The architecture certainly doesn't provide the answer, which is unfortunate for the city, the nation, and the poor tourists trying to navigate the mall. The memorial's gawky perimeter walls don't clearly say "house," yet the abstraction isn't expressive enough to convey the seismic nature of what lies inside.
Eight years after the National Park Service agreed to mark the site where George Washington worked out how to be leader of the free world while simultaneously holding nine people in bondage, the Philadelphia firm of Kelly/Maiello has produced a confused jumble of brick piles. Yet, once you step into the belly of the memorial, the project begins to redeem itself.
As the first federal site to acknowledge the congenital defect of slavery since Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, the project's very existence is special. It's not until you are inside the space that you understand the memorial as a full-throated expression of pain and rage. Sure, Washington's tenure there is virtually reduced to a footnote, but at least that story can be found in books. This is the rare memorial where history's collisions can be experienced firsthand.
The interior is dominated by a glass vitrine built over the original foundations of the house, which served as the official presidential residence between 1790 and 1800, during Philadelphia's stint as the U.S. capital. All but demolished in 1832, the building was pretty much forgotten. Then, in 2007, the remains were unearthed in an archaeological dig that electrified the city and spurred a remarkable public conversation about the legacy of slavery.
Still, the foundations almost didn't get preserved. The memorial was already in design, and officials of the Street administration balked at the added expense of encapsulating the ruins.
