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Six years ago, if you had passed by the parking lot near Chula Block 28, you might not have noticed much. The Sam Yan Shrine, seemingly stranded in the middle of nowhere, sat surrounded by dusty emptiness—a neglected remnant of history. It looked more like an artifact left behind in a desert than a revered cultural landmark. A year later, construction began on colossal condominiums and a sprawling super mall, engulfing the shrine in a sea of progress. These developments, designed and branded by the university as “Block 33,” became symbols of modernization but also of cultural erasure. At that time, only a handful of students defended it, speaking of its architectural charm and historical significance. Their voices were small amidst the rising din of development.
Fast forward to today, and the scene couldn’t be more different. The towering condos and mega-mall projects are nearing completion, but something extraordinary is happening around the shrine. If you visit on a Saturday, you’ll find crowds—hundreds, perhaps thousands—queuing to pay their respects. It’s not a festival, nor a one-off event; it’s a phenomenon that has grown exponentially over the past year.
Some credit my documentary, The Last Breath of Sam Yan, for sparking this wave of interest, arguing that it highlighted the importance of preserving this piece of heritage. While I humbly acknowledge that my work may have played a small role, the larger story is more complex. It’s a convergence of factors: the uncertainty of the future, especially for young people; the inexplicable allure of the shrine’s goddess; and perhaps, as some believe, miracles performed by the goddess of the sea. What is clear is the palpable energy surrounding this movement. In just three weeks, more than 50,000 people, mostly under 30, signed a petition urging the university to preserve the shrine.

The University’s Shortsightedness
The university’s decision to demolish the shrine and replace it with a garden for the condo residents was not only misguided but also a gross underestimation of the shrine’s cultural and spiritual value. In an attempt to hide the existence of the original shrine, they created a minimalist replica and advertised it as a replacement, falsely claiming that the old shrine we sought to protect had been demolished. However, their efforts failed. The soulless replica cannot compare to the sacred place we hold dear, lacking the vibrancy, holiness, and deep connection that the original shrine continues to inspire in people.
Today, the shrine’s resilience has proven their shortsightedness. The attempt to erase this heritage was not just a disregard for history but for the identity and collective memory of the community. Ironically, the condominium project the university was so eager to showcase as a success has floundered. Despite two years of aggressive promotion, only 24% of the units have been booked. In contrast, the shrine has become a beacon of meaning, drawing crowds that the condos and malls could never dream of attracting.
Lessons from Scala
The loss of Scala Cinema, Thailand’s most beautiful standalone cinema, looms large in the collective consciousness. As Philip Jablon, an expert on Southeast Asian theaters, once remarked, Scala was unparalleled in beauty and cultural significance. Its demolition was a tragedy that many still mourn. Imagine if Scala had been preserved—how many people would now flock to it, just as they do to the shrine? How much pride and international recognition could it have brought to Chulalongkorn University and Thailand?
The university’s decision-makers must be held accountable for their poor judgment. Future generations will look back on these choices as cautionary tales of what happens when beauty and meaning are sacrificed for short-term practicality.
The Pursuit of Beauty and Meaning
Roger Scruton, the late philosopher, offers a profound insight: “Through the pursuit of beauty, we shape the world as a home, and in doing so, we both amplify our joys and find consolation for our sorrows.” The shrine’s resurgence demonstrates this truth. It’s not just a place of worship but a source of meaning, a sense of belonging, and beauty for those who visit. In a world increasingly focused on practicality and short-term gains, young people are rediscovering the value of preserving what is irreplaceable.
However, one glaring issue remains: we lack good books and robust ideas in architecture circles about beauty. Many architecture students seem lost, dreaming only of designing ornamental elements for grand buildings without a deeper vision of creating spaces that inspire and connect people. This absence of intellectual discourse on beauty has left a void in how we approach the built environment.
Let the shrine stand as a testament to what we can save and Scala as a reminder of what we have lost. It is my hope that the younger generation will rise to the challenge of protecting the beauty and meaning that make our world a home. The fight to save the shrine is not just about one small building in Bangkok; it’s about resisting a tide of thoughtlessness and greed. It’s about choosing beauty over banality, meaning over mediocrity. The future depends on it.
