The majlis, the traditional Arab space for gathering and debate, once stood cool in the desert thanks to clever design, not central AC. Now, in a region straddling the contradiction of global climate talks and luxury excess, the humble majlis is staging a quiet, chic comeback—with a sustainable twist.
Call it the eco-majlis: spaces that borrow from the architectural language of the past (palm-frond partitions, earth walls, shadowy arches) while speaking fluently in the dialect of 21st-century sustainability. They're appearing in contemporary villas, cultural centres, and exhibitions across the Gulf—not as nostalgic callbacks, but as design solutions for a warming planet.
One powerful example emerged in The Majlis: A Meeting Place, an exhibition hosted at the National Museum of Qatar (NMoQ) and the Old Palace. Designed by internationally acclaimed bamboo architects Simón Vélez and Stefana Simic, the majlis structure—crafted from bamboo and wool—took inspiration from nomadic architecture. The installation wasn’t just symbolic. It was rooted in practical research on how humanity might live more peacefully with one another and with nature. It’s not only a place to sit and sip qahwa; it’s a symbol of what cultural institutions can offer in the sustainability conversation—design that educates as much as it shelters.
Atelier Masōm, the Niamey- and Paris-based firm founded by architect Mariam Kamara, doesn’t operate in the Gulf (yet), but her work has helped shift the narrative globally about earth-based architecture. In a recent collaboration with the Aga Khan Trust for Culture, Kamara reimagined gathering spaces using local earth, wood, and stone—a spirit increasingly echoed in the Gulf’s creative circles.
In Dubai, spaces like the Jameel Arts Centre subtly reflect this ethos. Designed by UK-based Serie Architects, the building uses locally-sourced materials and desert-friendly landscaping. The Jaddaf Waterfront Sculpture Park next door doubles as a shaded oasis and community lounge, invoking the spirit of a modern majlis without the marble or chandeliers.
Even new luxury developments are taking cues from traditional passive cooling techniques. Barjeel wind towers, once standard across the Emirates, are finding their way back into architectural renderings—not as aesthetic ornaments, but as functional tools to reduce energy load.
The shift isn’t just aesthetic—it’s political. At 2023’s COP28 in Dubai, a parallel conversation emerged among designers: Can sustainability in the region go beyond LEED certifications and desert resorts with token solar panels? Can the majlis, of all places, become a testing ground for vernacular design that matters?
Some say yes. Others—craftspeople working with mudbrick, textile artists reviving naturally dyed linens, architects training AI on palm frond patterns—are already showing how.
As climate anxieties grow, the eco-majlis offers a rare kind of comfort: not just a cool place to sit, but a gathering space that reminds us sustainability isn’t a foreign import. It’s a homecoming.
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