For our cultural desert’s
sake, roll them off to rot
By Elizabeth Farrelly
May 3, 2006
A BUILDING is not just a building. A building is a symbol,
and the more people who place their faith in that symbol, the greater the
statement in destroying it. The speaker? Not Osama bin Laden (though his shadow
was palpable), but V, from V for Vendetta, during his movie-length quest to
persuade Evey that blowing up Parliament was a righteous act, under the
circumstances.
By film’s end we
agree with him, but the eventual explosion is still shocking. Why? Because of
the symbolism; the way the Westminster
building’s bizarre mix of classical
plan and gothic elevation so perfectly symbolises British on-the-fence
expedience. Oh, yes, and the democracy thing.
In Australia,
by contrast, we encourage destruction of our ancient symbols, whether by
neglect, arson or bulldozer. It’s
almost as if our governments, federal and state, need to ensure those who
accuse Australia
of being “as devoid of culture as of history” are not left without a
paddle.
At council level, admittedly, there’s
still zealotry, listing every one-room worker’s
hovel and sterilising entire precincts. But councils have so little power.
Meanwhile, the muscle levels of government have swung so
strongly back to slash and burn that the powerful Heritage Council, chaired by
a real estate agent, constantly accepts botoxed fragments in lieu of
authenticity. The late Harvard philosopher John Rawls proposed a “veil of
ignorance” for social policy decision-makers. Sounds like just our kind of
veil. Rawls’s argument, though, was
that decision-makers should approach their task as if they have no personal
stake in the outcome.
This is obvious; call it objectivity, or fair-mindedness.
Our politicians, though, have donned Rawls’s
veil inside out, taking all decisions as if they were the ones with vested
interest.
So it’s
especially ironic that the next casualty of this fashion botch looks like being
that rare and shining example of heritage-cum-financially-self-sustaining, the
much-loved 3801 steam train and its home of 20 years, the Large Erecting Shop,
Eveleigh. Most Sunday mornings, the charming Wind in the Willows “whoop
whoop, chugga chugga chugga” of the old steam loco is audible around
Central. Come December, it’ll
probably chug and whoop no more.
Zoom out. In April last year Peter Costello commissioned a
Productivity Commission inquiry into “the conservation of Australia’s historic heritage places”. Historic
heritage, not the other sort. The commissioners were Neil Byron, a forestry
economist, and Tony Hinton, a diplomat with expertise in public-debt
management. Their draft report rests its 327 pages on the single premise that
heritage listing should become voluntary.
Whoa there! Good idea. Problem solved. If the listing
authority can’t reach agreement with
the property owner, it’s not
heritage. Simple. That’s the feds,
of course, but the state shows strange and unnatural concurrence. The same
simple self-adjudication principle has sent NSW building certification down the
toilet of self-interest. Now for heritage.
Not all heritage, of course. Just the bits deemed
“state significant” – read “significant enough for
demolition”. Such as the 3801, her sister locos, the fabulous brick and
cast iron sheds that house them and the 200-odd listed heritage buildings in
the Redfern-Waterloo “operational area”.
Redfern-Waterloo – at least the government holdings there –
has special exemption from the Heritage Act. All listings are up for
ministerial grabs. The 70-page draft Redfern-Waterloo Built Environment Plan
includes a two-paragraph “heritage strategy”. Item 1 suggests you
“conserve and protect heritage items where appropriate” (otherwise
you can replace them with an “archival record”). Item 2 encourages
“adaptive re-use”, retaining heritage items where practical. The
thing is, heritage is so much more practical when you can get it into the
compactus.
This government self-exemption from heritage rules is, says
the former rail boss David Hill, “scandalous”. Resident submissions
offer descriptions such as “breathtaking hypocrisy”, “blatant
disregard for the people and environment”, “short-sighted and
ugly”, “sterile and worthless”, “major fudge” and
“pretext for massive overdevelopment”. Still, there it is. There is
no recourse at law, because there’s
no law. Only flip-flop discretion.
The 3801 was the first of the original Australian-designed
and made steam locomotives – the “38 series”. It was our pride, our
Sydney-Newcastle record holder, our Flying Scotsman. It was decommissioned in
the early 1970s and exiled, with the rest of Sydney’s steam-based rolling stock, to an underfunded back
paddock at Thirlmere, known as the Rail
Transport Museum.
There, with its fine timberwork and handsome interiors, it sat in the rain and
rotted.
In 1983, when Hill became rail chief, the 3801 was derelict.
By 1986, it was fully restored, housed in the magnificent Large Erecting Shop
and given work as the centrepiece of 3801 Limited’s
not-for-profit fun runs. Since then it has more than paid for itself.
Last year, with 10 full-time staff and 97 volunteers, it
generated $2.1 million in income. Over 20 years, more than half a million
Sydneysiders have ridden and there’s
talk of opening the building as a working museum.
Only now, a cash-hungry Government seems poised to return
the 3801 to Thirlmere. On November 26, the 20-year agreement that effectively
leases both the loco and the fabulous shed to 3801 Limited ends.
The Government, so far, declines to renew. Under the draft
plan, the shed (like much of Redfern, including the much-loved Marian Street
Park) is zoned high-rise.
Twelve storeys on the shed, 18 on the park. That’s
not a good sign.
As for symbolism? The train and its beautiful shed represent
Australian ingenuity, independence, craftsmanship and pride. Dangerous ideas.
So government must be right. If we’re
ever to deliver a full-on cultural desert to the heart of Sydney, we’ll
have to let ’em rot. Thirlmere or
bust.
Elizabeth Farrelly writes on planning and architecture
issues for the Herald.