Miyamoto International

The Presidential Palace:

A Fractured Icon

Journal Entry #4

January 22, 2010

Haiti's Icon: The Presidential Palace, severely damaged in the quake represents parts of Haiti's cultural legacy.

Port au Prince, Haiti — Early this morning we received a call from the World Bank asking us to investigate the National Palace. We're excited to visit the iconic building. Once the most famous structure in Port au Prince, now it is infamous for its spectacular collapse two weeks ago.

My cell phone is working for the first time in days as we navigate the truck through the piles of concrete rubble and reeking garbage. Reporters from the New York Times and The Wall Street Journal are calling. They know we're on our way to assess the Palace, but I tell them they'll have to get permission to enter at the Palace gates.

The lush, green grounds of the Palace are heavily guarded. It is a peaceful place with bright sunlight and beautiful gardens. Seeing U.S. soldiers quickly snaps me back to reality, though.

We are met by a group of distinguished-looking gentlemen. Guilaine tells me that they are cabinet members. A tall man approaches me and says in English, "I need you to assess the extent of damage. And I need you to find a safe path to certain areas so we can retrieve critical documents." We set off for our first look.

As we approach the Palace from the rear, the structure reminds me of the State Capital in Sacramento, California. It doesn't appear damaged from a distance, but as we get closer the cracks are obvious.

The top floor's walls have crumbled. Symbolic of Haiti's culture and history, the three, once-majestic domes, have also collapsed due to structural-support failure. Essentially, the three-story building is now two stories.

It appears that the major damage is concentrated on the Palace's top level. This, the third level, was dynamically amplified by the earthquake motion, so the walls' weak shear capacity led to the collapse. The front entrance of the E-shaped palace is badly damaged, but some parts are intact.

The tall chief of staff says, as he points to a high window, "Kit, we must find a safe path to reach a room on the third floor. We have an important document we must retrieve."

Preparation: Structural engineer Kit
Miyamoto discusses the Palace plans
with ministers and other officials before
entering.

Initially, I decide to investigate the interior's lower levels where things are still intact. A state architect has a structural plan to use as a map. As he hands it to me he says, "Be careful. Some areas are not stable and we lost a couple of people during the earthquake (near there)."

As I strap on my headlamp and helmet, Daniel volunteers to go with me. It's always good to have a partner watching your back. We quickly climb the stairs toward the third floor, but we find the path blocked by fallen bricks and a broken door.

We enter the second floor to investigate. A grand ballroom is full of dust-covered chairs and piles of fallen ceiling plaster. We walk past that and down the long, undamaged corridor where a white curtain is blowing in the breeze — as if nothing ever happened.

Unable to find a path to the third floor, we exit and meet with the outside team. A new, uniformed person has joined the group. He says, "I am a colonel in the national police force and I had an office here. I don't think there is a way to that third-floor room if the stairs are blocked. You must go through a window."

In search of a ladder, the colonel leaves.

While we wait, Marc Lacey, a New York Times reporter, asks me a few questions. He must be good, because he somehow got past the guards at the gate. (Read Mr. Lacey's story here.)

The colonel returns with a long ladder and sets it up under the window — 40 feet in the air. So I turn to everyone and ask, "OK, who's going to climb up?" They just look back at me. I look at Daniel. He's taking in some sunshine. I may well be the only one in a hard-hat, but I half-jokingly say "I'm an engineer; not Special Forces."

A minister's chief of staff says, "It's a very important document for the government's operation. We must find a way."

I begin climbing the ladder.

The vertical, load-carrying capacity of the structure is intact in the area I'm heading toward, so I don't see danger there. My 40-foot ladder is swaying slowly in the breeze. I finally reach the top and climb over the stone sill. My knees are shaking from excitement and fatigue.

I quickly move into the room. It's almost filled with fallen bricks, but I see the file cabinets. I take some photos and mark on the plan where the files are. I scan the ghostly quiet looking for a way out. At this point, there's no way I'm climbing down that ladder.

I reach the original staircase that was blocked by a broken door and fallen objects. I kick several times and, finally, I see the daylight from the other side. I squeeze through the narrow gap and run down to the ground.

I show the group the photos and the chief of staff identifies which cabinet has the necessary document. He says, "The Haitian people and government really appreciate what you did." He then asks, "Can this building be repaired?"

Because the collapse and damages were limited to the upper floor and certain wings, I reply, "many parts of the building can be repaired and strengthened."

Everyone looks at me skeptically, so I add, "There are engineering technologies that not only can repair this building, but also make it better than it was before. Earthquake performance should be operational-level performance for the next magnitude-seven or larger earthquake."

Now they're intrigued. "This is a national symbol of Haiti's heritage. Re-raising this building will be a statement to people all over the world: 'We will not be defeated.'"

A government official grips my hand and shakes strongly as he asks us to review a nearby police station.

It's a two-story, concrete structure. We don't find any damages or cracks, so he carefully asks, "Do you think this building is suitable for the president and cabinet to occupy?"

"Sure, I don't see any damage caused by the quake. It appears to be a very stout building. You can occupy this right now, but if you are considering occupying it for a long term, you should do seismic strengthening," I add. "There may be a larger earthquake—or one with a different frequency content—that may affect this building differently than before."

He asks us to return later for a more detailed investigation.

Downtown: The human and structural toll of the M-7 earthquake is still being measured. Many parts of Port au Prince are uninhabitable and dangerous.

Later that day, we visit several other structures, including the devastated port area. The port's crane is badly tilted, due to the liquefied soil caused by the quake. However, the nearby Customs Office is undamaged. It is made of concrete and has deep foundation piles, so it fared better during the event.

I go up to the roof and find the future columns sticking out. Some rebar is exposed and I am able to see the proper ductile details. Well-engineered structures like this one performed just fine.

Heading back we drive through the hellish downtown. People are burning their dead. The damaged prison is nearby, where 4000 prisoners escaped, and there are squashed police cars along the road, too.

We investigate an undamaged hotel where CNN and other journalists are headquartered. Many are working peacefully in the middle of this nightmarish aftermath.

Soft-story damage: The Children's
Hospital was built on a first-story parking
garage that was not, apparently,
sufficiently stabilized.

Finally, we stop at the Children's Hospital—and its collapsed first floor. This is the definition of "soft-story failure."

The first level was the parking level, so there were not many walls. Structural support was weak and did not have ductile details.

Eric says, "This hospital was built only a couple of years ago and I know many children died here."

"Engineers make it or break it for our society," I reply.

We are exhausted by the time we get back to our rooms. We hurried because there is still no power in the city and it's not safe after dark. The sky is now a burning, red sunset.

End of Journal Entry #4