critic both determines AND evaluates an artifact, thereby “tempting self-fulfilling prophecy” (p. 22). This scrutiny is somewhat commonsensical, since critics can experience the issue of consciously or subconsciously looking past unwanted observations and recording those details that fit their agenda. There is also the added issue of interpreting observations in the form that fits their purposes. Peterson concludes that “Experts in visual rhetoric need to become familiar with visual elements most relevant to the genres of visuals they study and use these elements as part of their discussions of the means of identification and persuasion” (p. 30). The critic has a difficult task.

Indeed, as Foss (2004) notes, these visuals often demand a kind of interpretation, which has been discussed as a kind of reader response: For example, Charles Kostelnick (2020) has also observed that “aesthetics are deemed to have rhetorical impact, partly by arousing emotion and heightening audience engagement” (np), which enhances clarity and persuasiveness, arouses emotion, and strengthens credibility by meeting audience expectations for effective design. In a similar vein, Foss (2005) writes that visual rhetoric requires human action in the process of creation or interpretation (p. 144). “Human experiences that are spatially oriented, nonlinear, multidimensional, and dynamic can be communicated only through visual imagery or other nondiscursive symbols. To understand and articulate such experiences requires attention to these kinds of symbols” (p. 143). Finally, Carolyn Handa (2004) explores loaded rhetoric, both textual and visual, as she writes, “The more we study the visual, the more we realize that what we see and how we interweave images with texts depend on the cultures, times, and places we live in. Our vision, our texts, our rhetoric are never neutral” (p. 377). And the visual rhetoric of the TAMUQ building is far from neutral as it unsettles the viewer, bringing new and old together, relying on the viewer to see the shifting balance in this heterotopic space.

Rogoff (2004) suggested that a “curious eye” is needed to address situations when a viewer is presented with “a certain unsettling; a notion of things outside the realm of the known, of things not yet quite understood or articulated; the pleasures of the forbidden or the hidden” (p. 386). Along with this feeling of being unsettled, the curious eye also implies a certain optimism as the gazer explores the specified artifact, a sense of wonder and desire to learn more, to understand on a deeper level. This curious eye, juxtaposed with the presented and the implied, is helpful when considering TAMUQ’s architecture with its bold moves, immense windows, and horizontal lines, because the buildings also foster displacement. Sturken (2004) notes that “modernist sculpture has been defined by a kind of sitelessness” (p. 404) that can also be seen in TAMUQ. I encourage the visitor to maintain a curious eye as they traverse the TAMUQ premises.

The importance of visual messages—whether universally accepted or not—and the necessity of their interpretation comes into clear relief when stepping onto the campus of TAMUQ. We appreciate the austere, commanding presence of TAMUQ as visual rhetoric in part because of new materialist theories. Leach (2016) describes the new materialism as “an attempt to counter the emphasis on not only the subject, but also representation and interpretation in twentieth century thinking in general by focusing on the object, material processes, and expression” (p. 345). The metamessages of progress and prominence that might seem self-evident must be unpacked. The more overt the argument and the more it caters to its actual audience (opposed to its intended audience), the better to receive and perceive the message. Blair (2004) discusses the explicit properties of the visual argument that include his claim; reason(s) to support this claim, which is linguistically explicable; an attempt to communicate this claim, and reason(s) (p. 346). In terms of technical communication, which Johnson-Sheehan (2015, p. 9) defines as “managing and processing information to take action,” the better the object is at making its argument, the more the audience will know what to do with this information and how to take action.

Style Versus Substance: Situating the TAMUQ Building Through the User

Legorreta made bold statements through the TAMUQ buildings: Qatar has arrived; Islam is its salvation; and education is key to the country’s future. Laboratories feature the latest safety and lab equipment to give TAMUQ students extra footing in the waiting world of work. Pools of water, lush vegetation, use of marble, and the grand scale of the buildings themselves attempt to “sell” its brand of spectacle to its various audiences. The spaces are also playful—immense word sculptures and the grand “X” and “O” can be seen within the blue atrium, also a place that showcases student poster presentations and celebrations. Lecture halls were designed to host guest speakers with dramatic lighting, comfortable seating, and cutting-edge technology. Those of us working at TAMUQ were mostly in awe when we walked through the buildings for the first time. It was the first structure in that area of HBKU and a grand piece of architecture. We had been working nearby in the LAS Building, a structure with its own bold architecture, and we had looked forward to developing our own university identity as a force within the growing educational arsenal of HBKU. As with all architecture, the building has its pros and cons, where sometimes form hinders function.

No space is perfect. The immense doors of the front as well as department office suites have never been easy to open; in fact, despite regular exercise and considerable core strength, I sometimes found it a formidable task to open a door. They are big, thick, unyielding, and functionally awkward. Grand passageways and vaulted staircases waste a great deal of the building’s precious space. The veiled courtyards would attract so much dust that we tired of hourly wiping our areas down; additionally, these courtyards were indeed veiled, so it was not possible to see if anyone else was there until one entered, which made for awkward moments. Furthermore, smart technology was not always so smart. Bathroom faucets would refuse to turn on or sometimes off, a horrible waste in the Arabian desert. Hall lights would fail, which made it difficult and sometimes creepy to wander in the dark. The worst feature of the buildings, however, was the fact that the structure had been created with a relatively small number of classrooms, 13 in total. Our student body was small but expected to increase significantly and rapidly. This oversight created a great deal of deliberation. Finally, there was no space large enough to house meetings with all TAMUQ employees, which meant reserving rooms across the street in the HBKU student center.

Exploring the TAMUQ Building Exterior + Grounds

As already hinted, the architecture of the TAMUQ buildings functions as a “heterotopia” (Foucault, 1984), both reflecting and transforming the spaces outside of campus. I had traversed the premises on foot hundreds of times over my years there, and I welcomed the opportunity to wander its premises specifically with Rogoff’s (2004) curious eye and Foss’ (2004) framework in mind. Having worked within these walls for 12 years, I methodically worked my way around both buildings that comprise TAMUQ to report and analyze how this university structure reflects the contested identities of a more traditional Qatar and a Qatar that is rapidly modernizing. The international aspirations of Moza are clearly inscribed on the TAMUQ buildings. Indeed, as Salama (2008) has noted, “Legorreta’s work uses elements of Mexican regional architecture including plays of light and shadow, central patios, courtyards, and porticos as well as solid volumes” (p. 80). With its larger-than-life tower and entrance doors, this grand passage echoes the entrance to the Mayan pyramids in Chichén Itza (Figure 1). Merging the past of the Gulf states with the past of a foreign land, this main entrance has been viewed as the place where ritual sacrifice takes place, suggesting another tie with the idea of a heterotopia: “the individual has to submit to rites and purifications” (Foucault, 1984, p. 7). This reverberation of sacrifice can unsettle the viewer: The campus is no utopia, and, as the dramatic introduction to the architecture of TAMUQ suggests, there is no education without sacrifice. A union of styles, then, results in the TAMUQ building with its play on disparate cultures, with buildings that echo Mexican and Arabian Gulf influences. With this union of local and international, the conservative or liberal viewer finds themselves in spaces that show what a contemporary educational facility could/should look like.

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Figure 1.

Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) building exterior features Turkish rose marble, a favorite of Sheikha Moza, as well as abstract symbols roughly in the shape of Texas. Photo taken by S.H. Rodefer. Used with permission.

Heterotopias are not simple or easy to digest, as this blending of apparent contradictory influences accosts the viewer from first sight. Gazing at the TAMUQ building from the outside, it appears to be an utterly impenetrable marble fortress. Turkish rose marble covers the vast exterior of the building and bordering mustard accents can be seen near the top. These accents feature abstract Texas shapes, the building’s homage to Texas A&M University’s main campus in College Station, emphasizing what Sturken (2004) termed a sense of sitelessness.

And this sitelessness can also be seen on the grounds of the buildings’ exteriors. If we walk around to the left, we encounter 12 small pyramids which evoke the Louvre Museum as well as the pyramids of Saqqara, an effect that seems intentional—to gesture both to the new and the old (Figure 2). Nevertheless, homage to the controversial I.M. Pei addition to the beloved museum would not surprise this viewer. After all, Sheikha Moza had already courted controversy as she implemented her agenda to propel the Qatari people forward. A reference to the Louvre’s immense glass pyramid addition would only show her love for the West, especially Paris, a bastion of high culture, enlightenment, and even a place well-known for its own revolution. Norms adjust. With the calculated whimsy of TAMUQ’s architecture and other HBKU structures, perhaps Her Highness hints at her own educational revolution that she and Qatar Foundation instigated, and, like the Mexican elements, these copies of a copy of an Egyptian monument frame the campus as both in and not in Qatar.

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Figure 2.

Rose marble pyramids. Photo taken by S.H. Rodefer. Used with permission.

Past the pyramids is an immense green lawn, often called the Green Spine. For a country with a desert climate and summer temperatures of over 50°C (122°F), maintaining green grass, flowing artificial streams, and palm trees require an exorbitant expenditure of effort and resources. Taller and larger than pickup trucks, word sculptures were peppered on the Green Spine for several years. These immense sculptures provide inspiring instructions like “Think,” “Create,” and “Innovate,” in Arabic and English (Figures 3 and 4) and serve an overt purpose: Moza created spectacle with direct, explicit messages to HBKU’s students, faculty, and visitors, messages already implied by the buildings’ architecture. Continuing around the building’s exterior—on the opposite side of the building’s pyramids—is a sumptuous garden of evergreen desert plants and palm trees. The TAMUQ facility is a garden of knowledge, an oasis, a respite, a delight to the eyes, and startlingly different from the stark beige deserts that encroach HBKU on every side.

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Figure 3.

Manicured lawn behind the Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) building exterior features word sculptures; here, the same word is shown in both English and Arabic. Photo taken by the author.

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Figure 4.

Manicured lawn behind the Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) building exterior features word sculptures; here, the same word is shown in both English and Arabic. Photo taken by the author.

If the TAMUQ buildings are defined by international influences, these buildings also remain firmly rooted in local traditions, a reassuring message that the complex conveys. As implied previously, the TAMUQ buildings do not stop with Mexican references. There is clear homage to the Gulf Arabian model of spectacle, as shown by prevalent use of water inside and outside of TAMUQ. Fresh water is a precious commodity in the Arabian Gulf, and the extensive use of water implies affluence, power, wealth, and status. In TAMUQ’s second entrance, there is a fountain to the right and two pools in front. Koolhaas’s sense of fulfillment (1994) can be seen here. Courtyards, as shown in Figures 5–7, feature fountains as well as ever-flowing tracks of water, “streams,” that gurgle and soothe those who sit outside in the Bedouin-style furniture during Qatar’s cooler months. Sturdy evergreen desert plants and date trees inhabit these “oases” as further evidence of life through the rippling waters. The date trees bear fruit and allow for collection by anyone passing by them, so there is literal food and water, sustenance, provided alongside “knowledge.” Indeed, despite the relentlessness of the sun, desert temperatures, and humidity from the nearby ocean, there is life, evident through these plants and bodies of water.

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Figure 5.

These photographs illustrate how the building showcases Qatari wealth and abundance with extensive water features and maintained gardens. Photo taken by the author.

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Figure 6.

These photographs illustrate how the building showcases Qatari wealth and abundance with extensive water features and maintained gardens. Photo taken by the author.

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Figure 7.

These photographs illustrate how the building showcases Qatari wealth and abundance with extensive water features and maintained gardens. Photo taken by the author.

Touring + Deciphering Visual Rhetoric Inside the TAMUQ Building

TAMUQ’s public spaces serve several functions. The most obvious would be to provide environments that lend themselves to study and attempts to complement learning with comfort. Seating is provided for western-educated students from the Americas, Europe, and South Asia, as well as Gulf Arabs, who oftentimes prefer sitting on the floor on Bedouin carpets and lounging on pillows. Should the student wish to socialize with all genders, coeducational spaces such as the library, main student lounge, and computer labs are available; conversely, should a more conservative student wish to spend time with only people of the same gender, segregated spaces (for men and for women) are offered in alternative student lounges and prayer rooms. The buildings foster collaboration and encourage social interaction. Seating areas, cafes, library rooms, and computer labs facilitate dialogue.

TAMUQ’s quiet oases suggest something else about the campus and its message. Derided and criticized as “Sin City” for years, this campus and its manicured gardens bring together seemingly disparate elements like stark lines and tranquil green spaces to advance the quiet revolution of coeducational instruction and showcase to the “curious eye” the rapidly changing identities in the Gulf states. The imposing lines of the towering entranceway into TAMUQ are countered by the veiled softness of its courtyards, which are strategically placed throughout the square building’s inner quadrangle, one of the two conjoined TAMUQ buildings that comprise the university branch campus. These courtyards are distinctly Qatari, and with their glass walls, they are also on show—to an extent. As the explosion of capital and construction demonstrates, Qatar seems preoccupied with spectacle, but this is veiled spectacle (Figure 8). The exterior is grandiose, but it is difficult to see inside. Once the visitor is inside, there are grand courtyards, but immense concrete columns and panels impede a direct gaze, as the heterotopic spaces confound easy entry. Conference rooms, faculty and staff offices, and classrooms are designed in the same way. Glass walls are partially frosted at eye level, so the gazer would have to crouch to see inside; ironically, this act alone would make the gazer into a spectacle. Arabian wrought ironwork in the abstract shape of Texas covers the lower windows of the exterior; while this ornamentation is a traditional Arabian element, it is also a contemporary spin on a very old architectural tradition. Although one can discern windows behind these Texas-shaped screens, it is impossible to gaze into these windows as well.

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Figure 8.

Example of a “veiled” Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) courtyard. Photo taken by the author.

“As something that happens, architectural form can be apprehended as a break from the theoretically unlimited possibilities in which contemporary design process bathes” (Picon, 2010, p. 110). Upon entering the side entrance, five immense ionic marble pillars appear at the left side (see Figure 9). These pillars could harken to Greek architecture and thinkers associated with Great Books curricula and the foundation of Western philosophy. These pillars could also play on overt and covert visual rhetoric, moving from implied associations with foundational Western texts to explicit associations with Islam. According to the Quran, there are five pillars or requirements in Islam: charity, profession of faith, belief in Prophet Mohammed, fasting in Ramadan, and pilgrimage to Mecca. Thus, the five architectural pillars could very well reference the belief system of many students and benefactors of TAMUQ. A towering wooden obelisk dedicated to Sheikha Moza stands in front of the pillars. This obelisk is the only wooden object within the area and one of the few wooden features in the building. Thus, the obelisk is a warmer element within the colder, austere marble environment. Its inclusion could serve as a reminder for audiences to know who has previously spearheaded and sponsored HBKU’s glorious billion dollar projects.

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Figure 9.

A possible reference to the five pillars of Islam? Photo taken by the author.

Explicit associations with Islam and local Arabian culture are emphasized in other ways in the TAMUQ buildings. Another common feature of Arabian interior design is the extensive use of tiles. As shown in Figure 10, vibrant blue tiles in different hues decorate the TAMUQ bathroom walls, creating mosaics reminiscent of the great Arabian bathhouse tradition, the “hamam.” In Arabian circles, the bathhouse served as a homosocial space where friends of the same gender meet to bathe, gossip, wash themselves, and bask for hours in a safe, secretive, and steamy environment. Marble shelves within the TAMUQ bathrooms allow people to store their laptops and other personal items as they use the stalls or wash their feet. (Muslims are obliged to wash their hands, face, and feet before they pray, five times a day.) Hamam spaces throughout the TAMUQ buildings are large enough to lend themselves to this task of ablution. For the noontime call to prayer, these bathrooms are particularly busy as worshipers—students, staff, faculty, and guests alike—prepare themselves for spiritual devotion and submission, the latter referencing the definition of the Arabic word Islam. Bathrooms near segregated praying areas feature oriental screens to protect the privacy and modesty of their users.

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Figure 10.

Cerulean blue mosaic tiles in the hamam-style ablution areas. Water is activated by motion detectors, thereby fusing old traditions with cutting-edge technology. Photo taken by the author.

While modesty and traditional values may come to mind for many, Qatar is often a place where the conventional and unconventional meet and merge, a fitting context for a more globalized identity. TAMUQ may be part of the Texas A&M brand, but it is also its own entity. To that end, smart technology has been employed throughout the building in terms of lighting and waterworks. In direct contrast to the hamam-like marble tilework of the bathrooms, the faucets can only be activated or deactivated by motion detection. Furthermore, dramatic lighting has been employed throughout the classrooms, offices, hallways, conference rooms, and stairwells, which are activated by movement, too. Not only does the university feature cutting-edge technology for the classrooms, but also the smart technology contributes further to this glorious spectacle of higher education as part of Sheikha Moza’s prize project.

Conjoined to the predominantly marble spaces is the building in which there are engineering research project laboratories. Salama (2008) describes the building as a symbol of “transdisciplinarity” (p.80), containing four departments with no separation visible to the naked eye. The wide-open atrium, connecting via stairs in the center from one space to another, is our second example of panopticon, as most parts of the atrium are clearly visible from other stations within the atrium. The space appears to be in the shape of a circular atrium, painted a cerulean blue; however, the ceiling depicts a distinct “X” pattern embedded within the “O” (Figures 11 and 12). The architect has clearly marked this vast space for the university’s present and future engineers and their research. It appears as a direct homage to the craft of engineering, which forms a core of TAMUQ’s academic programs.

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Figure 11.

These photographs feature a grand “X” and “O” in tribute to engineering. Photo taken by the author.

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Figure 12.

These photographs feature a grand “X” and “O” in tribute to engineering. Photo taken by the author.

While smart technology and sharp modern design are located throughout the TAMUQ buildings, the student lounge (Figure 13) reflects a Gulf Arabian sense of place. Bedouin households typically contain a large living room space called a majlis. This gathering place is the unofficial location where business is conducted. Friends may meet and deliberate, drink tea or coffee, gather around immense communal pans of majboos (exquisite rice dishes with preserved lemons, spices, and meat) for meals, and play games. On the one hand, some of the local population could construe the space as a den of sin, since individuals of all genders can socialize together freely—a groundbreaking if not scandalous feature, especially at the time of its construction; on the other hand, the lounge can symbolize Her Highness' vision of Qatar’s future, which encourages coeducation and collaboration. The TAMUQ student lounge also resembles a majlis, featuring carpets, pillows, and tapestries in traditional Bedouin patterns and styles. Students can literally lounge on the floor in the student lounge, in coeducation spaces, if they feel like it. Conversely, however, there are also more “modest” spaces for the more conservative-minded, those who wish to socialize only with those of the same gender. From the conservative-minded to the more liberal-minded, these considerations of space, design, and comfort cater to the spectrum of students who attend TAMUQ.

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Figure 13.

One of several of the traditional Bedouin majlises throughout the university buildings. Photo taken by the author.

Visual Rhetoric Situated in Qatari Sensibilities

The educational changes exemplified by TAMUQ reflect a larger program of change and innovation, which has characterized Qatar for decades. The notion of the panopticon, a construct often seen in the Gulf states, pervades the TAMUQ premises, too. There are panopticons throughout the country of Qatar, where every traffic light and shopping mall contains cameras, just as there are a multitude of panopticons located within and around the TAMUQ building. A frequent interrogator of space and power, Foucault (1977) explores the panopticon, a structure in which the gaze is active yet veiled, a structure in which audience can be watched without being seen. “Inspection functions ceaselessly. The gaze is alert everywhere” (p. 195). From towers above and mirrored windows, “this enclosed, segmented space, observed at every point, in which the individuals are inserted in a fixed place, in which the slightest movements are supervised, in which power is exercised without division” (p. 197). Prisons, schools, and hospitals: Foucault (1977) asserts that there are distinct similarities between these institutions; indeed, prisons and schools are institutions intended to alter the minds of its inhabitants. Additionally, both institutions command order. Figure 14 showcases one example of many panopticons throughout the TAMUQ buildings. With TAMUQ’s towering, stark, and unyielding walls, the viewer is veiled, and everything can be seen. It does not really matter whether one-sided windows themselves can be observed since it is the mere implication of 360° gaze that keeps the buildings’ inhabitants in line. An institutional building in this sense can be seen as a literal interpretation of power over the people who work within its confines; those who work there are subjugated, kept alert because they could be watched.

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Figure 14.

A panoptic feature commonly seen throughout the Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) buildings. One can see out of the windows, not into them. Photo taken by the author.

Austere and imposing, mysterious and glamorous, contemporary Gulf Arabian building structures are very often sheer spectacle, creating and redefining “truth” simply by their presence. The fact of the building’s existence becomes enough to prove those messages the building itself seeks to convey. The TAMUQ buildings are an example of its audience embracing the newer narrative of education, opportunity, power, and Qatar’s newfound place on the world stage. From hosting Asian Games and the World Cup to its bid for the Olympics, Qatar is well within the process of claiming a great deal of space on the world stage. Use of spectacle in TAMUQ assists this claim as it magnifies Qatar’s growing list of world-class accomplishments, yet as Figure 15 attests, this spectacle is grounded in Islam and tradition, too.

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Figure 15.

Quranic scripture in the Texas A&M University at Qatar (TAMUQ) hallway. Photo taken by the author.

Identity + Norming

The changing identities in the Gulf states, as they are arguably reflected in the buildings of TAMUQ and other Western institutions in HBKU, have been in transition over the past 20 years. Globalization and the influx of money to the public, courtesy of petroleum and natural gas, have significantly altered not only the way in which Gulf Arabs view themselves but also how they want the world to view them. Liloia (2019) contends that “the transition to an oil-driven economy has forced the small state of Qatar to contend with new political and social challenges, particularly that of balancing modern development with the preservation of tradition and cultural authenticity” (p. 345). Although they still strongly identify with their nationality and Islam, Qataris can also readily identify their highly globalized society, and they can see this balance reflected in the buildings of TAMUQ. As is the case in Kuwait and UAE, many local inhabitants employ foreign maids and drivers, and most jobs—from construction to all forms of engineering—are executed by an overwhelming number of expatriates, which means a relatively small percentage of inhabitants (10%) are native Qataris (Online Qatar, 2019). While there are attempts to address this imbalance, as Liloia (2019) explains, evidence of globalization and foreign influence is everywhere in the Arabian Gulf.

Specific Gulf Arab identities, including Qatari identity, have yet to be explored fully, either in general or with regard to institutions of higher education. Identity is partially derived from the idea of one’s in-group or society, with Brym and Lenton (2001) writing that “society is a large, enduring network of social interaction that survives by preserving order, producing and distributing goods and services, teaching new members, providing its members with a sense of purpose, and replacing old members” (p. 7). The concept of identity springs from society, what is familiar. But what makes TAMUQ and its architecture so important is how it speaks to this notion of familiarity while also reflecting the introduction of innovation. In describing this uneasy union, Lee (2021) describes the challenges these identities present: “These small Gulf States have simultaneously had to manage contention from powerful religious conservatives who raise issues of ‘too much Westernization’ (p. 120). Nakayama (2013) writes, “Clearly, identity is not what it seems to be. Not only is sexual identity unstable, but gender, ‘race,’ nationality as well are much more fluid than they might seem” (p. 377). We might see how cultural institutions and buildings themselves present stony reminders of this fluidity of identity, as each viewer has the opportunity to judge the balance between old and new Qatar.

In the face of fluid identities, it should also be noted how powerful cultural norming remains in Qatar. Indeed, cultural norming can lead to an alteration in self-identification. Normal notions of Collectivist versus Individualist, High Power Distance versus Low Power Distance to a Qatari are not always relative similar concepts in the Global North. Moreover, what is acceptable, accepted, and appreciated aesthetically may differ. Nevertheless, as architecture such as the TAMUQ buildings indicate, what is “normal” within the Arabian Gulf is slowly evolving with the effects of globalization, and for millions of individuals in regions such as the Arabian Gulf, it is difficult to label “normal” nevertheless. The heterotopia which Sheikha Moza has helped create and the buildings which reflect it is nevertheless not free from the criticisms of those who live and work outside it. There are those in Qatar who have not accepted these changing identities, but this assumption could be said about many evolving societal norms—racial equality in the workplace, gay marital rights, and freedom of/from religion are unconventional concepts in many parts of the world. And these evolving societal norms are reflected in the spaces these people visit and inhabit. Perhaps what is once a heterotopic space will become less of a liminal one, as challenges to identity among Qataris continue.

Looking Forward

Exploration of architectural visual rhetoric allows the researcher further insight into local populations, whether this population is found in the middle of Monroe, Louisiana, or halfway around the world on a Gulf Arabian Peninsula. Without the analysis of architecture, miscommunication could ensue and set researchers back a great deal…or force them off a research project if the local sensibilities are offended. Gallagher (2013) writes, “By examining visual as well as verbal vocabularies, contexts and consequences, we are better able to evaluate the Institute beyond the intent of founders, board members, and designers” (p. 364). By exploring meaning and argument within the walls of standing structures, gazers can compartmentalize as they scrutinize, providing structure and organization to a challenging task. Analysts would also note the culture’s attention to spectacle as well as Islamic piousness and gender segregation, which would provide crucial insight into intercultural communication. In short, Sheikha Moza has dazzled with cutting-edge architecture as well as her education programs as she and Qatar Foundation slowly redefined Qatar’s education system; perhaps it is this awe-inspiring architecture that should encourage and facilitate the education of countless young Qataris. The buildings then not only house the educational reforms championed by Sheikha Moza and her colleagues and collaborators, but they also seem to drive the reforms themselves.