Master of Architecture (Prof.) Dissertation - ROTTEN POTATOES by Kier Bothwell

ROTTEN POTATOES Redefining Perceptions and Integrating the Police Station in City and Suburban

Kier C. Bothwell

‘Rotten Potatoes’ is slang terminology used by South African Police Service officers to describe corrupt members of their organisation. For the purpose of this thesis it also describes the ‘rotting’ Three Castles Cigarette Factory; the proposed site.

ROTTEN POTATOES Redefining Perceptions and Integrating the Police Station in City and Suburban

For my parents, Nigel and Sheridan Bothwell

“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’’ Jeremiah 29:11

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My Mom and Dad, thank you for all that you have done and continue to do for me. Your unconditional love, support, encouragement and continual prayer has carried me through the past six years and has enabled me to make my childhood dream a reality. You have shown me the world and I will forever be grateful for the many adventures and memories we have shared. I thank the Lord for you daily. Erin, Wade and Kerry, my big brothers and sister, thank you for your love and words of encouragement when I thought life could not get any worse ... and insults when life could not get any better. Nana, thank you for being the special lady you are. My childhood would not have been the same without Dorky D in ‘the cottage’. Gabriella (G), our countless hours together working, eating and laughing will never be forgotten. Your knowledge of all things fashion related is unmatched and you have taught me more about fashion than any guy should ever know. Thank you for always saying the right things through all of my break-downs. We survived it, and I cannot wait to see what our faithful Father has in store for us next. Your friendship is priceless. Philippa (Philis), it has been a real blessing to share this journey with you. Thank you for all the crits, laughter, and lunches.

My supervisor and mentor, Paul Kotze, thank you for supporting me, guiding me, and pushing me. Your words of encouragement always came at the exact times when I needed to hear them the most. Your belief in me has allowed me to believe in my ability. Thank you for sharing your wisdom. Ludwig Hansen, you opened my eyes to the world of architecture in third year. Thank you for showing me why I always wanted to be an architect. Diaan van der Westhuizen, thank you for being a wise friend. Your guidance and private library has been much appreciated. My lady boss, Lara Hood, thank you for your encouragement, support, example of work ethic, and even more, your friendship. Mark Schaerer, Marj Tunmer, and Jason Cloen, your contributions towards this thesis have been invaluable. Thank you. Alex, Julia, and Jacqui, thank you for your friendship and all your madness. To the class of 2013, thank you for all your diversity and creativity. I have learnt so much from so many of you. I will forever be grateful. And lastly, but most importantly, all glory and praise to the Lord, Jesus Christ my Saviour. Your grace is always sufficient.

I DECLARE I, Kier Callum Bothwell 302630, am a student registered for the course Master of Architecture (Professional) in the year 2013. I hereby declare the following: I am aware that plagiarism (the use of someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work without permission and/or without acknowledging the original sources) is wrong. I confirm that the work submitted for assessment for the above course is my own unaided work except where I have stated explicitly otherwise. I have followed the required conventions in referencing thoughts, ideas, and visual materials of others. For this purpose, I have referred to the Graduate School of Engineering and the Built Environment style guide. I understand that the University of the Witwatersrand may take disciplinary action against me if there is a belief that this is not my unaided work or that I have failed to acknowledge the source of the ideas or words in my own work.

Kier Callum Bothwell 25 October 2013 This document is submitted in partial fulfilment for the degree: Master of Architecture [Professional] at the University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, South Africa, in the year 2013.

“Architecture isn’t just for special occasions. Expectations need to change. Places for daily activities should be highly valued. People can have more than they think. We expect great qualities in buildings like museums; Shouldn’t we also expect them in places for everyday living? An individual’s self-image is based on the quality of his or her daily life.’’ Julie Eizenberg, Architect (2006)

Fig 1 NORTH WESTERN VIEW OVER THE JOHANNESBURG INNER CITY. 1977 the city’s source of life, the gold mine and dumps, in the foreground.

A B C

ESSAY DESIGN REFERENCES

DOCUMENT STRUCTURE

NORTH ALONG BEREA ROAD. 2013 a security guard patrol’s the Maboneng Precinct. 15

A ESSAY

Redefining Perceptions

The essay is a compilation of three chapters structured as a narrative in accordance with the development of the thesis. Driven by a desire to address the topic of the SAPS through architecture, chapter one introduces a sociocultural-historical perceptions of the police and the police station. Chapter two proceeds to explore the relationship between power (with specific reference to the police and the police station), identity, memory, and architecture through a theoretical approach. Chapter three moves the discussion to the design interventions proposed context: the city of Johannesburg. In this chapter the development of Johannesburg and its influence on the current condition of the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s built fabric and policing in South Africa is researched. The essay is an exploration of how societies perceptions of the SAPS, and vice versa, might be redefined and the police station integrated; a transformation made possible through architecture.

ABSTRACT : 19 GLOSSARY : 20 SITE LOCATION : 22 INTRODUCTION : 29

POLICING CONTEXT

The SAPS: A South African Authority : 34 Policing South Africaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Past : 34 Community Policing in South Africa : 40 A Foreign Approach: Policing Japan : 41 Temptation and the Corrupt : 43 Cop or Criminal: Perceptions : 44 South African Police Stations : 48

THEORETICAL CONTEXT

Power Relations : 58 John Vorster Square : 59 Identity and Architecture : 62 Representing Spatial Justice : 63 Memory and Architecture : 71 Appropriating Space for Memory : 72

SITE CONTEXT

The Rise of Johannesburg: The Industrial City : 85 Government Buildings : 86 City of Extremes : 89 City and Suburban: The Forgotten District : 92

ABSTRACT Living in a country plagued by high crime rates and negative perceptions of the South African Police Service, South Africans are relying more and more on devices such as siege architecture and fortification to attain a sense of safety and security. However, these fortified enclaves do not just provide people with a sense of safety, they also serve as manifestations of Apartheid memory: intensifying segregation and ‘othering’, discouraging the growth of community and working against the development of healthy and inspiring civic spaces. At the same time, society’s obsession with police criminality, intensified by the influence of the media, has made policing one of the most contentious topics in post-Apartheid South Africa. Consequently, the relationship between the police – the state’s strong-arm of power – and the people is fragile, tense, and unpredictable, symptomatic of the palpable divide that separates the state and the people, a divide which is reinforced by a lack of spatial justice and a relic architecture which neither the state nor the people can identify with. As a tangible tool of cultural expression and a discourse of time and place, architecture embodies a nation’s shared history, its present, and its future aspirations. Architecture is also fundamental to the cause of change, serving as a catalyst and an interface through which the divide between the state and its people may be reconciled. However, the police station as an institutional building – a social incubator – remains apathetic to the ‘everyday’. This archetype demands a drastic rethinking of both parti and contextual setting. Such a reform could potentially transform the police station into an integral, effective, and active facilitator of relationships and make possible the goal of ‘community policing’.

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” - Desmond Tutu (cited in Quigley, 2003: 8)

GLOSSARY

AFRICAN NATIONAL CONGRESS (ANC)

NATIONAL PARTY

The ANC was originally established in South Africa on the 8th of January 1912 as the South African Native National Congress (SANNC) to further the rights of the black majority. In 1923 it became the ANC and was elected into power in 1994 in South Africa’s first democratic election. The ANC remains in power to date.

The National Party founded in South Africa in 1915, governed from the 4th of June 1948 until the 9th of May 1994. Whilst in power it established a republic, enforced Apartheid, and championed the Afrikaner culture to the exclusion of all others.

APARTHEID Apartheid is an Afrikaans word meaning “the state of being apart”. This was a system of government legislated by the ruling National Party which forced separation upon black South African citizens and denied them their basic human rights.

GENTRIFICATION

SOUTH AFRICAN INSTITUTE OF RACE RELATIONS (SAIRR) The SAIRR is one of the oldest South African research and policy organisations, started in 1929. Unbiased and autonomous it seeks to encourage liberal democratic values in the country and create an atmosphere for political and economic success. It investigates and publicises research on social and economic trends with the motive of alleviating poverty and inequality and to improve living standards for all South African citizens.

SOWETO UPRISING Gentrification is commonly precipitated by governmental bodies, corporate business and public interest groups investing in targeted areas with the intention of encouraging economic growth, developing businesses, and alleviating crime. Unfortunately this effort to assist in improving the quality of living conditions often results in inflating prices, thereby making the area more attractive and accessible to higher income groups and forcing citizens on lower incomes to vacate the area.

The Soweto Uprising of 16th June 1976 is commemorated in South Africa as a public holiday; ‘Youth Day’. The protest by large numbers of Sowetan High School students was precipitated by the enforced introduction of Afrikaans as the language of tuition in all local schools. A number of children died and many were injured during the protest.

GRAVITAS Gravitas is derived from the Latin word ‘gravis’. The meaning of ‘gravitas’ is dignity, seriousness, weightiness and of substance.

JOHANNESBURG DEVELOPMENT AGENCY (JDA) The JDA is an agency established for the City of Johannesburg to work with all stakeholders, be they from the private or public sectors, promoting good relationships in order to uplift the quality of lives of all city dwellers. In this endeavour they identify specific areas to revive with relevant business and residential interventions, thereby encouraging sound economic growth.

SITE LOCATION Far Left GAUTENG PROVINCIAL MAP Johannesburg Metropolitan Indicated. Left JOHANNESBURG METROPOLITAN MAP Inner City with National Road Network Indicated. Below SUBURBS OF JOHANNESBURG City and Suburban District with Proposed Site Indicated. Right WEST ALONG MARSHALL STREET. 2013 The Three Castles Cigarette Factory looks onto the Port Plein Park while the ABSA Tower looms over the city.

Aukland Park

Yeoville

Berea

PHOTO OF SITE FROM ABSA.

Bertrams Braamfontein Johannesburg

Troyeville Jeppestown

Railway line

City and Suburban

Main Reef

Wemmer Pan

Site

Turffontein

Walking through the south-eastern quadrant of the Johannesburg inner city one stumbles upon a district forgotten: City and Suburban. Once host to a thriving industrial market this semi-industrial area has a unique atmosphere unmatched by any other. It is an island in the city waiting to make a greater contribution to urban life. To the west, the hustle of the corporate ABSA Precinct. To the east, the trendy Maboneng Precinct. Both home to the middle- and upper-class of society with little to offer the poor. The forgotten district has gone unnoticed by the Johannesburg Development Agency, left to the devices of time. However, standing in isolation overlooking a small park, its back to Main Street and an abandoned parking-lot, rests the iconic Three Castles Cigarette Factory; the jewel of City and Suburban. This unusual relic waits patiently for another chance at life. The possibilities are endless and its future undetermined. CITY CONNECTIVITY A CATHEDERAL OF CHRIST THE KING B PARK STATION C JACK MINCER TAXI RANK D SOUTH GAUTENG HIGH COURT E JOHANNESBURG CITY HALL F CARLTON CENTRE G JEWEL CITY a JOUBERT PARK b PARK STATION TAXI RANK c GANDHI SQUARE d ABSA PRECINCT e SITE f MABONENG PRECINCT g FASHION DISTRICT h END STREET PARK

INTRODUCTION Crime and police criminality in Johannesburg is rife, from the wealthy northern suburbs to the impoverished townships and everywhere in between. Crime does not discriminate against its victims, so all South Africans are to an extent threatened. Society has adapted to and attempted to prevent crime by means of ‘gated communities’, walls, and privatised security enforcement, but these means too often prove inadequate in the fight against crime. Regardless, urban sprawl continues, and the middle- and upper-classes persist in employing an architecture of policing – fortifying and segregating spaces and ‘othering’ the poor. Meanwhile, society’s perception of the South African Police Service’s (SAPS) ability to protect and implement the people’s constitution is eroding and the divide between the government and the people is widening. The state and the people no longer identify with each other, the condition of South Africa’s democracy is questionable, and opportunities for acts of crime remain widespread. Henri Lefebvre, a French philosopher and sociologist of the 20th century, believed that it is in space that justice and injustice become visible (1991), a concept which puts space on an equal level with social relations and the political theory governing these relations. Moulding the built environment and ultimately societal interaction, architecture is essential to and inseparable from all conceivable relationships. Thus, architecture is a catalyst in the transformation of perceptions, actions, and life itself. It is an active interface between a nation’s government, the police, and civilians, regardless of whether or not a conscious effort is made to enact this responsibility.

Previous Page THE THREE CASTLES BUILDING. 2013 Wrapped in barbed wire and rubbish the building has been left to disintegrate. Above Fig 2 MARIKANA MASSACRE. 2012 a police officer shoots rubber bullets and 28 striking workers at Lonmin Mine.

Despite the South African government’s vigorous attempts to promote reconciliation, the focus has been almost exclusively on socio-historical aspects, with little consideration being given to spatial perspectives. Globally, however, there has been a distinctive ‘spatial turn’ in which the notion of a ‘sociospatial dialectic’ is being addressed by politicians, architects, urban planners, sociologists, and the public. The consensus, in alignment with Lefebvre’s theory, is that “social, historical, and spatial perspectives are all three ways of interpreting the world with no one being privileged over the other” (Soja, 2010: 3). The renowned words spoken decades ago by Sir Winston Churchill – “we shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us” – are being echoed on the lips of modern architects and critics. Architecture, society, and place are mirror images of one another: a temporal discourse.

A new and radical transformation of the police station is needed, a transformation which will encourage public engagement, challenge perceptions, and break down the boundaries between police and civilian. South Africa needs a civic building which they can identify with and which can bridge the divide between state and people. As urbanisation and social injustice proliferate, aggravating societal divides and tensions in the world’s cities, the necessity for the police station - the state’s judicial representative - to become an inclusive, civic space is more apparent. The Johannesburg inner city, with its dense population, consistently high crime rate, and tendency to “become more fragmented, more polarized and more diverse” (Bremner, 2004: 19), is the perfect site for an intervention aimed at the rethinking of the police station as a social incubator. An architecture that is both functional and symbolic of national identity and security in the post-Apartheid environment presents a difficult scenario for designers. The South African police station of the 21st century, as an embodiment of human rights, justice, and unification, must be as progressive as the constitution. Insular and fort-like characteristics need to become a thing of the past. Democracy calls for spaces that serve a multiplicity of functions and support diversity and change. The architecture and public spaces of the police station should enable the ‘chance encounters’ which encourage communication and the development of community and national identity, thus potentially producing fewer ‘rotten potatoes’. The role played by the police station in the society of today may be only a small part of the police station’s contribution to the society of tomorrow.

The South African police station, a civic building designed to serve both state and people, was manipulated by the Apartheid regime to control and suppress the state’s ‘invisible enemy’ while simultaneously protecting ‘segregationalist’ ideals and the elite white minority. Yet almost two decades into the new democracy, the police station’s physical face and its connection to its context are unchanged; its potential to promote reconciliation, encourage progress, and aid in the SAPS’s endeavour to establish effective ‘community policing’ go unrecognised.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

- Martin Luther King, Letter from Birmingham Jail (1963)

POLICING CONTEXT Fig 3 A CONGREGATION OF POLICE OFFICER’S SALUTE SENIOR OFFICIALS. 2013

THE SAPS: A SOUTH AFRICAN AUTHORITY South Africa, considered iconic by the rest of the world, has been squeezed, stretched, twisted and dissected by the powers of spatial manipulation and authority. It is a country which prides itself on having been remoulded from a nation of segregation and oppressive disciplinary control into a nation of political transparency and multiculturalism, but this transformation appears to be a struggling work in progress. Democracy in today’s South Africa is underpinned by a complex set of tensions: new tensions which result from navigating through the unknown and old tensions which are the shadows and memories of the past. The South African Police Service has struggled for decades with these tensions, making “policing … one of the most contentious, if not explosive, topics in the contemporary politics of South Africa” (Mathews, 1993: 1). As a result, South African policing has become a ‘hot topic’ under the watchful eye of the media; some would even say that it is under continual attack from the national and global community (Bayley, 1991). In recent years, the SAPS has garnered attention for numerous disgraces, “including the high-profile arrest, trial and conviction of former police commissioner Jackie Selebi in 2010 for fraternising with a convicted drug dealer and crossing the line into his criminal world...followed by the dismissal of Selebi’s successor Bheki Cele - another political appointee - for his involvement in a dodgy multi-million rand lease deal” (Grobler, 2013: 10). Then came the Marikana Massacre in 2012, in which thirty-eight protesting Lonmin mineworkers died at the hands of the police. The Marikana tragedy was followed in short succession by two more incidents that humiliated the police: the murder of Mozambican taxi driver, Mido Macia, who was beaten to death, and the attempted murder of a court interpreter just two weeks later. Both men were dragged behind police vehicles by police officials. To fully comprehend the extent of the current challenges that the SAPS and the nation as a whole are facing, one must revisit the country’s socio-political history.

policing systems such as the British ‘Bobbies’, but their primary objective did not. The SAP’s ultimate goal was to protect the interests of the minority white elite through whatever means necessary. In so doing, they ensured that black South Africans were denied citizenship, had minimal access to the country’s resources, remained a source of cheap labour, and ideally provided no resistance (Brogden & Shearing, 1993).

Fig 4 ‘NO PEACE’. 1990 A boy runs for safety during a protest in Soweto.

Throughout the course of the Apartheid regime, the majority of police officers were plucked from rural, conservative, white Afrikaner settlements (Mathews, 1993). These minimally educated South Africans internalised government propaganda and subsequently strove to suppress and control the ‘invisible enemy’. However, the predominance of rural, white, Afrikaans males in the SAP had its drawbacks. Policing, and therefore control, of black settlements became problematic due to white officers not wanting or expecting other white personnel to patrol these areas. To resolve this problem, the SAP had begun to recruit black males in the 1930s. Their role was primarily to police the townships and other black areas as they were forbidden from patrolling in white suburbs. These black police officers, although vital to the containment of the black population, had little influence

POLICING SOUTH AFRICA’S PAST On the first of April 1913, the South African Police (force) was established, the result of the amalgamation of the Boer and the British police organisations under one title (Schaerer, 2003). The period between 1913 and 1948 was marked by great advances for the SAP, at least as judged by the Union government’s standards. Training, education and uniforms were standardised, and management was centralised. This time period also saw the development of a policing system aimed at driving and enforcing the government’s desire for race segregation (Brewer, 1994). This continued after 1948, and the SAP, the visible embodiment of the National Party, adopted the characteristics of an oppressive policing force, trained to function similarly to the military with an emphasis on marksmanship (Faull, 2008). While international consensus holds that in a democratic nation, no political group should exercise the use of a private army, democracy itself was the enemy during the Apartheid era. Thus, the ruling National Party institutionalised the SAP as its personal ‘bodyguard’, “the bastion of the Apartheid state” (Faull, 2008: 6). The SAP’s methods of serving may have resembled other modern

on the policing organisation itself, remained in lower ranks, and often found themselves subject to abuse at the hands of the white SAP officials. In addition, they commanded little respect from those whom they policed (Mathews, 1993), a sentiment which some would argue has survived the transition from Apartheid to democracy. To the Apartheid state and the SAP, the life of a black individual meant very little, and black police officers and civilians alike were treated as commodities at best. Constituting a ninety per cent majority, white Afrikaners were a stronghold in the SAP, intimidating all who were part of the other ten per cent – white English speaking officers included (Schaerer, 2003). Ironically, affirmative action in the post-Apartheid era has turned the tables and “caused discontent amongst white and coloured police members, who are especially angered and demoralised by the promotions system” (Grobler, 2013: 14). By the 1960s, the Apartheid government’s disregard for the human rights of black South Africans drove the black population to acts of protest and resistance that the ‘white-owned’ state had never before seen. For a while, the police managed to continue fulfilling the state’s expectations “through the ample legal and physical capacity to kill, to maim, to torture and terrorize”, in other words, through sanctioned and even encouraged police brutality (Brogden & Shearing, 1993: 16). In the days following the June 1976 Soweto Uprising, the Internal Security Amendment Act was passed. In a ‘Foucauldean’ sense, it was ‘an action upon an action’ which exemplified the turbulent power relations in South Africa and the extent of social injustices that the state was prepared to inflict on the people in an attempt to keep control. Ultimately, the Act gave the SAP the power to hold suspects for an unlimited period of time without approval from a judge, a power that became commonly referred to as “detention without trial” (South African Heritage Archive. 2013). Intended to deter and silence political activists, the Act was responsible for a number of their deaths. It is estimated that more than seventy activists died while under police detention at the former John Vorster Square alone – “the iconic institution of the apartheid years” (South African Heritage Archive. 2013). Steve Biko, the founder of the Black Consciousness Movement, was one of these brave activists.

“The security police had a cruel calmness of people with no souls.”

- Molefe Pheto, former detainee, 1975 (cited in South African Heritage Archive, 2012)

Fig 5 JAKI SEROKO. 2012 A former detainee, 1987, Seroko sits in his holding cell in John Vorster Square (Johannesburg Central Police Station).

The occurrence of these unfortunate ‘accidents’ became so regular that South African poet Chris van Wyk wrote In Detention in the late 1970s, a poem whose sarcastic humour emphasised the absurdity of the excuses which were made by the SAP. The poem received international recognition and brought greater attention to the atrocities of the Apartheid government (Van Wyk, 1979).

He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself while washing He slipped from the ninth floor He hung from the ninth floor He slipped on the ninth floor while washing He fell from a piece of soap while slipping He hung from the ninth floor He washed from the ninth floor while slipping He hung from a piece of soap while washing.

In an attempt to combat the continued black resistance and maintain racial segregation, a number of ‘fort-like’ police stations were built in both black settlements and white suburbs in the 1960s and 1970s. These new police stations were strategically located. Removed from the area’s high street and well-utilised public spaces, the “institution became an isolated, frequently introverted, event” (Dewar, 1991: 56). Architect Mark Schaerer observes that in Norwood the police station sits in a large empty park between two suburbs, in Linden the original police station was an old farm house in a huge, old plot, and the Randburg police station also sits in a field removed from the commercial hub (Schaerer, 2003). Even the built form of these police stations was a reflection of the government’s and SAP’s ideal: separation. This ideal was made more blatant when fences, walls, and guard houses were erected as further means of protection when police stations were targets for armed resistance during the 1980s State of Emergency. These new ‘facades’ have remained iconic two decades into democracy. Other features have also managed to endure the transition, such as the monotonous repetition of punctured windows, the solid and durable orange brick skin, and the use of inexpensive structural materials and construction methods. Furthermore, the parti of the police station has also not changed. The first point of interface and control is the centralised charge desk, now termed the Client Service Centre (CSC). Accessing any other space requires special clearance, which if granted reveals a series of nondescript offices flanking a gloomy passage. This hostile building type represented the institution of the police during Apartheid and continues to represent the SAPS in post-Apartheid South Africa. These relics of the past stain the community’s associations with the police and vice-versa.

In the 1980s, law enforcement in the townships became more violent, and the world watched in horror as black South Africans lived the evil that was the SAP’s abuse of power. Other changes were also made by the SAP in the 1980s, including allowing black officers to patrol the white areas. Simultaneously, the SAP progressed in their methods of communication and movement (Brewer, 1994). This contributed to a more efficient police force, but at the same time led to an obvious decline in visible police presence. The less time the police spent surveying by foot, the less time the police spent interacting with the public. Therefore, the police alienated themselves not only from black South Africans, but from the entire population, widening the divide in an already fragmented relationship. And this while “the rest of the world was already reforming their police through community involvement” (Schaerer, 2003: 8). To a few, the SAP became the “heroic saviours of the state”, while to the rest, the SAP became “the grossest evils the white minority regimes have been capable of” (Mathews, 1993: 23). Eventually, following many long years of resistance to the Apartheid regime, black South Africans finally received a chance at life. In 1991, Parliament abolished all Apartheid laws and announced that the country would work towards a new democratic constitution. Apartheid had been overcome. Virtually overnight, the people of South Africa – who had been taught to hate those who are different – were told to accept diversity, build community, and unite as one nation under a new flag of many colours. Then in 1994, the long struggle for equal rights came to fruition when the African National Congress (ANC) won the country’s first democratic election. It was soon recognized, however, that the struggle was far from over, as the ANC had inherited a state without a nation (Valji, 2003). A new challenge presented itself: to transform a scarred nation into a land of peace, equality, and justice. The SAP was one of many government institutions which required transformation when Apartheid ended. “In a symbolic move meant to reflect a change in the nature of policing in South Africa” (Faull, 2008: 7), the South African Police (force) became the South African Police Service (SAPS), with a new emphasis on ‘community policing’. It was no longer an organisation that served only the needs of those with authority or a particular political group, but one that served the best interests of all South Africans. The new Constitution, the legal foundation for the new South Africa, was written to ensure equal human rights for all and to prevent the Apartheid atrocity from ‘resurfacing its ugly head’. The Constitution endowed the SAPS with nine functional responsibilities – to:

From top to bottom Norwood Police Station, Linden Police Station and Noordgesig (Soweto) Police Station. 2013 The Police Stations are removed from the commercial areas or areas with high levels of pedestrian movement. The buildings sit behind walls and fences and make no civic gestures.

 Prevent, combat and investigate crime;  maintain public order;  protect and secure the inhabitants of the Republic and their property;  uphold and enforce the law.  Create a safe and secure environment for all people in South Africa.  Prevent anything that may threaten the safety or security of any community;  investigate any crimes that threaten the safety or security of any community;  ensure criminals are brought to justice; and  participate in efforts to address the causes of crime. (The Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996) In order to fulfil their constitutional mission and unify as an organisation, the SAPS introduced a new Code of Conduct (South African Police Service. 2013). Both the Constitution and the Code of Conduct promise all the right things, but unfortunately the SAPS repeatedly falls short of being able to fulfil its mandate

effectively. Consequently, neither the state nor its citizens are fully benefiting from these progressive changes in the South African policing system (Schaerer, 2003).

COMMUNITY POLICING IN SOUTH AFRICA The concept of community “relates to creating a sense of identity and belonging - a sense of absorption into urban life” (Dewar, 1991: 21). It is on this premise that the SAPS has made persistent attempts to promote the idea of community policing, to promote a more positive image of themselves to the South African nation (Shaw, 1996). In theory, if the policing institution could integrate itself in a more holistic manner, over time the public’s views of the SAPS, as well as the ethos among police officers themselves, would transform a tumultuous relationship into one which is more harmonious. This would in turn help to decrease the crime rate and potentially improve socio-cultural, political, and economic conditions (Trangos, 2008). This ideal of a people and their protectors – a community – combating crime and corruption together has been around for a long time. In some developed countries, this ideal is a reality (Bayley, 1991). However, this is certainly not the case in South Africa. Critics have argued that a significant reason for the SAPS’s inability to achieve true ‘community policing’ was Police Minister Nathi Mthethwa calling upon the SAPS in 2012 to “serve as an effective instrument in the frontline of a war against criminals” (Bruce, 2013). It has been claimed that this ‘re-militarisation’ has had a direct influence on the high rate of police violence and tragedies such as the Marikana Massacre. Whilst “in established democracies, it is unheard of that a political appointee is trusted with running a policing organisation, [as] it is understood that this allows politicians to direct the decision-making of the police force and to abuse the organisation”, the SAPS’s national police commissioners have all been “political appointees without a clue about policing, who did and do not understand the complex organisation” (Grobler, 2013: 15). This inappropriate management, coupled with the lack of transparent public regulation of the SAPS, hinder the success of a ‘community’ policing system. The SAPS has unfortunately failed to truly transform into a new organisation. There may be a revised policing manual, and police stations are no longer divided along racial lines, but the SAPS’s structure and methods of policing leave much to be desired. This is undoubtedly a contributing factor to the escalating levels of crime and corruption in South Africa. In March 2013 the South African Institute of Race Relations featured a survey on the front page of The Star newspaper. The survey reported that South Africans experienced 3.3 million criminal acts over the period of one year, 2011/2012. Adding insult to injury was the fact that only forty-eight per cent of these crimes were reported to the police. Reasons for not reporting ranged from not having access to a police station or police personnel to individuals having negative perceptions of the police. Among the 1.7 million documented criminal acts, the most devastating were the number of murders (15 609), attempted murders (14 859), and sexual offences (64 514) – a figure of special concern considering that most rape victims ‘kept quiet’ (Roane, 2013). A separate survey based on 31 000 households and compiled by Statistics SA revealed that less than sixty per cent of households trusted the SAPS (Statistics South Africa. 2012).

In a report discussing officer recruitment made to Parliament in 2010, former National Police Commissioner Bheki Cele admitted that “We have not been big on quality, we have been big on quantity” (Newham & Faull, 2011: 11). Cele’s statement seemingly did not raise much concern with senior officials. At present, the SAPS is growing by 2 500 additional new members per year (Newham & Faull, 2011), while few changes have been made to ensure higher quality recruits, training, support, or working environment. As Liza Grobler, an authority on criminality in the SAPS, writes:

In developed countries such as Australia, the United States of America and the United Kingdom, policing is a status position and a conscious career choice, staffed by people with suitable qualifications and a high level of professionalism... As a result of the parlous state of South Africa’s job market, many people are joining the SAPS purely as a means to earn money. They are no longer drawn to policing as a calling to serve the community, but need a source of income - any source will do (2013: 115).

Working in a high risk environment with little accountability and without any commitment to the community or to the badge, giving in to the opportunistic temptations which so frequently present themselves in a policing environment proves too easy (Grobler, 2013). The condition of ‘community policing’ is actually frightening in South Africa; the notion is really nothing more than words used to evoke a sense of progress. At the same time, the high crime rate and poor relationship between the nation and the SAPS cannot be easily explained by one factor alone. Corruption, public perceptions, the country’s jagged history, and a multiplicity of other issues combine to make ‘community policing’ an empty phrase.

A FOREIGN APPROCAH: POLICING JAPAN In stark contrast to South Africa, Japan enjoys one of the lowest crime rates in the world and practically no police criminality. While densely populated cities are globally noted for having higher crime rates and less faith in policing agencies, Japan – which is almost thirty times more densely populated than the US, has a significantly lower crime rate (Crawford, 1991). In addition, Japan’s expenditure on the settlement of disputes due to police error or criminality is vastly less than the R300 million that the SAPS has had to spend over the last three years due to civil claims made against police officials (Grobler, 2013). For these reasons and others, the Japanese model of policing is highly regarded internationally. Specialist in international criminal justice David Bayley credits contemporary Japan with having the world’s most advanced methods of community policing (1991). But this was not always the case. Prior to the end of World War ll, Japan “experienced many of the same characteristics which have been used as excuses for the miserable plight of [South African] policing: a history of police corruption... a violent historical tradition” (Hicks, 1985: 68), oppression, vigilantism, and handguns. Thus, the Japanese policing model holds valuable lessons for the SAPS. During World War II, the Japanese police were regarded as dishonest, ineffectual and dictatorial (Hicks, 1985: 69). After the end of the war, the occupying United

States “enforced separate and independent police forces in every sizeable community in Japan”, similar to the system which still exists in the United States today. Due to the country’s long feudal history, this lack of centralisation resulted in anarchy. However, when the Japanese reclaimed ‘ownership’ of their country, they decided to “re-centralis[e] their police” (Wildes, 1953: 43), starting with the Reform Police Act of 1954. In conjunction with this important restructuring, the military was also vastly downscaled following the war. Consequently, a number of samurai men enrolled with the newly formed Japanese police and brought with them significant influence. These world famous sword fighters lived by moral codes of “honesty, courage, devotion to duty, and kindness ... these were excellent warriors” (Hicks, 1985: 69). Many of these centuries-old traditions have become fundamental principles of Japanese policing. As a result, the public’s perception of the police is of the highest regard (What-When-How.com. 2013). Another distinct advantage for the Japanese police is that the country’s “culture is basically homogenous” (Bookmice.net, 2013). There are very few minorities and the vast majority of Japanese have the same cultural traditions, one possible reason for Japanese society experiencing few social tensions. This is a profoundly different situation from the racial, cultural, and class tensions in South Africa. Furthermore, strict firearm laws mean that the Japanese do not have to live with fear of gun violence; only “about one officer per year is killed by firearms” (Bookmice.net, 2013). Besides the high moral code, cultural tendencies, and on-going intense training, what else makes the Japanese model of policing so unique? The literature suggests that the answer to this question is the Koban, a small police station in a generic structure that is commonly found and easily recognizable in Japanese cities. The Koban’s origins are rooted in the development of Tokyo, a city constructed to be prepared for an invasion. The streets were designed to not be straight in order to slow any army trying to attack, and where streets came to a ‘T’, formation spaces were built to house warriors. When the prospect of war became less threatening, these ‘warrior posts’ were transformed into Kobans. The total number throughout Japan is more than 6 000 (Bookmice.net, 2013). Police officers are assigned in small groups (two to twelve officers) to station each Koban. These officers have the opportunity to get to know each other, become familiar with the dense areas in which they are working, and most importantly integrate themselves intimately with the local community which they serve. The duties of police officers operating from Kobans are diverse. Twice a year, officers conduct a ‘residential survey’ in which they meet with the residents living in their area. During these surveys, the officers inspect doors and windows for security issues and provide the residents with advice on the prevention of crime. These encounters “give police the chance to meet the people they are protecting, not just crooks and prostitutes... They see the humanity in one another” (Bayley, 1991: 79). The officers also act as councillors to the locals: people to confide in and provide guidance. Females from the communities regularly stop on their way to or from work to prepare tea for the officers or to arrange flowers, making the Koban a more sensitive and welcoming environment (Bayley, 1991). The small scale of the Koban means that upon arrival at the police station, one steps immediately into the charge office, an open space where the officers work. Inside the main office, senior officers have desks, but without extra chairs to host a meeting. Rather, meetings are conducted on couches around a coffee table. And the Koban does not function purely as a place for officers to work. Rooms behind or above the main office provide facilities for eating, sleeping, bathing, and relaxing. Furthermore, because a vital aspect of any policing

agency is that the officers remain athletic and healthy, the Koban provides a means for physical well-being through the dedication of a separate room for the practice of Judo and Kendo. Thus, the Japanese police station also serves as a home for the officers (Bayley, 1991; Japan Explained, 2013).

Fig 6 JAPANESE POLICE OFFICERS PATROLLING STREETS BY BICYCLE. 2013 Fig 7 A KOBAN LOCATED AT A BUY INTERSECTION The Koban is integrated into Japanese society. Children wait for their parents on the door step while a couple read a poster displayed in the window.

Koban’s are also designed to be adaptive representations of the policing institution. Their character is moulded directly by the environment in which they are placed in order to be an appropriate response and display the right ‘attitude’ towards their respective communities. Kobans located in poorer areas have illuminated clock towers because people cannot afford watches or mobile phones, while other Kobans have projectors or televisions which are placed in parks or open squares during summer evenings for community entertainment purposes. Kobans located near train stations have a loan box for the public to take change from if they do not have enough money for train fare, and Kobans located near parks are stocked with candy for the children. In addition, it is mandatory that the front door remain open at all times (Japan Explained, 2013), regardless of whether or not an officer is present. This open door policy is a gesture of security, approachability, and transparency, encouraging the people to work with the police and form relationships. It is clear that “the Koban is an active force in community life. It forces the police officers ... to play a role in communities as known persons” (Bayley, 1991: 86). In addition, it also enables the development of relationships and a culture of emotional trust (Bayley, 1991): unity through community. Thus, the success of the Japanese police force does not rely solely on their ethics, training, or management alone. The success of the Japanese police force is also the result of well-designed and suitably programmed spaces that effectively respond to urban life. It is this holistic perspective on policing which is lacking in the SAPS.

TEMPTATION AND THE CORRUPT Police criminality and corruption have been defined as the abuse of bureaucrat authority for personal gain (Newham & Faull, 2012). Policing expert Maurice Punch adds that police criminality consists of “serious offences that have little to do with almost any police-related ends but [is] a gross abuse of power, such as gratuitous violence, armed robbery, rape and murder” (2009: 33). Although police criminality may be a global problem, it is particularly prevalent in South Africa. Grobler commented that in light of the police mission to serve and protect, police criminality is viewed with considered negativity by its members and management, partners in the justice fraternity, police regulatory committees and the nation as a whole. In an interview conducted by Grobler, a former SAPS member reported that he believed “criminality in the SAPS is chronic, occurring in every unit and at every police station” (2013: 25). This belief was reinforced in a survey conducted by the Human Sciences Research Council in 2009. The survey results revealed that eighty-five per cent of SAPS members consider corruption to be a major issue in the organisation (Newham & Faull, 2012). Police brutality appears to have become an acceptable method of policing, encouraged by Police Minister Bheki Cele’s much publicised ‘shoot to kill’ speech in 2012. And while international standards advise an average of one counsellor for every fifty police officers, the SAPS employs only ninety-six counsellors in an organisation of almost 200 000 members -- one counsellor to every 2 000

personnel. Counsellors report that a recurring issue discussed by officers is the “poor working conditions at police stations”, which in effect leave the officers feeling “emotionally drained” (Grobler, 2013: 162). In just one year, 2011/2012, more than 5 800 “formal complaints were laid against the police, mainly for assault and attempted murder ... [with] the rate of killings by South Africa’s police among the world’s highest” (Anonymous, 2012). The use of the word ‘formal’ deserves emphasis, as it reminds one of the certainty that there is a vast number of cases not brought to light. In view of the fact that corruption, predominantly in the form of bribes, can benefit both corrupt officers and offending parties (such as drug dealers and drunk drivers) who are not likely to report the corrupt officer, official estimates that between one and ten per cent of police officers have engaged in corruption are most likely an under-representation. Earlier research conducted in 2000 exploring the criminality of SAPS members concluded that 14,600 active police officers had charges against them. Police Minister Mthethwa reported to Parliament that during 2011/2012, ninety-one SAPS members had been charged with rape. Female police officers were responsible for laying some of these charges. Mthethwa went on to reveal that police stations and police vehicles were the most common sites for police rapists to act. Thus, the very places where victims are supposed to seek protection, security, and counsel, the places designed to aid in the fight against crime, are also the scenes of unthinkable social injustices (Grobler, 2013).

Right SOUTH AFRICAN CULTURE: THEN AND NOW. A COMPARISON OF EVENTS IN SOUTH AFRICA DURING APARTHEID AND POST-APARTHEID. From Top to Bottom. Fig 8 A POLICEMAN FIRING HIS REVOLVER. 1976 The Soweto Uprising. Fig 9 LONMIN MINE WORKERS STRIKE. 2012 Fig 10 HECTOR PIETERSON. 1976 Fig 11 MARIKANA MASSACRE. 2012 Fig 12 “NO PICTURES”. 1990 Fig 13 XENOPHOBIC ATTACK. 2008 Fig 14 A POLICEMAN CHECKING A BLACK MAN’S ‘PASS DOCUMENTS’. N.D. Fig 15 J. SELEBI TRIAL. 2010 Fig 16 “MOB ATTACK”. 1990 Fig 17 MIDO MACIA. 2012 A taxi driver is dragged by SAPS members in an SAPS vehicle.

Governments attempts to brush away the negative reports regarding the SAPS such as the release of statements broadcasting their endeavours to out the ‘bad apples’ and fight crime are beginning to fall on deaf ears. Punch’s response to statements such as these is most apt:

If corruption is an inherent and near-universal facet of policing then it cannot simply be the product of some bad apples...[this would] convey that the problem is one of human failure confined to a handful of reprehensible and unrepresentative deviants ... But in cases of serious, widespread and prolonged corruption the more appropriate metaphor should be bad barrel, if not bad orchards (Grobler, 2013: 125).

COP OR CRIMINAL: PERCEPTIONS People’s perceptions of the SAPS have not shifted in a positive direction since the end of Apartheid. The reporting of crimes remains low, as does the amount of community cooperation with local police stations. Disappointingly, the people of South Africa remain subjects of “a dyspeptic [country] at war with itself... One gets the feeling that the ANC in government has settled too quickly into a comfort zone decorated in the shades of the inequality inherited from the past” (Murray, 2011: 9). As a result of perceived corruption within the SAPS ranks, people have lost faith in the policing authority and instead placed their trust in the booming private security industry. The perceptions of an individual or community, whether conscious or sub-conscious, inevitably have an influence on that individual or community’s beliefs and behaviours. This in turn affects power relations and the way that people interact with one another and with their environment. Thus, perceptions, whether accurate or not, should be addressed with the same vigour and sensitivity as hard evidence.

Negative perceptions that are not addressed timeously and appropriately can potentially become dangerous. The much publicised xenophobic attacks of 2008 in which numerous foreign nationals were ‘necklaced’, stoned, and beaten to death by ‘native’ mobs were the result of negative perceptions being left to fester. Eventually, the pent up frustration, anger, and fear led to violence and murder. The community or individual divorced from and untrusting of the authority’s ability to ensure the safety of people and the state turns to vigilantism (Sennet, 1990: 37). Acts of vigilantism in South Africa are disturbing signs of how deep the divide is between the state and the people. During 2012, eighty people died in the Western Cape alone due to vigilantism (Grobler, 2013). South Africans appear to be living in the stigma of the past, incapable of accepting differences even under the new banner of the Rainbow Nation. Murray writes that stress, apprehension and trepidation have become the accepted norm of community interface and existence (2011). When South Africans are not taking the law into their own hands, they are arming themselves and retreating into privatised forts, taking precautions against potential violent invasions. The tragic case of iconic South African athlete Oscar Pistorius shooting and killing his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp, on the 14th of February 2013 is a testimony to the violence which is produced out of fear. Irrespective of whether or not Pistorius is found to be innocent or guilty of premeditated murder, the case shows how deadly perceptions can be. It has been established that the SAPS lacks the resources, skills, and respect that it requires in order to operate effectively. However, one cannot say that the police are the only guilty party while civilians are completely innocent. “Our violent society is a mirror of what is going on in the police”, says criminology Professor Christiaan Bezuidenhout (Grobler, 2013: 49), but the reverse is also true. Our violent police force is a mirror of what is occurring in society. The negative reality is also reinforced by negative perceptions and stereotypes, which often make a few individual’s negative behaviours representative of the rest. It is unfortunate that the SAPS is portrayed negatively, as this hinders the creation and strengthening of a sense of community. It is therefore the nation’s collective responsibility to recognise where changes need to be made and take action. A better SAPS and improved police-community relations will result in a better South Africa. Thus, the institution of the SAPS needs to be addressed in all its facets, from the structure of the organisation to the individual officers, and from the architecture of the police station to the organisation’s relationship with its context. Only then may the community’s associations with the police and the police’s associations with the public finally begin to befit that of an inclusive, democratic country.

“Police officers operating without community consent, direction, and control are a wasted effort more irritant than deterrent.” - Oscar Newman (1973: 79)

SOUTH AFRICAN POLICE STATIONS In order to gain a better understanding of the nature of the South African police station, two extant police stations, located within the Johannesburg metropolitan, have been selected for a comparative analysis: the Brixton Police Station and the Jeppe Police Station. Although located within the same metropolitan region these police stations have considerably different urban contexts. Thus, it will interesting to observe how, if at all, the police stations respond to their specific environments and engage with the public. Top Left BRIXTON POLICE STATION. 2013 High Street and Mercury Street are indicated. Left JEPPE POLICE STATION. 2013 Bezuidenhout Street / Market Street and the national rail line are indicated. Above Centre BRIXTON POLICE STATION’S CSC ENTRANCE. 2013 Centre JEPPE POLICE STATION’S CSC ENTRANCE. 2013 Below Centre JEPPE POLICE STATION’S RELATIONSHIP WITH MERCURY STREET. 2013 A solid brick eastern façade with plumbing duct looks onto the street from behind a wall and guard house. Above PANORAMA OF THE BRIXTON POLICE STATION FROM THE PUBLIC PARKING LOT. 2013

The Brixton Police Station is strategically located in its suburb. Placed on the western end of Brixton’s high street where two main roads intersect, Mercury Street and the aptly named High Street, the police station sits near the areas commercial and recreational hub, but still removed. Despite the high levels of pedestrian and vehicular movement, commercial, and recreational activities which these streets support, the police station is self-concerned. With entrances on the quieter Mercury Street and a solid wall around the buildings periphery, one of few along these streets, the police station creates a definite hard edge. The only breaks in the wall occur along Mercury Street, opposite municipal

sports grounds which are similarly enclosed by a broken palisade fence. There is no entrance dedicated to the pedestrian, clear signage or an architectural gesture guiding the public into the Client Service Centre (CSC). Rather, one finds their bearing through a squat guardhouse, built during the 1980s, still dressed in its bullet proof armour. Adjacent to this brick fort, the pedestrian must step over a gate’s rail into a parking lot. Devoid of any soft surface and shrubbery the building’s exterior greets the public with an unfriendly handshake - unable to offer any reason for people to stay. From the time of arrival the police station fails to inspire a sense of efficiency, effectiveness or confidence. Furthermore, as the only means to access the police station, the unsurveyed ‘gated’ entrances remain open on a 24 hour basis, negating the purpose of the high boundary wall. The majority of the building is a three storey brown brick structure with cream coloured, prefabricated infill panels and the SAPS’s traditional grey brise soleil covering all glazed areas. In an attempt to put on a new face in recent years, and in defiance of conforming to the common police station aesthetic, the CSC, a single story building which sits in front of the main building, is partially clad in black sandstone tiles. On this building the application of brise soleil has been replaced by interior fabric blinds which remain closed. Given that the buildings in the police station’s immediate environment are predominantly humble, single storey, plastered buildings, the police station presents a severe, foreign façade and scale. The stations programmatic organisation, as one would expect, has been structured according to a spatial hierarchy. Located behind and above the CSC - the stations ‘control centre’ and the first point of meeting SAPS staff are the detective service, crime intelligence, and administrative offices. Whilst access to these private spaces is designed to be regulated from the CSC, a secondary, uncontrolled door adjacent to the public parking lot leads directly into a dark corridor supporting these offices; individuals are able to enter without permission or the accompany of an SAPS member. This condition once again defining the perimeter wall and the station’s fortified character as rather superfluous. Seated in the south-western corner of the site and backing onto residential dwellings are the detainee holding cells, configured around a secure drop-off yard which is accessible through a limited number of controlled thresholds. Whilst the programmatic arrangement of differing hierarchal spaces is understandable and necessary for the safety of all users, the placement of the Community Support Centre, attached to the holding cells and made accessible only through a secondary parking lot, emerges as an insensitive afterthought. Rather than being escorted to a space which should evoke a sense of security, victims are confronted by a small, dark room with the only source of light provided by high level windows which are draped with a net curtain. One would imagine that such a space is more unsettling than calming for those traumatised individuals seeking counsel.

Seven kilometres south east of the Brixton Police Station sits the Jeppe Police Station. Located on the inner city’s eastern periphery, adjacent to the city’s main railway line and three blocks north of the Jeppe Rail Station, the Jeppe Police Station is surrounded by semi-industrial businesses which predominately operate from low-rise face brick buildings. Approaching the Jeppe Police Station along the busy vehicular Bezuidenhout Street (which becomes Market Street towards the inner city), one notices that this police station is different. Unlike the Brixton Police Station, there is no wall or fence separating this station from the street. Although there is a controlled gate for SAPS members off of quiet Shore Street and a secure basement entrance for detainees to be delivered and collected near the public parking, both are out of sight and removed from the buildings public entrance. Whilst the buildings structure and aesthetic does not differ greatly from the conventional police station - brown face brick with a series of punctured windows eluding to an equally monotonous repetition of boxy offices inside - the Jeppe Police Station does not boast of siege architecture. The brise soleil has been reduced to vertical fins appropriately placed across a western façade; the stations sense of mystery and self preservation removed. The route taken to enter the police station is made clear by broad steps which one must ascend in order to arrive in a forecourt. Pot plants are scattered haphazardly across this raised forecourt in attempt to add some feature of interest to the otherwise completely dull space which overlooks the public parking lot. Unfortunately, by consequence of orientation and building height the forecourt spends many hours in the shade. With the addition of wind and exposure to the west and south the forecourt is an uncomfortable space during winter months. Stepped back from the street either as a gesture towards civic engagement or keeping the public at bay, the forecourt makes a poor attempt at contributing to the civic realm - seating is absent - there are no features allowing the public to rest or linger. The forecourt is merely a thoroughfare or glorified walkway.

Back in the CSC, the spaces elongated rectilinear proportion with its residential height ceiling is awkward. Two small benches sit to one side of the entrance; inadequate for a space which has such a vast stretch of reception. Two large, unplugged fridges misplaced behind the reception, on display for all to see, instils a sense of an ineffective and hopeless government institution; an idea reinforced by pictures of the heads of state which hang skew at uneven heights on the yellow walls. Similar to many other suburban police stations, the Brixton Police Station is advocating for ‘community policing’ through Community Policing Forum meetings, conducted once a month. However, besides these meetings which are restricted to community representatives and Brixton SAPS Heads of Departments the CSC is the only means for the public to interface with the Brixton SAPS. The architecture of the police station has complete disregard for the institutions civic responsibility, creating an uncomfortable space for public and SAPS members.

Arriving in the forecourt, the individual stands directly in-line with a discrete set of doors. Misleadingly, these do not deliver one into the CSC or a community space. These doors are the entrance to the detective service, crime intelligence and administration offices as well as SAPS officer accommodation. Supposedly a controlled area of the police station restricting the public from accessing private offices, the security check point is unmanned and security gates to passageways are unlocked. Similar to the Brixton Police Station, anyone can walk into the police station and wander its corridors.

Top Left BRIXTON POLICE STATION’S PROGRAMMATIC ORGANISATION. 2013 Left Centre LAYOUT OF THE BRIXTON POLICE STATION’S CSC. 2013 Left DIAGRAMMATIC SECTION OF JEPPE POLICE STATION. 2013 The police station is ‘protected’ from street life by a wall and 1980s guard house.

Above MASSING DIAGRAMS OF THE POLICE STATIONS’ RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR CONTEXTX. Brixton Police Station withdraws from public life whilst Jeppe Police Station provides a large forecourt in a semi-industrial area, adjacent to a heavily used vehicular road.

The CSC is positioned perpendicular to the ‘grand’ stairs, made known only by blue text above the door. The interior of the CSC is concealed behind more brown bricks, with only a small amount of transparency prohibited by the glazed entrance doors. Inside, more yellow walls and peach coloured tiles confront the public. Maintaining a residential height ceiling, the proportions of this CSC are more familiar than the Brixton CSC. A single bench rests against a wall parallel to the reception counter; the walls adorned with photographs of SAPS leaders and posters addressing issues of public safety and security. On the opposite side of the room one discovers an alternative secondary entrance to the CSC. Concealed behind a low wall a ramp leads back to the public parking. Beyond the reception desk, one door opens into a narrow, long passage, and another door opens into a threshold space separating the restricted holding cells from the CSC.

CSC OFFICES HOLDING CELLS SAPS ACCOMMODATION SAPS RECREATIONAL COMMUNITY SUPPORT CENTRE Whilst the building’s scale and construction would have made for a more integrated police station in this region of the city, the officer’s residential building standing 13 storeys high is a reminder of the police’s disregard for contextual awareness. Mirrored on the other side of the administrative offices, an additional forecourt looks onto the stations north-facing garden and a small gym positioned in the corner of the garden; reserved for SAPS member use only. However, like so many institutional buildings the spaces between buildings are static and unused. Neither the Brixton Police Station nor the Jeppe Police Station inspire the public with confidence, let alone their own personnel. They are both buildings firmly griped by the past, failing to immerse themselves in the ‘everyday’. Whilst in Brixton the police station has the potential to engage with a residential community and commercial and recreational activities, it chooses to isolate itself from society; maybe more as a result of self preservation and an insecurity of unpredictable public actions than for a machination of control. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the Jeppe Police Station, located in an area where community gatherings or chance meetings are unlikely to manifest, the police station attempts a radical move, creating a public forecourt. Without features which might capture the publics attention though, this space was designed to be insignificant. The planning of offices flanking lifeless corridors, poorly lit work spaces of sublime proportions, and the combination of monotone colours, materials, and textures which disengage the imagination ensure that the South African police station, and by association the police, are ‘othered’ from a progressive society, considered inhumane and ineffective. Perceptions, and the police station, need to be transformed.

Top Left JEPPE POLICE STATION FROM THE MAIN ENTRANCE STEPS. 2013 The building is separated from the street by a parking lot and a forecourt. Above A SECONDARY ENTRANCE TO JEPPE POLICE STATION’S CSC. 2013 A wall prevents visual connections between the street and the CSC whilst dustbins greet those who enter through this door. Top Right JEPPE POLICE STATION’S PROGRAMMATIC ORGANISATION. 2013 Right LAYOUT OF THE JEPPE POLICE STATION’S CSC. 2013 Below Right DIAGRAMMATIC SECTIONS OF JEPPE POLICE STATION. 2013 The police station’s operations are concealed from public gaze and any opportunity for community integration. The forecourt is a cold, featureless space. Over the Page PHOTO ESSAY OF VARIOUS POLICE STATIONS. 2013 The photographs show the condition of the stations’ public entrances and CSC.

PUBLIC ENTRY CONTROLLED DOORS

JOHANNESBURG CENTRAL POLICE STATION.

JEPPE POLICE STATION.

LINDEN POLICE STATION.

BRIXTON POLICE STATION.

PRETORIA CENTRAL POLICE STATION. 54

HILLBROW POLICE STATION.

YEOVILLE POLICE STATION.

JOHANNESBURG RAILWAY POLICE STATION. 55

Former John Vorster Square

THEORETICAL CONTEXT

POWER RELATIONS: THE INDIVIDUAL, DISCIPLINE, AND FOUCAULT’S ‘GOVERNMENTALITY’ Within any democratic country, the government institutions which provide public services -- the faces of government -- often serve as the first and only means of engaging with the state. The SAPS is one of these faces. As a representative of the state, operating on the ‘ground level’ to maintain the law of the land, the police service has more of an influence on the day-to-day lives of citizens than do the people in higher positions of power who are somewhat removed from society (Jones, 1994). Furthermore, it is the “authority to use force [which] stamps police work with a uniqueness that sets it apart from other lines of work” (CliffsNotes, 2012). A Marxist theorist would interject that the police, as a result of the authority given to them by the state, possess complete power and control over individuals and groups, and even over the state as a whole. Then again, acclaimed 20th century philosopher, historian, and social theorist Michel Foucault suggests that power is “neither given nor exchanged nor recovered, but rather exercised and existing only in action” (Foucault, 1980: 89). Power is therefore a strategy, a productive factor inherent in all social relations which inevitably produces a reaction or resistance. Providing testimony for this view, many commemorated historical events in South Africa, such as the Sharpeville and Soweto Uprisings, the signing of the Freedom Charter in Kliptown, the release of Nelson Mandela, and the writing of the new Constitution, were reactions against years of oppression and black objectification. Foucault goes on to elaborate that “what defines a relationship of power is that it is a mode of action that does not act directly and immediately on others. Instead it acts upon their actions: an action upon an action” (Foucault, 1982: 220). The individual is therefore a subject of power “circulating between its threads; they are always in the position of simultaneously undergoing and exercising this power ... individuals are the vehicles of power, not its points of application” (Trangos, 2008: 39). Separating those who prescribe and enforce the law from the rest of society is a system designed by the state to retain control. It is this system which enables the police officer to exercise power on a ‘higher plane’, a ‘plane’ which has a further reach than that of the people. Using its position of authority, the government implements this ‘programmed’ system, empowering the policing institution to arbitrate public behaviour and actions on the state’s behalf. This allows for predictability and prevents potential social upset which could jeopardise the ruling party’s ‘comfortable’ position. While the modern policing organisation has changed fairly significantly since its inception by the British government in the mid-1800s, the founding principles have remained: the police are to have a presence, maintain order through surveillance, and intercede when an individual or group acts unlawfully (The World Book Dictionary, 1990). In a ‘Foucauldian’ interpretation, an individual’s identity is defined by and subject to the limitation of privilege or constraint of power permitted to him or her by a higher disciplinary agent. Furthermore, individuals are forever participating in complex power relations in which discipline is fundamental (Foucault, 1977). In the utopian society, members of the public exercise power as a result of self-discipline, thus negating the need for one to be disciplined by another. Of course, we do not live in utopia. The police officer as a symbol of power is essential in the fight against crime and the maintenance of order. Even the mere presence of a police officer will generally prevent an injustice from being committed, as the officer has the power to enforce discipline.

Self-discipline is exhibited by individuals as a result of a subconscious (or conscious) awareness of surveillance – of permanently being seen. Surveillance was once a method used by communities to ensure public order and individual accountability; disciplinary agents were less of a necessity. However, with the growth of the multicultural metropolis, the break-down in community cohesion has been palpable. Individuals who were once recognised in their ‘intimate’ community have become anonymous in the city. This anonymity and fragmentation of community is not only reflected in social relations, but is also present in architecture and urban design (Newman, 1973). Across South Africa, homes have become fortified, and the privatised ‘public’ mall has replaced the public square and park; what has emerged is islands in the landscape. In an attempt to instil discipline, the built fabric of South African society has divided the people and damaged social cohesion, a perceptible contradiction.

Right Fig 18 FACES SYNONYMOUS WITH POWER. From top to bottom ROBERT MUGABE President, Zimbabwe. In office since December 1987. JACOB ZUMA President, South Africa. In office since May 2009. BARACK OBAMA. President, United States. In office since January 2009. MUAMMAR QADDAFI. Leader of the Revolution, Libya. In office since 19692011.

“The primary function of the Japanese police is not deterrence, it is crime prevention through enhancing the capacity of the society to discipline itself.” - International Crime Specialist David Bayley (1991: 183)

Foucault’s later work expanded upon the concept of government to further develop an understanding of how power relations operate. Unlike our contemporary, singular, political application of the term government, Foucault applies the term with its historic connotations: that is, “the government of oneself ... the government of souls and lives ... of children ... [and] the government of the state” (cited from Rabinow & Rose, 2003: 22). Through this perspective, we discover an additional dimension to the complexity of power: freedom. “Power is exercised only over free subjects, and only insofar as they are free” (Foucault, 1982: 221). Thus, rebellions and revolutions are fundamental in relations between individuals and groups. A democratic state must constantly re-evaluate and strive to maintain a healthy balance between citizens’ autonomous functioning and the laws that they are subject to; the social guidelines which must be adhered to must remain in equilibrium with the preservation of all people’s freedom. This places the police officer, the intermediary, in an even more precarious position, as it is their duty to serve the best interests of both state and citizen. The police must implement political doctrine while serving the people, protecting their human rights, and preserving their freedom. Here exists one of the many tensions faced by the SAPS, both socially and architecturally.

JOHN VORSTER SQUARE Conceived by the English philosopher and social theorist Jeremy Bentham in the late 18th century, the Panopticon was designed to be the ultimate architectural machine, allowing a disciplinary institution to induce a “state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power ... the [individuals] should be caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers” (Foucault, 1977: 201). Bentham described the Panoptican as follows. A tower rests at the centre of a radius. Along the radius is a peripheric building divided into cells, each cell with a window on the outside in-line with another on the inside. Light penetrates through the cell windows, which also correspond to a window in the tower. The individual contained within the cell is made “the object of information, never a subject in communication” (Foucault, 1977: 200). Through the Panopticon, Bentham illustrates that “power should be visible and unverifiable” (Foucault, 1977: 201).

An individual is always certain that there is a greater authority than he or she, but the individual is never certain when he or she is being surveyed by the authority. Along similar lines, police stations are usually located tactically in a landscape. Its location allows the state to communicate information quickly and efficiently in order to generate an appropriate response to an action before disorderly or unlawful conduct becomes uncontrollable. Here we see the state, by means of surveillance, attempting to exert a higher level of power without “displays of physical force or violence: direct force represents merely frustrated or failed forms of discipline” (Trangos, 2008: 39). In this regard, architecture is a means to manipulate and control. The South African Apartheid government recognised this, and in conceptual and symbolic similarity to the Panopticon, commissioned the construction of a social disciplinary institution, the John Vorster Square police station. It was “the pinnacle of torture chambers” (South African Heritage Archive, 2012) and would become synonymous with the authority and cruelty of the Apartheid police. Positioned on the western periphery of the Johannesburg Central Business District, this multi-storey building towers over the M1 motorway as a landmark, a gateway to the city that monitors who is entering and who is leaving. On street level, the John Vorster Square (renamed the Johannesburg Central Police Station in 1997) acts as the terminus to the city’s “most famous and commercial street ... Commissioner Street becomes the watched wing” (Trangos, 2008: 41). The institutional building, having taken its ceremonial position centred on the high street, is a ‘fork in the road’ dividing Commissioner Street as it stretches towards the neighbouring suburbs. The modernist design of the police station derives nothing from the built fabric surrounding it. Unlike the neighbouring buildings, it does not acknowledge the street edge or pay attention to its relationship with the pedestrian. The man and woman on the street gain no shelter from the police station; there is no pause space encouraging social interaction and no introduction to the building. A façade of brise-soleil, horizontal strips of a cold, grey metal, prevent the public eye from looking in and witnessing the terrible events which occur within its confines. However, the individuals operating this ‘machine’ and surveying the city rest ‘unverifiable’. Like Bentham’s central tower, the Johannesburg Central Police Station passively yet effectively exercises power over the city landscape and its dwellers. However, the architectural language of John Vorster Square tells of more than merely attaining control. The buildings positioning, screens and other devices of siege architecture suggest that the police too have something to fear. It appears that in a similar manner to which the middle- and upper-class of society have retreated into the security of ‘gated communities’, the police have also found it necessary to follow suite; barricading themselves in and becoming inaccessible. Whilst the building was a monumental mass to serve the warped ideals of the Apartheid state it continues to provide the police with a safe-haven from society.

“I am not referring to Power with a capital P, dominating and imposing its rationality upon the totality of the social body. In fact, there are power relations. They are multiple; they have different forms, they can be in play in family relations, or within an institution, or an administration.” - Michel Foucault (1977)

IDENTITY AND ARCHITECTURE Architecture embodies the stories of a nation. Tales from the past, illustrations of the present, and expressions of future aspirations are all made concrete in a country’s built fabric. The ‘city symbolic’ exists. The buildings and spaces which constitute human dwellings, whether transparent or solid, light or dark, public or private, articulate the cultural values of a specific time and place. By looking closely at a built environment, one will discover a state, its people, and a shared identity. Architecture is also a bodily and symbolic means for the state to connect with its people and for a people to connect with those who govern, serving an “important purpose in non-verbal communication” (Herrle & Wegerhoff, 2008: 222). Therefore, the creation of architecture and public space is far greater than simply a case of supply meeting demand. Unfortunately, architecture does not always live up to its expectations. A ‘sense of place’ – belonging and identity – is a “fundamental reality that all too often is missing from the discussion when it comes to architecture and design” (Kent, 2011: 1). This intuitive need to create ‘place’, and ultimately identity, is made clear in the architecture of capital cities such as Brasilia, Chandigarh, Washington, and Berlin. More than just workplaces and homes, these cities serve as platforms for the “visualisation of power”, incarnations of “national identity and historical consciousness ... Buildings have the power to awe, to alienate, to inspire, and to intimidate” (Wise, 1998: 15). The dictator of Nazi Germany was particularly aware of the influence and meanings which architecture may articulate and the emotions it may arouse. Hitler believed that “modern German cities... lack[ed] monumental architecture and potent symbols of nationhood” (Wise, 1998: 11). Thus, following its 1940 invasion of Paris, Nazi Germany set out to construct a capital city in Berlin that would have the architecture to match the authoritative character of the Third Reich and its leader. In his conception of the Berlin Reich Chancellery (the office building for the head of state), Hitler stressed that “when one enters the Reich Chancellery, one should have the feeling that one is visiting the master of the world” (Wise, 1998: 65). People arriving at the completed building entered through imposing bronze gates into a two hundred and forty feet long Court of Honour. To gain access to Hitler’s office, one had to move through this court, ascend a flight of stairs, and pass through a succession of luxurious reception rooms, which eventually emptied into a gallery four hundred and eighty feet long – double the length of the Palace of Versailles’ opulent Hall of Mirrors (Wise, 1998). The Chancellery was Nazi identity and cultural power expressed through a spatial dialect. It was a physical display of the power which the Nazi regime exercised to maintain its ideals and resist any potential homogenising of different religious or cultural sects; a building consciously designed to encourage a ‘sense of place’ – not for all people, but for a select group. Moving beyond the notion of meaningful architecture for capital cities, a “spatial turn” has wakened the global community’s consciousness to the lack of a ‘sense of place’ (Soja, 2010). This new-found awareness has been driven by globalisation and the fading away of distinct cultures and societies. The phenomenon of cultural overlaps and merges, of becoming a homogenous world, is not only reflected in social constructs, but in the realm of the built environment as well. New, ‘supermodernist’ architectural forms, synonymous with the ‘(star)chitects’ that design them, are rising in all four corners of the world, commissioned to help re-brand cities in search of a contemporary identity. Although these “(star)chitecture collections” attract vast numbers of tourists,

exhibit impressive feats of technology, and are often showered with awards for being “bold architectural statements of genuine civic value” (Kent, 2011: 1), they do not necessarily invigorate a ‘sense of place’ or the identity of a nation. In her paper, The Construction of Cultural Identity in Contemporary Architecture, architect Patricia Morgado writes that “The authors of new or supermodernist architecture don’t look backwards historically or sideways contextually; they look optimistically forward. The supermodernists allow themselves space for artistic self-expression while the concerns of place have become secondary” (Morgado, 2008: 1). It is true that mere iconic forms will never be able to compensate for the human features of buildings, those aspects which promote healthy social engagement. Nonetheless, “for many years now, the emphasis in the world’s cities has been on flashy buildings and static public spaces... they don’t concern themselves with how buildings shape human experience ... [and can even be] dismissive of the needs of people” (Kent, 2011: 2). This being said, the thrills of the superficial are short lived, and people are left needing more from their dwelling spaces, yearning for spaces which empower. In a democracy, people are ultimately the rulers of their state, and they should be reminded of this through state and institutional buildings.

“History tells us that phases of rapid (not necessarily traumatic) changes have always been experienced as destabilising, uncomfortable and irritating before they gave birth to new ideas and new normative systems providing security for a new era.” - Professor Peter Herrle (2008)

Furthermore, “as sameness increases, the need to be distinct emerges” (cited from Herrle & Wegerhoff, 2008: 165). Critics argue that spaces and buildings which bear distinctive meanings or values are losing their identity as more people claim international citizenship and inhabit foreign places. Sociologist John Tomlinson challenges this pessimistic view, writing that “globalisation and identity are two sides of the same coin ... cultural identity is more a product of globalisation than its victim” (cited from Herrle & Wegerhoff, 2008: 221). This belief is based on the principle that identity is only made experiential through differentiation and resemblance, or ‘actions upon actions’. In this sense, one is reminded that identity and architecture are alike in being narratives of time: always varying, always mutating, and always unpredictable. Thus, the challenge for architecture is to provide a nation with buildings that represent both state and people. This idea of designing buildings and spaces which create a ‘sense of place’ and identify for both state and people is not a new phenomenon. However, globalisation simply means that the challenge for architects is greater than ever before.

REPRESENTING SPATIAL JUSTICE: THE CONSTITUTIONAL COURT, JOHANNESBURG AND THE MANCHESTER CIVIL JUSTICE CENTRE, MANCHESTER James Beight, a Washington DC-based architect, believes that “no other building type communicates as much about our society as does the courthouse. Courthouses are like medieval cathedrals: they express the will and the hopes of the people” (Fulford, 1998). The courthouse is a social institution that facilitates justice, serves the state and its people, and reminds a nation of their shared identity and the laws by which they are governed. These civic buildings are regarded by many as the “central buildings of the world” (Brownlee, 1984: 17). Thus, one might say that the architecture of the courthouse is the symbolic embodiment of and greatest testimony to a nation’s democratic principles.

The Constitutional Court The Constitutional Court was born along with the 1996 South African Constitution shortly after the country’s transition to democracy. The Constitution is the supreme law of the land, and the Constitutional Court is the highest court regarding Constitutional matters. The Court’s home is the city of Johannesburg, the largest and most economically powerful city in South Africa.

Similar to the police station, it is the responsibility of these buildings to narrow the divide between state and people, to reconcile civilian to government, and vice versa. However, the world’s typical courthouse is self-concerned, often appearing as a solid, massive building removed from the public realm, away from the people it has been designed to protect and empower. As Dewar wrote, “the opportunity to provide really appropriate forms of institutional back-up is being missed” (1991: 59). The courthouse may be a ‘civic’ building, but in most cases it does not help to establish a ‘sense of place’ or identity for either state or people. Instead, it exists as a cold shell. Courtrooms are monotonous spaces where one finds a judge on a ‘higher plane’, both literally and metaphorically, peering down on those he or she has judgment over. Devoid of any representation of humanism, these buildings speak only of an authoritative power which is not to be challenged, more closely resembling Hitler’s Reich Chancellery than a platform for democratic identity and daily life.

Four sites were considered for the Constitutional Court building, each of which had very unique, defining qualities. The first site was a piece of vacant land situated in the Crown Mines area, adjacent to a poorer Johannesburg neighbourhood. Another potential site was the iconic Rissik Street Post Office in the city centre, and the third site was in Midrand, a developing area between Pretoria and Johannesburg. Consensus among the judges, however, was that these three sites would be too commercially driven (Ball, 2012). The site eventually selected by the panel neighbours the Old Fort: a nineteenth century military fortification originally designed to serve as a prison and later fortified for the purpose of maintaining “political control of the rich gold deposits” (Kotze, 2009: 1). Following its completion in 1899, the Old Fort developed into a prison complex which became notorious for the numerous political activists, including Mandela and Gandhi, who were incarcerated within its confines. Located on downtown Johannesburg’s highest ridge, the fort also became a beacon of surveillance over the Apartheid landscape, and like the John Vorster Square Police Station, it was a symbol of Apartheid control and dictatorship – the tower in Bentham’s Panopticon. The Old Fort was abandoned in the late 1980s, “leaving this highly charged and emotive site in a vacuum” (Kotze, 2009: 1). Thus, the proposal to convert the site into the home of the Constitutional Court was well received by critics. It was an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past.

This may be changing. “In the effort to reintroduce the court system back into the daily life of the people there has been a move away from the monofunctionality of the courthouse ... reprogramming it to once again function as a civic centre” (Krom, 2010: 37). However, while the monumental court building of old may no longer be appropriate, society has for generations sought refuge under the colonnades and domes of classical grandeur, spaces which remain in societies’ imaginations as the bearers of all that is good, right, and just. Hence, society’s identity is balancing on a double-edged sword. The court building, transforming almost in sync with the police station, facing similar challenges and objectives - a different link in the same judicial chain serving both state and civilian, presents itself as an appropriate case study for the development of the police station. The Constitutional Court in Johannesburg, South Africa, and the Manchester Civil Justice Centre in Manchester, England, are two contemporary court buildings which appear to have overcome the challenging requirements of modern society. Both buildings have received great praise since their openings and have been publicised numerous times as progressive and ‘unique’ symbols of democracy. The following section is a comparison of the two court buildings with specific attention being given to their physical and symbolic characteristics in terms of their built form and the urban context. The effectiveness of their contribution to the ‘everyday’ and their creation of a ‘sense of place’ will also be analysed.

Below Left CONSTITUTIONAL COURT, JOHANNESBURG. 2013 Below Fig 19 MANCHESTER CIVIC JUSTICE CENTRE, MANCHESTER. 2008

Below CONSTITUTIONAL COURT, JOHANNESBURG. 2013 Below Right MANCHESTER CIVIC JUSTICE CENTRE, MANCHESTER. 2008

The design of the new Constitutional Court building was the result of an international competition. In addition to the physical and mandatory programme requirements, the competition brief called for a building which would be rich in symbolism and relevance, which would “express our collective social, political and cultural achievement in the context of the new South African democracy and contribute to an ever-evolving national cultural identity” (Law-Viljoen, 2008: 42). The winning entry was submitted by OMM Design Workshop in Durban and Urban Solutions Architects and Urban Designers in Johannesburg.

The Manchester Civil Justice Centre Unlike democracy in South Africa, which came into being over a short period of only a few years, democracy in the United Kingdom developed over centuries. The UK has been considered a democracy since the mid-seventeenth century when a Member of Parliament became Prime Minister for the first time. The Manchester Civil Justice Centre (MCJC) originated from an international competition held by Her Majesty’s Courts Service in 2002. The project had a challenging brief which called for a “sustainable building of civic generosity and European significance” (MacDonald, 2013) that would advance “a range of ideas about how an institution with hundreds of years of precedent can be made relevant to contemporary society ... replacing the traditional solid courthouse structure, which contains and encloses justice, with an idea about transparency and connection” (Fairs, 2007). Australian-based firm Denton Corker Marshall eventually won the competition. Exact reasons for the selection of the MCJC site are not clear in the available literature. The MCJC is located in the Spinningfields district: “a new urban pedestrian precinct between the River Irwell and Deansgate in the centre of Manchester, the master plan of which is still evolving with the Civil Justice Centre having set a precedent for taller buildings” (Napier, 2013: 2). The tight, triangular site which the building occupies is a somewhat awkward, left over city block. However, the MCJC is the United Kingdom’s largest court complex to be established since the construction of the Royal Courts of Justice in London in 1882. Opened in 2007, the building is home to the Department of Constitutional Affairs, which presides primarily over civil and family court cases, but it also has jurisdiction to hear High Court cases. It consists of forty-seven court rooms, tribunal and hearing rooms, seventy-five consultation rooms, seven conference rooms, offices, and additional support spaces distributed over fifteen levels (Fairs, 2007). A Comparison of Sites From the outset, it appears that both buildings were consciously and strategically placed in urban areas with existing infrastructure and symbolic value as part of a greater urban regeneration plan. The Constitutional Court building was designed to be an anchoring attraction within the larger Constitutional Hill Precinct, a mixed-use heritage site promoting reconciliation and the country’s democratic transition. The Old Fort has been transformed into a museum, while the former Women’s Jail immediately to the west of the Old Fort has been converted into an office building which houses the Gender Commission. Further rationale for selecting the Old Fort site was its relation to the surrounding suburbs. The site was envisioned as connecting residential Hillbrow to the east with mixeduse Braamfontein to the west. A pedestrian route was created adjacent to the court building to achieve this connection. However, perhaps due to the site’s positioning on the downtown area’s periphery, this idea of an east-west axis of foot traffic living out the ideals of a people’s court has not been realized. The site for the Manchester Civil Justice Centre, on the other hand, differs vastly from that of the Constitutional Court. The regeneration of Spinningfields was a development proposal championed by the privately owned Allied London Properties. Their vision was to transform the declining area into a multifunctional, pedestrian focused district which encourages people to be actively involved in the public realm (Allied London, 2005). Thus, the public realm is saturated with opportunities for public activity. At street level, the buildings offer a mix of retail shops, restaurants, and bars, while public spaces like Spinningfields Square, Hardman Square, and Hardman Boulevard play host to a variety of functions and events both ephemeral and enduring. Located one block north of Spinningfields

Top VIEW TO THE SOUTH, JOHANNESBURG. 2013 Centre Fig 20 STREET CULTURE IN SPINNINGFIELDS, MANCHESTER. 2008 The MCJC stands in the background. Top Right VIEW TO THE NORTH, JOHANNESBURG. 2013 Braamfontein to the west and Hillbrow to the east. Centre Fig 21 SPINNINGFIELDS SQUARE, MANCHESTER. 2008 Movies are shown in the Square for the public’s enjoyment. The MCJC stands in the background.

Square and in plain view from the Square, the MCJC is an integrated part of city life. The Spinningfields site of the MCJC is tightly nestled amongst a repertoire of symbolic subjects, close to a number of celebrated public squares, the Manchester Magistrates Court, the old criminal courts, the People’s History Museum (facing the MCJC), a historical pump house, and the Salford Central Railway Station (located over the river). This differs from the Constitutional Court, which despite the ‘meaningful’ Constitutional Hill Precinct that it forms a part of, has been removed from the ‘ceremonial grid’ and has but one ‘city symbolic’ neighbour – the high-rise building that houses the City Council of Johannesburg. Paradoxically, the Johannesburg ridge, which offers the court panoramic views of Johannesburg, from “the inner city with all its social problems, [to] the leafy green forest of Johannesburg’s affluent northern suburbs” (Gevisser, 2004: 507), also serves to reinforce this socio-cultural, economic, and political divide. The intention was for the Court to be a beacon of hope or ‘light on the hill’. The reality is that the Constitutional Court has resumed the position of a colonial power watching over the city, removed from serious public activity, and in some ways as disconnected spatially as the Old Fort once was.

A Comparison of Architectural Languages The often recited phrase, “Not only must justice be done; it must also be seen to be done”, introduces a new dynamic to the court building; law needs to be expressed and experienced. In turn, the court must relate to both the inside and the outside. Professor of Architecture Paul Kotze writes that the

accessible as colourful boxes, the court rooms still operate on a higher level, untainted by external influence. On each level, the court rooms spill out onto a public platform which looks over the forecourt and the city. Both the MCJC and the Constitutional Court use light as a sensitive, almost spiritual, atmospheric gesture. However, the Constitutional Court’s chamber provides only a vague connection between the inner workings of the justice system and the outside world through a narrow window behind the judges’ podium, a window which emphasises the court rooms humble placement at the level of passing by citizens’ feet. In contrast, the MCJC’s court rooms all offer elevated views of the city: a position of authority and surveillance. What the Constitutional Court may lack in immediate visual connections to its context, it makes up for in textures and surface treatments, colours and materials. Furthermore, the court room is bespoke and asymmetrical, a conscious design decision taken by the architects to avoid the obvious symmetrical formation of the traditional court room. Conversely, the interior layouts and the application of materials in the MCJC’s ‘floating’ court rooms have reverted back to muted, symmetrical formations consistent with court rooms found in the Royal Courts of Justice (Kotze, 2009). Nonetheless, there is a high standard of quality evident in the detailing: the shadow-lines surrounding the dropped ceilings and the deceiving appearance of effortless minimalism. In both courts, the judges and the public circulate along separate routes, as is standard in all court buildings. The public enter from a secular side, while the judges appear from an isolated realm of contemplation where they remain uncontaminated by the world’s bias.

“reference here is to the relationship between the public and the law and their right to have insight into its processes as well as the role of evidence, as an approximation beyond reasonable doubt of what has occurred outside of the court space. The court space thus provides a space for a ‘sense or approximation of order’ where ‘evidence’ is evaluated in terms of an accepted and codified set of ‘rules’ in the face of, and internal to, the world of the ‘everyday’ life and seemingly sense of ‘disorder’” (2009: 4).

Naturally, then, the inside / outside relationships which exemplify the rules by which people’s lives are regulated in a democracy are vital in the construction of a courthouse. The context of the Constitutional Court – on the periphery of the gritty and chaotic Johannesburg inner city, butted up against the deteriorating, densely populated buildings of crime prone Hillbrow – is significantly different from the euphoric atmosphere of Spinningfields, which boasts manicured grass parks and modernist-enthused contemporary glass box residential, retail, and office buildings. Nevertheless, it seems that both buildings were designed to display accessibility and equality, taking cues from the idea of an active ‘street culture’. If the two buildings are judged based on the condition of their respective ‘street culture’, then the MCJC has a far greater authority and influence than the Constitutional Court. When entering the MCJC, one moves from a forecourt into an atrium with a glazed wall that extends eleven storeys towards the sky. Separated from the outside only by this glazed wall, the atrium serves as an extension of the forecourt, enabling one to remain connected to the city whether on the ground level or an upper floor. Similarly, one enters the Constitutional Court from a forecourt. However, before arriving at this forecourt, one must either ascend a ceremonial walkway called the ‘African Stairs’, a ritual space not markedly different from the court’s colonial predecessors. Furthermore, this forecourt is removed from street view, contained by what feels like a perimeter building and disconnected from the urban context. In keeping with tradition, the court’s foyer is raised above the forecourt, but the inside of the building breaks from tradition. The reception area of the Constitutional Court has a warm embrace; dappled light which tracks the changing of seasons softly illuminates the space. Slanted concrete columns partly coated in colourful mosaic tiles are symbolic of ‘justice under a tree’ – the traditional African court. Chandeliers resembling leaves on a tree, hand woven from recycled aluminium, are suspended from the ceiling, adding a tangible sense of craft and humanism to the court. Thus, although disconnected from the city, the interior of the court building is “a place of refuge” (Ball, 2012). Directly opposite the public foyer of the Constitutional Court, and visible immediately upon entry, is the court room. While this court room is not obviously identifiable from outside of the Constitutional Court building, the court rooms and all other functional spaces of the MCJC push into the Manchester city space, celebrated and expressed in horizontal and vertical layers of forms, colours, and textures. The scales, proportions, and functions of the different rooms give the MCJC its unusual form; court rooms are cantilevered at different lengths, and like fingers they stretch outwards toward the city. Although visibly

Constructed only three years apart, the Constitutional Court and the MCJC have come to represent progress and democracy in evolving societies. However, the parti diagrams are significantly different in both form and spirit. The MCJC, although ‘complete within itself’, relies on its symbolic neighbours and the wider Manchester metropolitan area to make a respectful and contextual contribution. The parti diagram of the Constitutional Court is in stark contrast. This court building defines its own public space; its forecourt and internal courtyard are self-contained and turned away from Johannesburg city life. “In many ways it is close in spirit and method to [the] Royal Courts of Justice in London” (Kotze, 2009: 5). Both these buildings preserve an inner world of calm and efficiency, but vary greatly in their relation to their immediate urban context.

From Top Fig 22 MCJC’S PUBLIC ATRIUM OVERLOOKS THE FORECOURT. N.D. Fig 23 RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN JUSTICE AND THE PUBLIC. 2008 MCJC: Inside / Outside. Fig 24 CEREMONIAL SPACE. 2009 Constitutional Court: The ‘Great African Steps’ leading to the forecourt. JUSTICE UNDER THE SHADE OF A TREE. 2013 Constitutional Court: The relationship between justice and the public.

As the above discussion indicates, the Constitutional Court does not speak to active participation or relevance to the ‘everyday’, qualities which would grant the building a sense of permanence. Thus, one questions the resounding commendation which the building has received. Undoubtedly, the Constitutional Court is “one of the pre-eminent architectural symbols of democratic South Africa” (Joubert, 2009: 116), but it is possible that praise for democratic change has been misdirected towards the building. In contrast with the Constitutional Court, the MCJC evokes gravitas, a quality which does not occur by chance. With a dedicated public domain on every level, a connection to its context, and a sense of honesty and transparency, the MCJC illustrates the court’s commitment, and by implication democracy’s commitment, to withstand the test of time. This building stands as a symbol of justice which allows the people of Manchester to identify with their government and vice versa. It is a testimony to the power of the public realm in establishing identity, and the role of architecture in channelling this power.

In conclusion, both buildings display messages about identity and the justice systems which they house. Whilst the Constitutional Court proves revolutionary in some architectural gestures, particular through atmosphere created in interior spaces, it lacks significant progression in public integration and gestures of city inclusivity: a level of urban connectivity indifferent from that of the traditional court building. On the other hand, the MCJC is immersed with civic activities and the ‘every day’; the antithesis of the traditional. The buildings use of colour and a vast application of transparency which displays the occupants spread throughout the buildings vertical public platforms erodes any relation to the Panopticon’s tower. Rather than being a conceited watchful eye over the city, the MCJC is showing Manchester that justice is being done and all citizens are active participants in governing their nation.

MEMORY AND ARCHITECTURE

Top Fig 25 THE COURT CHAMBER’S RELATIONSHIP WITH THE PUBLIC REALM. N.D. Fig 26 MCJC COURT ROOM. N.D. A traditionally symmetrical configuration. The court room connects to the city through windows behind the judge. CONSTITUTIONAL COURT CHAMBER. 2013 The chamber is symbolically placed at the public’s feet - seen in the narrow window behind the judges. Fig 27 THE ROYAL COURT OF JUSTICE COURT CHAMBER, LONDON. N.D. The court chamber is composed in the traditional ‘style’. Fig 28 THE MCJC COURT ROOMS EXPOSED TO THE CITY. N.D. The building connects the ‘divinities’ (a gesture of the temporal through its verticality ) to the people (horizontal courts). THE CONSTITUTIONAL COURT’S LIGHT TOWERS. 2012 The towers are a vertical gesture similar to the MCJC. Fig 29 THE ROYAL COURT OF JUSTICE, LONDON. N.D. The vertical tower is a traditional gesture of connecting man and the temporal / divinities.

Theories regarding memory, architecture, and public space-making have long been an area of contention in the fields of architecture, planning, and politics. Theorists such as Juhani Pallasmaa, a Finnish architect, have explored the notion of memory for decades. They believe that a commonality across cultures is the search to “obligate the future to a specific lesson” (Bonder, 2009: 62) through a commitment to memory. In recent years, a number of new public buildings and spaces in post-Apartheid South Africa have attempted to use commemoration (memory) to create a ‘sense of place’ and facilitate reconciliation. Court buildings, museums, and public squares have been given the bulk of the responsibility in promoting the nation’s identity, reconciliation, and memories, while other archetypes such as the police station have gone unnoticed. As one of the most powerful, controlling, and controversial role players during the Apartheid era, the police force and the police station, arguably more so than any other state institution, desperately needs to address memory in both policy and ‘spatial dialect’. In Spatial Recall: Memory in Architecture and Landscape, a compilation of essays reinforces Professor of Architecture Marc Treib’s belief that the manner in which something is designed can stimulate the production of memories (Treib, 2009). Supporting this argument is Pallasmaa’s theory on the temporal dimension of existential space, which proposes that architecture has the “capacity of transforming, speeding up, slowing down and halting time” (cited in Treib, 2009: 32). Pallasmaa elaborates further by saying that “landscapes and buildings constitute the most important externalization of human memory” (cited in Treib, 2009:17). Novelist Milan Kundera also writes about the connection between time and memory, asserting that there is “a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting … the degree of slowness directly proportional to the intensity of memory” (Kundera, 1966: 39). Thus, it is the role of the architect and the planner to articulate a nation’s history, to ensure a society’s identity for future generations, to facilitate memory, and ultimately to transfer limitless space into a distinct public realm of human significance (Treib, M. 2009: 32). This is achieved primarily through design, and secondarily through symbolic gestures of memory. Pallasmaa’s theory on existential space also suggests that reconciliation and public dwelling are not the outcome of fixing memory to a space. Rather, memory, an abstract notion which is different for every individual, is nurtured and preserved through spaces which encourage people to actively participate in civic life and engage with one another. This is similar to the notion of identity

and architecture. Thus, when offered a space with a variety of possibilities, an individual is given the opportunity for memory recall, for the sharing of a memory, or for learning another individual’s memory through engagement. Although contemporary architecture and public spaces seem to be saturated with poetic symbolism in both their conception and built form, they provide little which attracts people and improves the quality of their lives. In other words, although the public realm is in theory the facilitator of memory, memorialisation alone is not sufficient to facilitate memory, or by extension, reconciliation.

With the previously discussed theories and case studies in mind, it has become obvious that for the police and the public to alter perceptions of one another, form a sense of ‘community’, identify, and reconcile, the facilitation of public spaces and activities is imperative to future police station designs. The Port Plein Park adjacent to this thesis’ proposed site provides an invaluable opportunity for the police station to engage with the ‘every day’ and promote reconciliation. Thus, it is required that one gains a better understanding of the features which can contribute to making public spaces practically and symbolically significant. For this purpose the Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication in Kliptown will be the subject of further research.

APPROPRIATING SPACE FOR MEMORY: WALTER SISULU SQUARE OF DEDICATION, KLIPTOWN The Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication (WSSD), formally named Freedom Square, was declared a national monument after the end of Apartheid. This site was the formerly “abandoned patch of land in Kliptown” where the Congress of the People – 10,000 strong --- met in 1955, a gathering culminated by the signing of the Freedom Charter some forty years prior to the emancipation of non-white South Africans (Nobel, 2011: 159). Some authors have commented that at the time, the event was “the most representative gathering” (Suttner & Cronin, 1986: 86) in South Africa’s political history. However, the site already held significant value for a number of South Africans long before the 1955 gathering. Kliptown thrived as a multicultural, ‘grey area’ community of Coloured, Indian, and Black families, an area outside of the “Apartheid segregationalist plan” (Nobel, 2011: 161). “Kliptown was one of the few places within this bounded, buffered ghetto [of Soweto] that offered residents a place to shop and socialise” (Judin, Cohen & Silverman, 2009: 11). Thus, there were many memories and experiences deeply rooted in the Kliptown landscape long before the signing of the Freedom Charter. In post-Apartheid South Africa, Kliptown presented itself as an ideal site for a future development that would make a positive impact on the socio-economic and political conditions in the area and provide additional opportunities for the promotion of culture, reconciliation, and tourism. Recognising this potential, the Johannesburg Development Agency proposed the historically rich Kliptown site for a public development project. This led to an international architectural competition in 2003 and eventually the WSSD as it exists today: a large public square surrounded by mixed-use buildings and structures which have been choreographed and shaped to reflect socio-historical symbolisms. Important questions to ask include: what role does this space play in Kliptown life today? How practical are the numerous design decisions made by its architects? Does memory translated into built form serve any value if “larger societal changes

and the creation of better, more supportive environments for daily life” (Cooper Marcus & Francis, 1990: 6) are not realised? Do the users’ behaviours reflect any of the historical significance that exists in the space? How do the ‘poetic’ historic features in the WSSD impact the manner in which people use and perceive the public space? [The data and mappings of the Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication which will be presented in the following discussion were produced in 2012 by Bachelor of Architecture with Honours students from the University of the Witwatersrand in partial fulfilment of the elective course Research Project ARPL 4005 under the direction of Associate Professor Diaan van der Westhuizen. I was one of eleven students who participated in this course.]

Previous Page Fig 30 REJOICING FOLLOWING THE SIGNING OF THE FREEDOM CHARTER. 1955 Right THE WALTER SISULU SQUARE OF DEDICATION, KLIPTOWN. 2013 Google Earth Image.

Reasearch Methodology Convenience sample surveys is the first method employed for this investigation; one survey for the general user and another for the informal trader operating in the square. Both surveys utilise quantitative and qualitative questions to allow participants to express their individual opinions and beliefs. All of the survey respondents were selected at random and provided verbal consent. ‘Behavioural Mapping’ and ‘Tracking’ were additional methods used. These methods were carried out by a team of six people over four, forty minute time periods each, over two days: a weekday (Wednesday) and on the weekend (Saturday). These days were selected for the potential variations in activities they would reveal.

Figure A TRADERS SURVEY. What does this square mean to you?

7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Behavioural Mapping - Observers were allocated a zone within the square to map user behaviour during a forty minute time period. A key was developed for standardization and included males, females, and children who could either be walking, sitting, standing, or lying down. This data was then captured using GIS software.

9 8

Tracking - Observers were allocated an observation point at a designated entry point on the square and were provided with stop watches. The observer then discretely tracked / followed a target that entered the square for three minutes, drawing the individuals movement on a map of the square. The observer then had two minutes to return to their observation point and repeat the exercise until the forty minute time period elapsed.

Data and Findings The responses to the survey questions reveal that the historical significance of the WSSD is well understood by both informal traders and general users. However, it is possible that those who valued the site for its “historical significance” were primed by the square’s name or the presence of various plaques located in and around the square. This possibility is supported by the survey of traders, thirty-three per cent of whom explained that the square is merely their place of business (Figure A). While this may be understandable due to the public square having been a place of thriving economic activity for decades, sixty-two per cent of both the general public and the traders expressed that the square did not denote any significant value or meaning (Figure A & B). One might expect that a space designed with an emphasis on the facilitation of memory would have a higher percentage of people who connote memory or value to the space. Nevertheless, this evidence supports the literature; memory is not stimulated by a building, or in the case of WSSD, by the poetics of the square’s built forms and surface treatments alone. Rather, it is in the very essence of the public realm that memory is facilitated (Treib, 2009).

Figure B GENERAL SURVEY. What does this square mean to you?

BUSINESS

HERITAGE

SOCIAL SPACE

NOTHING

NO ANSWER

30 25 20 15 10 5 0

The survey results also indicate that there is high value placed on the trees and the shade that they provide. The shade provided by the trees received even greater recognition than the symbolic monument at the heart of the square. The eastern half of the square, where the trees are situated, was described by many as their “favourite place” in the square (Figure C). The fact that the monument was the second most mentioned “favourite place” in the square is misleading. Informal conversation with a number of interviewees who cited the monument as their favourite place revealed that their reasoning had no connection to the stimulation of memories or recall of the past. Instead, their reasoning was based on factors such as the monument being an interface where tourists may be watched and a place in the square where one may go when they “don’t want to be bothered”, as two of the interviewee’s explained. Other individuals valued the monument purely because it is “a monument”. As Robert Bevan aptly writes in The Destruction of Memory, “it [is] a vain hope to try to achieve reintegration through monuments” (Bevan, 2004: 175).

Figure C GENERAL SURVEY. Where is your favourite place in the square?

16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Adjacent to the dense mix of indigenous trees on the eastern half of the square is a traders’ market, or at least what the architects had designed to be used as a traders’ market. Poetically, the architects describe this space as “a forest of columns” (Nobel, 2011: 188) positioned as a porous threshold between commercial Union Street to the south and the public square to the north. The long rectilinear, high volume space casts shadows on the old, squat buildings behind it, and the market’s interior is furnished with bright red tables which also serve as storage cupboards for traders’ goods. The western end of the market symbolically culminates in a reinvented ‘Kwashisanyama’, a Zulu word meaning “a place to prepare food”. However, like the rest of the traders’ market, this space sits unused, its corrugated cladding, reclaimed from the shops demolished in order to make way for this new traders’ market, unvalued and unacknowledged (Nobel, 2011).

Female walking Female standing Female sitting Male walking Male standing Male sitting Child walking Child standing Child sitting SOUTH TOWARDS THE TRADERS’ MARKET. 2013 Traders use the vacant market’s gates to display clothes.

Figure D BEHAVIOURAL MAPPING. Wednesday.

WEST TOWARDS THE ‘OLD SQUARE’. 2013 Traders sell goods adjacent to the designed traders’market and under the trees in the ‘new square’.

Figure E BEHAVIOURAL MAPPING. Saturday.

The behavioural mapping (Figure D & E) presents a disturbing reality: the traders’ market is completely devoid of any life. Critics have commented that “despite [the architects’] evocative description, the arcade is unrelenting … over bearing … out of place with the character of Kliptown” (Nobel, 2011: 188). The market space, enclosed by a perimeter fence, actually serves as a physical barrier, a wall preventing the square and commercial Union Street from overlapping. While colonnades and high volumes are often perceived to reflect wealth and power, these characteristics seem inappropriate in poverty rampant Kliptown; they are signs of progress for the visiting tourist but insensitive gestures for the residents. The positioning of informal trading stalls between the traders’ market and the grove of trees is indicative of the traders’ defiance of the need for a vast, formally designed market space; it is also the outcome of unaffordable rent prices, as one trader voluntarily stated in his survey. Ultimately, the symbolic spaces and forms designed to serve as memory evoking devices are irrelevant given people’s quintessential need to make a living.

THE ‘OLD SQUARE’. 2013 A severe and exposed space used only as a thoroughfare and for large events. Following Page SOUTH WEST TOWARDS THE ‘OLD SQUARE’. 2013 The Old Kliptown Road Monument stands in the centre of the WSSD. Inside the words of the Freedom Charter are cast-in concrete around a burning torch.

The tracking reveals a clear difference in the manner in which people move through the ‘old square’ to the west and the ‘new square’ to the east (Figure F & G). The architects intentionally divided the large and rectangular site along a north-south axis which ‘memorialises’ what was once the Old Kliptown Road. This clear split through the centre of the site created a square to the east and a square to the west. Both squares were then cut into a three-by-three grid, with each smaller square in the grid representing one of the nine provinces in South Africa. The square to the west, the area where the Congress of the People is believed to have assembled, is symbolic of the old South Africa (Nobel, 2011). Figure F TRACKING. Wednesday.

Figure G TRACKING. Saturday.

The ground surface, a mix of exposed concrete and grey bricks, represents the once ‘untouched’ land. Unsurprisingly, this design decision, combined with the lack of trees, has ensured that the western square remains barren and uninhabitable for most of the year; this half of the public square is used only for events and large gatherings of people. Superfluous to the daily lives of the residents, this ‘old square’ is purely symbolic, and like the traders’ market, devoid of life. This finding corresponds with research conducted by social geographers Clare Cooper Marcus and Carolyn Francis (1990) on public spaces in the United States. The extent to which the ‘old square’ is exposed to both the elements and other users has created an extremely undesirable space; individuals find themselves objectified and vulnerable and therefore use the ‘old square’ purely as a thoroughfare. The eastern square, or the ‘new South Africa’, has been treated quite differently. Here, each of the nine squares is paved with rough stones extracted from the province they represent. Within each of the squares is a large ‘X’ shaped platform built from red clay bricks. The form of the ‘X’ commemorates the first time South Africans marked a cross on a democratic voting ballot in the 1994 election. The rigid geometries employed in the east square “impose a totalising order as remedy for deprived Kliptown” (Nobel, 2011: 182), an order that some argue resembles that of a modernist or Apartheid era mind-set towards planning (Mammon & Paterson, 2005). This order is clearly felt when one navigates through the eastern square. The tracking reveals that the movement paths chosen by people reflect the variation in ground surface between the inside and the outside of the squares, a differentiation in texture that may have been intended by the architects as a movement ‘controlling’ device. The research of Cooper Marcus and Francis shows that the use of rough stones for a floor surface is likely to deter individuals, particularly females, from walking over them. People are more likely to follow a smooth, flat path, irrespective of how indirect the path may be (Cooper Marcus & Francis, 1990). On the other hand, Cooper Marcus and Francis’s research was conducted in the West. It is therefore not surprising that results may be different in the context of a developing South Africa. Not all WSSD users choose to avoid short-cutting through the unevenly paved squares, and the ‘X’ platforms in the centre of these ‘rocky’ squares are regularly used as places for traders to display goods, people to sit, and children to play. To add to these observations, the lack of movement along the Old Kliptown Road ‘carved’ through the square (see figure 5 and figure 6) reveals that user behaviours do not reflect the historical significance that is commemorated. Furthermore, it is sad to note that the people moving through the square far

outnumber those who stop to engage with one another or with the features provided in the square. The WSSD functions more like a gateway than a public square, providing a safe link between the residential and commercial area to the south and the residential and commercial area to the north. It must be noted that the WSSD is still a young development which is seemingly being hindered by poor management and a lack of communication, the vacant traders’ market in particular (indicated by some survey participants). Only time will reveal the effectiveness of this development. At present, though, the analysis indicates that the symbolic space does not encourage a greater awareness for historical events, the stimulation of memory, or collective dwelling. Historical sites and events have the potential to inspire some of the richest social architecture and public spaces, and the notion of memory can aid in the creation of a sensitive design. The social, historical, and cultural references have undeniably contributed to the aesthetically pleasing forms of the WSSD. However, one should not forget that “it is not enough to emulate historic forms[, to create] … cities replete with architectural statements that have little meaning to adjacent populations” (Cooper Marcus & Francis, 1990: 2). The WSSD serves as a physical reminder that the commemoration of a memory or event through a building or monument full of symbolic devices is insufficient in creating quality public spaces. Emphasis needs to be placed on creating good public spaces which offer a multitude of uses. This will facilitate community growth, which can in turn infuse a space with memory. Paramount is the need to primarily accommodate and facilitate collective dwelling, whilst only secondarily addressing significant historic meaning, not the other way around. There is no disputing that “Architecture is fundamentally the art form of emancipation that makes us understand and remember who we are” (Pallasmaa, cited in Treib, 2009: 35). But in order to create architecture and public space capable of achieving this, the requirements of people and communities needs to be the priority. Failure to recognise this reality will thwart attempts to promote the recall of memories and lead to public spaces and buildings whose lofty design goals are not realised in daily use. “It is not memorialisation through objectification in space per se that can contribute to healing and reconciliation … but rather the role of the public realm in cities [that holds] collective value” (Mammon & Paterson, 2005: 1).

SITE CONTEXT

THE RISE OF JOHANNESBURG: THE INDUSTRIAL CITY Johannesburg, known as Egoli - the “city of gold” - by black African migrants who came to the city in search of work, “has always been an unsettled city with its own distinctive style of get rich-quick materialism ..., instant urbanism ... and narcissistic arrogance” (Murray, 2011: 37). One of the youngest major cities of the world -- a mere 127 years young – Johannesburg’s landscape makes it distinct. While cities are usually founded alongside rivers, lakes, working harbours, or in picturesque mountainous regions, Johannesburg is located on South Africa’s Highveld, an inland plateau that at first glance seems rather inhospitable. Although trace amounts of gold were discovered in the Witwatersrand region in the mid-19th century, it was only following the discovery of gold on the Langlaagte farm in 1886 that the city of Johannesburg was established. Prospective fortune finders from all corners of the globe arrived en-masse to the Highveld. What began as a small mining camp quickly transformed into a Victorian-styled town where buildings were compactly arranged into “small, uniform, saleable blocks of real estate ... units which lack[ed] any defined sense of place” (Chipkin, 1993: 13). Architectural historian Clive Chipkin writes that the open-ended grid network of Johannesburg’s roads and city blocks, resembling that of New York’s Manhattan island, contained all the infrastructure necessary for a developing town, “the perfect tabula rasa for the operation of a market economy” (Chipkin, 1993: 14). Gerhard-Mark van der Waal, another architectural historian, believed that the town plan was also employed as a cultural strategy to encourage a democracy devoid of social hierarchy (van der Waal, 1987), at least for the ‘elite’ white residents. The north-south axial routes connected Johannesburg to Pretoria in the north and diamond rich Kimberley in the south, while the east-west corridors that ran parallel to the ‘Main Reef’ and other gold-rich ridges supported commercial activities. Commissioner Street, Johannesburg’s ‘high street’, divided the city into a northern zone, primarily for shopping and commercial use, and a southern zone, which was “a vibrant mining and financial enclave” (Murray, 2011: 42). As the city expanded, the area’s defining geographical features played an important role. The undulating Johannesburg landscape, with its many hills, valleys, and ridges, partitioned the city into identifiably separate areas. As a result, residents and communities were already fragmented many years prior to the enforcement of segregationist laws by the Apartheid government. In the early years of mining, the wealthy ‘Randlords’ who controlled the mining industry in South Africa, together with other nouveau riche, removed themselves and their families from the mining belt and its rough mineworker settlements. Disenchanted with and seeking refuge from the hustle and bustle of the dirty city, which was exacerbated by a building boom in the 1890s, the middle- and upper- classes relocated across the railway line, north and east of the city centre. These new residential enclaves, “villa neighbourhoods” with “instant tree-lined streets and lush suburbs on the once wind-swept and treeless inland plateau” (Murray, 2011: 43) offered an alternative, more attractive lifestyle to those who could afford it. The northern suburb of Parktown, free from the trappings of mining, commercial, and agricultural tumult (Murray, 2011), proved to be the suburb of preference for the wealthiest and most powerful Johannesburg families. With backs turned to the “nineteenth-century industrialisation” to the south and uninterrupted views over the rocky grass-lands to the north, this ‘utopian’ suburbia allowed the rich to isolate themselves from the densely populated areas where the

KEY BUILDINGS IN CENTRAL JGB. 1902 1 - Police Station 2 - ‘NH of G’ Church 3 - Fire Station 4 - Market Building 5 - Government Building 6 - Standard Theatre 7 - Goldfields Club KEY BUILDINGS IN CENTRAL JGB. 1920 - 1940 8 - Station Building 9 - School of Mines 10 - Main Post Office 11 - Central Fire Station 12 - Supreme Court (High Court) 13 - Public Library 14 - Cenotaph 15 - City Hall 16 - Central Police Station (van der Waal, 1987)

Previous Page Fig 31 SECOND MARKET BUILDING, (1890-1891) Left Fig 32 COMMISSIONER STREET TO THE EAST. c. 1898

migrant workers were corralled (Chipkin, 1993: 31). Parktown was an exclusive community for the wealthy minority. This ‘escape’ to the suburbs became easier around the turn of the century when ownership of private motor cars became the fashion (Beavon, 2004). Fifty-three suburbs, mostly in the northern region of Johannesburg, emerged over the ten year period of 1901 to 1910, making up forty-one per cent of the municipal area (van der Waal, 1987). This haphazard urban sprawl would become a precedent for the city’s future expansion.

Government Buildings transformed from being ‘invisible’ to large and domineering on the public square.

The Supreme Court Building constructed in 1911, known today as the South Gauteng High Court, is one example of authoritative colonial architecture in Johannesburg. Located on Von Brandis Square in the heart of the central business area, the building is set back from the street, a gesture that can be interpreted as either civic invitation or removal from the public realm. The building’s position allows it to be viewed in totality from a distance, while its design disengages the senses despite its focused position in the public square (van der Waal, 1987). Whilst other state buildings constructed around the same time, such as the City Hall, were designed with tiled roofs and relief ornamentation to subdue their otherwise harsh formality, the Supreme Court was not. As a result, the building appears disinterested in its environment and severe against the neighbouring buildings, lacking dialogue and public involvement. In the new democratic South Africa, the South Gauteng High Court building remains indifferent, and even more detached than it originally was, as it is now girded by a perimeter fence.

More and more people arrived to make a living in what quickly became the largest Sub-Saharan metropolis. As the city grew, it strove to transform itself from a mining town into a “world-class city”, a campaign which continues today. By the early 1900s, Johannesburg provided forty per cent of the world’s gold, and the city was booming. Boasting a population in excess of a quarter-million, a healthy economy, and “architecturally grandiose buildings” on par with those in the Northern Hemisphere, Johannesburg was also a city of extremes, with lifestyles ranging from excessive wealth to abject poverty (Murray, 2011: 39). The inner city was organised into functional districts, with people separated according to culture, race, and economic affiliation. As early as 1904, “The geographical foundations were indeed so firmly cast … that they can be likened to a steel mould that would continually shape the future geography of the town in the image of the past” (Beavon, 2004: 79).

Following the 1902 British Empire victory in the Anglo-Boer War, there was a restructuring of government. Aware of the latent propaganda which buildings can engender, the colonial authorities set about physically reinforcing their dominance in the city (van der Waal, 1987). New government buildings were of massive proportions and located centre-stage on the city’s squares. Although not tall, these new civic buildings were quite wide and were made more distinguishable and dominating by their turrets and domes: symbols of “superior hierarchical status” (van der Waal, 1987: 111).

DE VILIERS ST

SQUARE

PLEIN ST

COSMOPOLITAN PARK

UNION GROUNDS

BREE ST JEPPE ST

GOVERNMENT SQ. 2

KERK ST

10 12

PRITCHARD ST PRESIDENT ST

GOVERNMENT BUILDINGS

MARKET

MARKET ST

4 SQUARE

COMMISSIONER

FOX ST

CHURCH SQ.

MARSHALL SQ.

MAIN ST

DELWERS ST

VON WEILLIGH ST

VON BRANDIS ST

ELOFF ST

LOVEDAY ST

HARRISON ST

SIMMONDS ST

FERREIRA ST

DELWERS ST

VON WEILLIGH ST

SMAL ST

KRUIS ST

VON BRANDIS ST

ELOFF ST

RISSIK ST

LOVEDAY ST

HARRISON ST

SIMMONDS ST

16 FERREIRA ST

The rapid influx of people and the concentration of community activity in Johannesburg created a demand for public services. In response, the authorities erected new civic buildings and provided public spaces to alleviate some of the stresses of the emerging Johannesburg society. Partly due to political motives, the Boer-dominated Zuid-Afrikaanse Republiek (ZAR) elected to scatter these buildings throughout the central city. Van der Waal interprets this as an attempt by the ruling ZAR to maintain an ‘invisible’ identity and to prevent a sense of autonomy or community amongst the Uitlanders (‘foreigners’) whom the ZAR desired to keep subservient (van der Waal, 1987). Thus, although state buildings were identifiable, they were never made central or domineering.

CITY OF EXTREMES For centuries, societies have created and occupied civic buildings and public spaces that transcend political and social boundaries. These democratic spaces bring people together and offer a “milieu of possibilities” (Cooper & Francis, 1990: 2), serving as environments for trade, chance encounters, or the exchange of ideas and beliefs. In the Apartheid era, however, these possibilities were undesirable. Buildings were designed to keep racial groups segregated and “public space ... synonymous with loitering or insurrection, [was] frequently declared undesirable ... and erased” (Bremner, 2004: 20). The value of shared space was for so long disregarded in the South African context that both the state and the people have little understanding of how shared space can benefit a city. As a consequence, the memorable physiognomies of renowned cities such as London, New York, and Paris that encourage communal gatherings have never been a feature in the Johannesburg landscape (Murray, 2011). Yet, Apartheid rule ended almost two decades ago. The South Africa of the twenty-first century, the “Rainbow Nation”, now takes pride in its eleven official languages -- more than any other country (Guinness World Records, 2013) -- and its progressive constitution which ensures equality for all. The reality, however, is not so colourful. Segregation and ‘othering’ seem to be only deepening in the new South Africa, although the divisions are different than they were before. No longer so distinctly divided along the lines of race, ethnicity, and gender, South Africa remains extremely divided by class. The poor are perceived to be violent and unsightly, and they are often the victims of societal oppression and injustice, even at the hands of the police. South Africa is rife with crime and lawlessness, realities which occupy “the collective mind and imagination of our society” (Roussos, 2013) on a daily basis. Adding fuel to the fire is the media, which seems to be of the mind-set that ‘bad news is good news’. It is almost impossible to open a newspaper or turn on the television or radio without being presented with a multitude of social injustices. This is not a new phenomenon though, simply a continuation of Apartheid-era discourses in a different guise. While the ‘city of gold’ has long been exalted as the economic hub and cultural melting pot of Africa, Johannesburg also has one of the highest crime rates in the country. Statistics released annually reveal without fail that the occupants of the Johannesburg inner city experience more crime than any other region in the greater Johannesburg metropolitan area (Crime Stats SA, 2013). Naturally, the people look to their democratically elected leaders for answers when their expectations, hopes, and dreams are not realised. Tensions emerge at this juncture, tangible proof of the existence of dynamic, intricate, and resistant social relations. The Johannesburg in which we dwell, the place so many call home, is a facilitator, an antagonist, and a product of these social tensions. Similar to the manner in which memories of the Apartheid police have stained the subconscious psyche of the South African people, so too has the ethos of the old Johannesburg tarnished the city’s current and future development. Johannesburg is a hepatic city at war with itself (Murray, 2011).

VIEW TOWARDS THE JHB CBD FROM JHB’s PARK STATION. 2013

When the Apartheid era came to an end and the laws segregating the nation were repealed, the owners and managers of buildings in the Johannesburg CBD were convinced that this would transform the city into “the entrepót for foreign capital wishing to interface with southern Africa. It was confidently expected that there would be substantial demands for additional top-grade offices in South Africa’s premier CBD” (Beavon, 2004: 244). The city of Johannesburg

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Steel roller-shutters installed over shop doors and display windows, necessary to safeguard goods, started to symbolise the new Johannesburg. Once vibrant shopping areas began to resemble “a deserted fortress in the after-business hours” (Beavon, 2004: 244). Crime rates steadily increased, as did the number of big businesses escaping from the city. Unpredictable, unforgiving, and dangerous by day and a ghost town by night, the Johannesburg CBD was a shadow of its former self. The overwhelming combination of crime, fear, and violence destroyed any attraction or compassion toward the city and any trust in the police and resulted in “a major exodus of middle-income families to the suburbs” (Newman, 1973: 3). In big picture terms, Johannesburg, lacking any obvious boundaries, is an ever expanding metropolis: disjointed and broken mini-cities replete with business and commercial parks strewn across the Highveld landscape (Murray, 2011). This is what sociologist Martin Murray terms “splintering urbanism” (2011), a phenomenon whereby suburban development along the city periphery, fortified enclaves separating and ‘protecting’ middle- and upper-income earners from the unsightly and undesirable poor, is reinforced by institutional bodies. This preference for fortified, exclusionary spaces rather than active public spaces or a vibrant ’street culture’ was first made popular a century ago when the Randlords built their ‘stately manors’ in the exclusive northern suburbs of Johannesburg. Thus, it is not a new trend, nor is it unique to Johannesburg or South Africa. Trends such as globalisation, the homogenising of society, and climbing crime rates have given rise to a new urban character based on the principals of fortification and siege architecture in countries such as the USA, Canada, Brazil, Russia, and Australia (Landman, 2010). With the ability to “create encounter and prevent it” (Newman, 1973: 12), architecture is being exploited by the “propertied elite to enforce spatial exclusivity and social distance ... sequestered insularity based on class and race” (Murray, 2011: 208). Attempts to rebuild a new, ‘enlightened’, and contemporary city - a “sanitised image of a worldclass city” (Newman, 1973: 12) – have actually resulted in spatial injustice, social inequality, and self-absorption. Large corporate firms are taking a vested interest in the renewal of the Johannesburg inner city. However, they are often constructing haphazard, inward-looking buildings with oversized interiors. Centralised atriums confine inward pedestrian movement towards the range of services offered such as restaurants, hairdressers, medical suites, entertainment and gym facilities, and basically any other venue that one might desire to access. These dominating structures reveal nothing of their context and are apathetic to adjacent

1961-1970

buildings and activities of ‘everyday urbanism’. Operating as islands in the CBD under the surveillance of a complex network of privatised security devices and personnel, these displays of corporate power are a “static tableau of the city” (Murray, 2011: 208). A familiar example in Johannesburg is the ABSA Precinct. Rules of inclusion and exclusion are being unashamedly enforced, and the ‘other’ is left to make do with the dirt and decay of the spaces and buildings surrounding the ‘fort’.

Midrand

Sandton Randburg Roodepoort

The banks, mining groups, and other big businesses located in the CBD similarly delude themselves regarding the civic contribution they are making through the funding of various gentrification strategies in the inner city. The financial betteroff circulate between gated communities, privatised ‘public’ shopping malls, and secure office parks. As further prevention of any possible unpredicted or spontaneous civic engagement, these spaces are located vast distances apart and are connected by elaborate road networks ensuring the motor vehicle’s advantage over the pedestrian, who is inevitably poor. Karina Landman, who has conducted research on gated communities for the South African Council for Scientific and Industrial Research, regards the gated community – a zone separated from its environment through the use of physical barriers regulating admission – as a prevailing feature germane to cities of the twenty-first century (2010). Her research confirms that high levels of crime (police criminality included) have led to growing levels of insecurity and reinforced people’s desire to seek safety and security in gated communities.

JHB Soweto

1971-1980

Midrand

Sandton

Randburg Sandton City

Roodepoort

JHB

Eastgate

Soweto

1981-1990

Midrand

Sandton

Randburg Sandton City

Roodepoort

JHB

Eastgate

Soweto

“In our newly-created dense and anonymous residential environments, we may be raising generations of young people who are totally lacking in any experience of collective space, and by extension, of community rights and the shared values of society.” - Oscar Newman (1973)

Landman considers these fortified developments to be indicative of a communal desire for the ever illusive and idealistic ‘good’ life in rapidly developing, divided, and diverse cities (2010). Gated communities occur in two forms. The first is when existing neighbourhoods are closed off by means of booms and are surveyed by private security guards, but remain open for public access and continue to be the responsibility of the governing municipality. The second type is ‘security villages’ or ‘lifestyle estates’, which offer a more ‘rural’ environment and are the sole responsibility of that community – a piece of the country in the city. Neither of these, however, lead to a healthier “integration between neighbourhoods and groups”, nor do they pay any attention to each other or the city as a whole (Landman, 2010: 2). Further research examining affordable housing in South Africa demonstrates that low-income residents have similar concerns regarding safety and security as the wealthy. The effectiveness of housing developments in alleviating this sense of apprehension determines their success (Landman, 2010). This evidence, together with the continuation of segregation through fortification and siege architecture, gives further credence to the public’s perceptions of the police and the police’s ability, or lack thereof, to maintain law and order. In a way, then, architecture is taking on a role normally fulfilled by the police, with negative effects. The policing of social boundaries through architecture is causing the “suffocation of a genuinely public civic culture and active political engagement” (Murray, 2011: 215).

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

seemed to be the epitome of possibility. However, municipal dormancy and capital disinvestment in the city centre since the 1980s had already resulted in a “shattered landscape” (Murray, 2011: 13). The high expectations turned out to be mere empty promises. As the ‘greying’ process accelerated at an unpredicted rate, many of the city’s new occupants were confronted with an unexpected reality: the historic industrial city, formerly a showcase of accrued power and wealth, was a ruin. A ‘hodgepodge’ of high-rise modernist feats cloaked in timber and cardboard panels watched while adjacent buildings slowly disintegrated (Beavon, 2004). With a lack of financial means to survive in the rugged inner city, without the support of a familiar community, and with the perception (and reality) of an ineffective policing force, moral compasses began to deviate. Petty crime began to escalate, and the dynamics of the inner city began to shift once again.

SHOPPING MALLS The distribution and growing numbers of shopping malls at least 10 000m2 in size 1961 - 1990. The first super-malls, Sandton and Eastgate, are indicated. (Beavon, 2004: 206)

CITY AND SUBURBAN: THE FORGOTTEN DISTRICT The Second World War (1939-1945) provided the impetus for South Africa to expand its industrial market both at home and abroad through the manufacture of items imperative for the Allied war effort (Beavon, 2004). With a well-established industrial market operating since the late 1920s in the township aptly named ‘Industria’ (Chipkin, 1993), the city was in a position to take advantage of this opportunity. During the course of the war, the city’s industrial workforce exploded by fifty-three per cent, the majority of which consisted of black labourers. The city’s industrial development expanded into the old mining zones to the south of the CBD and flanked the main railway line to the east of town (Beavon, 2004). At the same time, a new industrial district named ‘City and Suburban’ was created. Located to the south-east of the CBD and zoned semiindustrial, City and Suburban created a threshold, a meeting point between the central business area and the mining fields to the south. The mishmash of small manufacturers, a small park, and commercial and residential buildings, some of which were already there prior to the formal proclamation of the area, created an unusual mix of hybrid activities (Beavon, 2004). The early 1970s saw a dramatic decline in output from the mines, which had provided the economic base of the city for over seventy years. Simultaneously, South Africa was experiencing a challenging recession, black labourers were striking, and by the mid-1970s, black communities were rebelling against the Apartheid government. These were tumultuous years for the country. In the following decade, some ten thousand jobs were lost in Johannesburg in the manufacturing industry alone (Beavon, 2004). Similar to many other areas of the inner city, City and Suburban began to decline shortly after the recession hit. As business declined and premises were vacated, the district assumed an unsightly, run-down character. With more job-seeking black people relocating to the city by the mid-1980s, vacant factories and offices provided shelter for the homeless (Beavon, 2004) - a ‘foot in the door’ for the ‘other’.

Since the end of Apartheid, a few new tenants have moved into formerly vacant buildings in City and Suburban. The majority of the new manufacturers in the area are “African-owned and African-run micro-enterprises” (Beavon, 2004: 248). However, a number of factories in the area, particularly on the southern periphery, are illegally occupied by the city’s homeless. In addition, informal settlements have appropriated the voids between these factories. Although both public and private development agencies have proposed elaborate urban regeneration schemes and the long-term ‘Joburg 2030’ strategy is to make Johannesburg a “world-class city”, the City and Suburban district has gone largely unnoticed by the intense gaze of the City Council. Unlike the vast majority of other districts, City and Suburban lacks an Urban Design Framework. And this is despite the fact that the area is wedged between the much acknowledged and utilised corporate ABSA Precinct to the west and the trendy Maboneng Precinct to the east. City and Suburban remains the city’s forgotten district.

CITY AND SUBURBAN, JHB. 2013 Port Plein Park with the Three Castles Cigarette Factory visible in the background.

A closer look at the area reveals a unique space in the city that is rich in history and character. The small, green park is used regularly by children who live in the adjacent seven storey residential building, young men who meet on Friday evenings for informal soccer matches, couples who talk under the shade of the trees, and the unemployed seeking work. The district also boasts a computer studies college, the Nugget Hotel – renowned hotelier Stanley Tollman’s first boutique hotel business venture – and most enduring and endearing of all, the Three Castles Cigarette Factory, the city’s first cigarette factory and the only extant building in the city to be ceremonially opened by former President Paul Kruger (van der Waal, 1987). Here lies a district pregnant with the desire for a second chance at life. With existing, under-utilised infrastructure, the area is rich in possibilities and deserving of attention. Even the forgotten districts play valuable roles in the lives of cities.

DESIGN The Integrated Police Station City and Suburban, Johannesburg South Africa ‘The Integrated Police Station’ is a proposal with the ambition to transform the fort-like police station as it exists in South Africa today, into a community empowering incubator whereby state and people can identify and reconcile. The scheme has selected a site which bridges the Johannesburg inner city and City and Suburban: the city’s forgotten district. This creates a further opportunity to simultaneously generate awareness for this district and re-integrate City and Suburban as a visibly active and influential contributor towards city life.

SITE ANALYSIS

Site Selection : 98 Urban Context : 104 The Three Castles Cigarette Factory : 145 Architectural Conservation : 148

RE-DEFINING THE POLICE STATION

A Primer: Discussing Police : 152 Design Brief: A Police Station for the People : 154 Existing Programme : 166 Hybrid Space : 168 Expanding Programme : 170 The Police Museum : 171

DESIGN CONCEPTS

The Architecture: : 176 The Urban : 178

GENERATING THE MODEL

Design Development : 182 The Intervention : 186 Site Responses : 188 The Castle and Symbolism : 192 In Appreciation of Light : 192 Technical Studies : 194

THE INTEGRATED POLICE STATION : 200 CONCLUSION : 243

SITE ANALYSIS NORTH TOWARDS THE THREE CASTLES FACTORY A couple sit in the shade of Port Plein Park with Marshall Street behind them.

SITE SELECTION 02. ROODEPOORT

The selection of the site proposed as the seat of this thesis’ architectural intervention occurred as a result of a process of elimination. Consideration was given to four sites, all of which had remarkably different urban character. They were as follow:

The second site is in the western region of Johannesburg - Roodepoort. The area supports a low- to medium-income suburban population, the Roodepoort Magistrates Court, public sports facilities, a railway station, and other infrastructure; much of which is not being utilised. The area has a growing crime rate, frequently featuring as one of the highest in the Johannesburg metropolitan (Crime Stats SA. 2013). The site was located between a residential suburb to the west and a ‘high street’ which separates the residents from industry and activity along the railway line to the east. The decision was taken to not propose this site due to the presence of the Roodepoort Police Station located adjacent to a public school in close proximity over the railway. Furthermore, the existing station is large comparative to other suburban police stations.

01. NEWTOWN The first site considered is located on the periphery of the regenerated and much publicised inner city historical district of Newtown - situated near the Nelson Mandela Bridge, popular tourist attraction Museum Africa, among others, and the Metro Mall. The sense was that this site is too ‘removed’ from the reality of the inner city and that the police station would become a ‘landmark’ rather than a community builder. The area having gone through a process of gentrification is already very developed with a heavy commercial and corporate presence.

Main Road Newtown Junction (under construction)

‘Boundary’

Brickfields Social Housing

Public Sports Facilities

Metro Mall Taxi Rank Mary Fitzgerald Square

Roodepoort Magistrates Court Roodepoort Railway Station

03. RANDBURG

04. CITY AND SUBURBAN

The third site, situated at the intersection of Bram Fischer Drive and Jan Smuts Avenue in Randburg, is an awkwardly shaped patch of vacated and fenced asphalt. The Randburg CBD was once a thriving mini-city which seems to have developed haphazardly - building uses and heights varying significantly - however, the area has rapidly declined and crime rates have dramatically increased (Crime Stats SA. 2013). The prospective site sits between the CBD to the west and a residential suburb to the east. In addition to acting as a main road, Bram Fischer Drive is an edge, ‘separating’ a wealthier group of people from a low-income group who now occupy the Randburg CBD.

The fourth site is the site that was eventually proposed to serve this thesis’ design intervention. With one ‘foot’ in the Johannesburg CBD and the other in City and Suburban, the proposed site is a square city block. The northern portion of the site, a former parking-lot for ABSA employees, is a vacant piece of asphalt. The southern side of the site contains two buildings: the Three Castles Cigarette Factory, a recognised piece of Johannesburg heritage, and the Nugget Hotel. The city block is contained by Main, Nugget, Marshall and Goud Streets. A leading influence on this sites selection was the potential its position gives for the ‘manipulation’ of the ‘city symbolic’s’ ceremonial grid - placing the police station in a valuable position. Other reasons for the selection of this site have already been discussed in the previous chapter, ‘City and Suburban: The Forgotten District’, and further reasoning will be illustrated through the urban context mappings to follow.

Pedestrian Mall

MAIN STREET

Randburg Taxi Rank

Mary Fitzgerald Square

MARSHALL STRE

100

ET NUGGET STRE

Google Earth Images. 2013

GOUD STREET

A. PROPOSED SITE B. PORT PLEIN PARK

101

PANORAMA OF THE PROPOSED SITE Along Man Street. The site sits between the trendy Maboneng Precinct to the east and the corporate ABSA Precinct to the west. The Three Castles Cigarette Factory can be seen behind the ‘fire wall’.

102

103

URBAN CONTEXT The characteristics of the Johannesburg CBDâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s urban environment were vital informants in the process of selecting the site. Ultimately, it was the existing conditions and networks, or lack thereof, which dictated and determined the most appropriate site for this particular thesis proposal. The following maps illustrate what these guiding informants are; informants which will inevitably influence and shape the final design proposal. For the proposed architectural intervention to be a positive and important component of the future life of the Johannesburg city it will need to respond appropriately and be connected to these informants while being a catalyst for new links to develop on both a microand macro-level.

Google Earth Satellite Image. 2013

104

105

CITY CONNECTIVITY A CATHEDRAL OF CHRIST THE KING

The tranquillity which the Cathedral offers the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s users is appreciated by many and with a form similar to basilicaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s throughout Europe it has a presence. Constructed from low maintenance, but highly durable materials the building remains in excellent condition after 50 years of serving the community.

B PARK STATION

The largest railway station in Johannesburg, and Africa, is located between the CBD (to the south) and Braamfontein (to the north). The station plays a vital role in the daily life of the city as it enables high volumes of people, both locals and nationals, to access Johannesburg.

C JACK MINCER TAXI RANK

Due to its close proximity to Park Station the Jack Mincer Taxi Rank is always a hive of activity. The taxi rank links commuters to all corners of the greater Johannesburg metropolitan; Alexandra Township, Diepkloof, Fourways, Randburg, Sandton, Orlando, etc.

D SOUTH GAUTENG HIGH COURT

Designed by Gordon Leith and inaugurated in 1910 the Court is often referred to as the Johannesburg High Court. Despite being one of the busiest in the country and home to the largest Bar the Court shares its jurisdiction with the North Gauteng High Court.

E JOHANNESBURG CITY HALL

Located in the heart of the inner city this four storey, sandstone building boasts of its colonial architectural style. Built in 1915 by the same contractor who built the Rissik Street Post Office, Mattheus Meischke, this historical piece of Johannesburg is home to the Gauteng Provincial Legislature.

F CARLTON CENTRE

Designed by an American architectural firm, the landmark Carlton Centre is 223 meters high; the tallest building in Africa. Opened in 1973, the skyscraper comprises of offices, shops and an ice skating rink and is connected to the Carlton Hotel on a subterranean level.

G JEWEL CITY

Jewel City is the diamond trading precinct of the inner city, occupying four blocks. In 2011 private business invested R40 million on Jewel City refurbishments (Joburg. org. 2011).

a JOUBERT PARK b PARK STATION TAXI RANK c GANDHI SQUARE d ABSA PRECINCT e SITE f MABONENG PRECINCT g FASHION DISTRICT h END STREET PARK

106

107

108

THE SOUTH GAUTENG HIGH COURT IS ONE OF THE BUSIEST COURTS IN THE COUNTRY

THE ABSA PRECINCT HAS A DISTINCT PRESENCE IN THE JHB CBD

JOHANNESBURG CITY HALL IS HOME TO THE GAUTENG LEGISLATURE

BICYLCES FOR HIRE, COFFEE SHOPS + EXHIBITIONS IN THE MABONENG PRECINCT

BUS TERMINAL, GANDHI SQUARE, IS AN 800 METER WALK FROM THE SITE

THE FASHION KAPITOL DEVELOPMENT WITHIN THE FASHION DISTRICT

109

LOW-INCOME HOUSING The inner city is a place of residence to many and has an estimated 120 new residents moving in everyday (JDA). Together, the Johannesburg Development Agency with the Affordable Housing Company have renovated a number of existing buildings within the inner city to accommodate the low-income housing demand. This interest has precipitated a demand by private business for inner city property. The areas to the north and east (Jeppestown) of the site have been given special attention by the private market due to the high level of illegal occupancy which exists in commercial and industrial buildings there. Thus, the private sector is hoping to take advantage of low priced property and a high demand for low-income housing. With this prospect and the existing residential buildings in and around City and Suburban (specifically the site) this district has the potential to become a valuable residential community within the Johannesburg inner city.

110

111

GREEN SPACE A JOUBERT PARK

The ‘Central Park’ of the Johannesburg inner city is the city’s largest park and sits adjacent to the highly populated Hillbrow district. The park is also home to the Johannesburg Art Gallery.

B END STREET PARK

This narrow strip of lawn is the final destination of End Street. In recent years it has been regenerated, evident in the jungle gyms and freshly paved walkways. The park is a popular hangout for young children walking home from school.

C EDEN PARK

Opposite the End Street Park and over the railway tracks lies another strip of lawn; Eden Park. Although not as green, clean and child-friendly as its neighbour this park is still a green oasis to the inner city.

D PRIVATE PARK FOR OFFICE WORKERS

This green space has been fenced in by corporates for the private use of their employees.

E PLEIN PARK

Once an enclosed park with a sand-box soccer pitch this park has recently been upgraded. Today it has new basket ball courts/soccer pitches, jungle gyms, seating and lamp posts. F PORT PLEIN PARK A city block offered to the public as a green park. The Port Plein Park sits to the south of the site and was a leading reason for the sites selection. Most commonly used by the unemployed to sleep the park also hosts Friday evening soccer matches, benches regularly occupied by couples and a single jungle gym.

112

113

Contours at 2m difference

LAND FORMS The Johannesburg CBD is located on South Africa’s highveld, towards the southern end of the defining ridge, the Witwatersrand. Undoubtedly the views over the then veld landscape made settling here appealing. The land form of the Johannesburg CBD is relatively flat with a gradual slope falling to the north and south. Although not visible now, streams were once characteristic of this region. Thus, early farms were named with the term “spring”, or “fontein”. eg. Braamfontein and Doornfontein. These streams now flow forgotten below the city. The site sits south-east of the ridge with potential views towards the landmark mine-dumps; the remains of what transformed Johannesburg into the “City of Gold”.

114

115

VEHICULAR

A network of streets arranged on a grid define the inner city of Johannesburg. Market, Commissioner, Main and Marshall Streets identifiably see the highest levels of traffic in an east-west direction while Von Wielligh and Mooi Streets facilitate highest volumes of traffic moving in a north-south direction. Nugget Street, although not in its entirety, also acts as a main route for many commuters as it links with the M31 Joe Slovo on- and off-ramps, a motorway which delivers many people into the city daily. The mini-bus taxi dominates the inner city streets during weekdays as this is the most affordable means of transport.

PEDESTRIAN

Pedestrian movement follows similar routes to the vehicle with only a few streets dedicated to the pedestrian; Small Street and Fox Street, both originating from the Carlton Centre, and a portion of Main Street originating from Gandhi Square. Former high streets, Market and Commissioner, were once known for their pedestrian activity linking the east of the city to the west. High streets of this nature no longer exist.

RAILWAY

The rail network delivers vast numbers of people into the city from all over Africa. Park Station is viewed by many as a gateway into the city permitting opportunity. Jeppe Station is a ten block walk from the site.

BUS + BRT

BRT stations cluster around the fashion district, an active textile trading area in walking distance to the site. Gandhi Square, a busy bus terminal in the heart of the city is due west of the site.

national roads main roads secondary roads railroads rail transit stop brt stations

MOVEMENT STRUCTURE The grid-like structure of the city (similar to cities such as New York) and the comfortably scaled city blocks means that Johannesburg is a walkable city. Unfortunately, vehicular movement has become the dominant form of movement and is defining of life in Johannesburg. Movement by means of taxi is a popular choice made by the majority of city dwellers. However, because many Jo’burgers fall into the ‘low-income’ bracket Johannesburg is well used by pedestrians too. Few pedestrianised streets, and narrow sidewalks often occupied by informal traders means that pedestrian and vehicle often share the street. Johannesburg is a city owned by the car making it a dangerous place for those who choose to walk or who cannot afford any other means of transport. It is particularly dangerous for children.

116

117

INTERNAL SPACE PATTERN The internal space pattern reflects the well preserved modernist grid that was laid over the Witwatersrand landscape. Some of the larger spaces reflect the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s significant buildings and parks (the South Gauteng High Court and End Street Park to the north, and the Carlton Centre and Gandhi Square in the west). The grid begins to shift and become more irregular towards the north-east in response to the railway line which differentiates the inner city from other areas. The loose space pattern in the south indicates the industrial and semi-industrial function which this area accommodates with a wide motorway defining the city edge.

118

119

GRAIN The grain is represented by the footprints of the buildings. The footprints indicate both the size of the buildings and their density relative to one another. Due to topographical limitations and the economic value a CBD tends to maintain, land value is, or was at the time of the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s boom, very high creating a tightly configured grain. Developers maximised on block coverage. Towards the southern periphery of the city the grain dematerialises into loosely packed structures used for industrial purposes, reflected in the footprintâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s increased size. A shift in the grids configuration occurs to accommodate the railroads and national roads which link the city to the greater Johannesburg metropolitan and Africa.

120

121

NEGATIVE SPACE The negative space is represented by voids or open spaces, those spaces which exist between built form. It is evident in this map that open space is scarce in the inner city. Johannesburg is a city lacking public, collective spaces whether they be in the form of plazaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s or green parks. Thus, the opportunity to design large public spaces or propose an architectural intervention which links to a public park in the city is extremely rare. The chosen site is special because it sits adjacent to one of the few remaining green spaces in the city, Port Plein Park; evident in this map. Internal courtyards, pause spaces away from city life, and tight service allies also become more apparent in this map.

122

123

LAND USE The City and Suburban district is zoned semi-industrial, thus many of the buildings are warehouses supporting mechanics, refrigeration and steel work businesses. Many warehouses are being used for storage. The function of a number of the buildings has changed over the years with textile businesses, furniture and other retail shops, pool lounges and pubs moving into the area. Further, the larger buildings which now sit vacant, or are occupied illegally, have gained an interest from private investors hoping to reappropriate them; individuals hoping to capitalise on the lack of affordable housing near the city centre. Retail and residential buildings densely populate the northern edge of the district while large corporates such as ABSA dominate the western periphery. East of City and Suburban and Jewel City the trendy Maboneng precinct development is attracting a new middle- and upper-class, artistic group of people wanting to live a metropolitan lifestyle. Illegal squatters are occupying the veld and the warehouses south of the district. Thus, the site is located in a â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;gapâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, a no-mans land, with the potential to connect the regenerated precincts, stimulating inclusivity.

a RESIDENTIAL b HOTELS c RETAIL d RECREATIONAL e EDUCATIONAL f OFFICES g INDUSTRIAL h HERITAGE SITE i RELIGIOUS

124

125

CRIME PATTERN THEORY Professor’s Felson and Clarke from the Rutgers University School of Criminal Justice have discovered through many years of research that the potential for criminal acts to be committed are higher in areas which display the following characteristics: Nodes. areas which are very active; schools, parks and particularly public transport stations. Paths. those routes which support the heaviest flow of traffic on a daily basis; usually connecting nodes. Edge. the ‘boundaries’ where different groups of people come into contact with one another. (Felson & Clarke, 1998)

126

Maboneng precinct

Main Street

Port Plein Park

Edge

ABSA Precinct

Path

Carlton Centre

Node

Gandhi Square

As would be expected in any urban context there are numerous spaces where these conditions overlap. The map illustrates that the site is theoretically located in the centre of an area which has a high crime rate, a theory which is confirmed by Johannesburg crime statistics. Thus, the site is an appropriate place for a police station to be proposed.

127

BUILT FORM The built form in and surrounding the City and Suburban district varies greatly, from single storey warehouses to the 30 storey ABSA tower. However, the majority of buildings around the site are low- to medium-rise concrete structures primarily used for industry or administration purposes with a few residential buildings being the exception. The Port Plein Park, occupying a single city block, is the only green space zoned for recreational use in this quadrant of the city making it an extremely important and valuable space. The park is overlooked by a seven storey residential tower and office buildings, a positive condition for the safety and security of the park’s users in a “dangerous” city. Visual connections and natural light are vital design strategies to be well considered in ensuring passive surveillance of the area. The Three Castles building and the New Nugget Hotel existing on the site are two and three storey buildings, respectively.

128

129

PARKING Originally zoned for semi-industrial purposes one would expect the streets of City and Suburban to be graffitied in the words “loading zone” and “no parking”. Although these warnings are common in the area there is also a large percentage of street space dedicated for public parking. Currently any driver looking for a parking bay in the district does not have to search for long as vacant parking spots are abundant. Further, it is noteworthy that due to the industrial nature of the area basement parking is nonexistent, with the exception of the Nugget Hotel on the corner of Nugget and Marshall Streets and the former and new ABSA buildings.

STREET PARKING. BASEMENT PARKING. LOADING AREA.

130

131

132

133

FORMER ABSA STAFF PARKING

Looking west towards the ABSA precinct the abandoned parking lot has become a site for the homeless and unwanted waste.

134

THE NEW NUGGET HOTEL

Constructed in 1954 the hotel was the first joint venture between hotelier Stanley Tollman + his wife, Bea. They went on to build the Hyde Park Hotel + the Tollman Towers Hotel.

WORKS @ MAIN

This seven storey, orange brick building has recently been restored to house artisans and industrial/textile businesses.

NUGGET RESIDENTIAL BUILDING

Residents dry their laundry from their windows in the seven storey residential building overlooking Port Plein Park.

135

136

137

138

JEPPE COLLEGE.

FORMER ABSA BUILDINGS.

This blue and yellow building seated at the M31 Joe Slovo on-ramp has provided a tertiary education in commerce and computer studies since 1997.

The former ABSA office building with roof garden and gazebos sits vacant today. Only the third floor is rented by a private company.

G. MATTHEW GONIWE HOUSE.

Home to the South African Democratic Teachers Union (SADTU) this four storey office building was named in honour of a man Nelson Mandela described as a “true hero of the struggle”.

A protected heritage building, the neglected but iconic Three Castles building’s windows and doors have been bricked up in attempt to deter the homeless from seeking shelter in its ruins. 139

THREE CASTLES BUILDING.

140

141

142

143

THE THREE CASTLES CIGARETTE FACTORY On the corner of Marshall Street and Goud Street sits the battered, bruised, and broken Three Castles Cigarette Factory: a Johannesburg landmark in ruins. Protected under the National Heritage Resources Act and commemorated by the Blue Plaques of South Africa organisation, the building was designed by Carter and Macintosh Architects and erected in 1895 (Shorten, 1970). The project was commissioned by the Yorkshire-born Holt brothers: David, Albert, and Hillier, who came to South Africa to establish their firm Holt and Holt. Originally capitalising on the influx of prospectors to the Kimberley diamond fields, the Holts’ business specialised in the trade of furniture and tobacco. However, the brothers had great ambitions for their small business. After approaching W.D. and H.O. Wills, one of the largest British tobacco merchants and cigarette manufacturers, with the vision of representing them in South Africa, the brothers were “appointed sole agent for the Wills’ brands in [South Africa]” (Shorten, 1970: 481). The Holts returned to the diamond fields with ‘Three Castles’ cigarettes, one of the most sought after ‘Wills’ products, and quickly amassed a fortune. The Holts had an entrepreneurial spirit and the desire to further the reach of the popular cigarette brand. Unlike many other Kimberly-based businessmen, they foresaw that the Witwatersrand would be the future apex of trade, expanding into the Johannesburg market in 1890 (Shorten, 1970).

144

145

Along with their fortune, the brothers also gained influence. They became friends with President Paul Kruger, “who took a keen interest in tobacco” (Shorten, 1970: 481) and was excited at the prospect of establishing the tobacco industry in the Transvaal. Within five years of moving to Johannesburg, the Holts commissioned the town’s first cigarette factory, asking the architects to design a building that would be an advertisement for the ‘Three Castles’ brand. The architects’ final design was a two storey building with “three bastions resembling those which form part of the walls of medieval castles” (Shorten, 1970: 481). Fulfilling an important role as the city’s only cigarette factory, the building was officially opened by President Kruger at a public ceremony, four years after its completion, in 1899. This event contributed greatly to the historical value of the Three Castles building (Shorten, 1970). Initially, the company employed one hundred ladies to hand roll cigarettes. Soon, however, cigarette-rolling machines were installed, each of which produced in excess of three hundred cigarettes a day. Then in 1953, after 58 years of cigarette production within the Three Castles walls, the company vacated the building - reasons why are obscured in the available literature. The factory was first purchased by ‘Fashion Form Foundations’, a lingerie business, and later sold to a businessman who converted the building into a night-club venue. For a number of years, until a large portion of the building was destroyed in a fire, the “west wing had been home to various nightclubs ... and for twentyfive years a gay club called the ‘Dungeon Club’” (Joburg’s Castles, 2013). Only the building’s shell and portions of flooring now remain. South African architect and building heritage advocate, the late Hannes Meiring, has described the building as “typical of the freedom of architectural styles rampant in the last decades of the 19th century, when flights of fancy were welcomed” (Joburg’s Castles, 2013). Even in its current derelict state, the Three Castles Factory still maintains a presence and captures one’s attention; the Johannesburg inner city is hardly the place one would expect to find a medieval castle. This Johannesburg castle sits in a state of dilapidation, bearing its scars for all to see. The windows and doors have been bricked up, and reels of barbed wire have been laid at the building’s ‘feet’ in an attempt to rebuff anyone who approaches. Its only occupant: the city rat.

146

147

ARCHITECTURAL CONSERVATION Johannesburg, at present, does not have a regulatory body overseeing the conservation of historically significant buildings - the rigid rigmarole which surrounds heritage buildings in European cities and the like has escaped this African city. Whilst buildings that are older than sixty years are recognised as important pieces of Johannesburg’s heritage through the National Heritage Act of 1999, there are no “set of values appropriate and acceptable in our new society ... [which] protect or manage these spheres of our national heritage” (Townsend, 2012: 4). The preservation of historic sites is left to the discretion of the architect and developer. As a result, and in conjunction with an abundance of inner city “renewal” strategies, many sites have been built upon a number of times over a short period: “the historically valuable city centre is ... disappearing at an alarming rate” (van der Waal, 1987: 11). This irresponsible demolition and removal of built heritage only weakens national identity, individual identity and the city’s ability to provide a “sense of place” which can only develop with time.

The fourth option is Rehabilitation. This process is when an existing structure is repaired, altered, and/or added to in a way that ensures the retention of as many historical features as possible. There should be a clear depiction of what was existing and what is new or reconstructed. This approach to conservation is sometimes viewed as the most sincere, as it is not trying to reproduce a former image, but is rather adding another chapter to a site or building’s story. When done sensitively, rehabilitation respects a building’s character and acknowledges the value of the past, present, and future. For these reasons, the proposed design for the Three Castles Cigarette Factory uses the rehabilitation approach.

Society values historic sites for different reasons: whether it be a place where people find a connection to people or events in the past, aesthetic values and the stimulation these can provide, communal value and the collective memories which people relate to, and so on (English Heritage. 2008). Undoubtedly, a single historic site is often multivalent. The ‘right’ approach to conserving significant sites is no easy task. In order to make the appropriate architectural response and to give the site justice it is important that the different methods of conserving valued sites and their respective implications are understood. Literature reviewed, including the United States’ National Historic Preservation Act of 1966 and The Secretary of the Interior’s Standards for the Treatment of Historic Preservation, appears to share four common treatments for built conservation. The first is through Preservation. Through this approach the building is ‘frozen in time’. Measures taken are with the intention of maintaining the structure in its present condition; form, integrity, material and any other defining characteristic. Preservation requires that the building is stabilised and maintained rather than ‘fixed’, built onto or altered in any way. Alternatively, one would take the approach of Restoration. As the title eludes, the aim is to return the site to its former state. However, to accurately restore the structure to a former depiction of itself historical layers which have been added must be removed, whilst other features which were removed over time must be reconstructed. This type of treatment brings into question the authenticity of the site as the buildings life story is wiped away and returned to only one particular historic condition whose accuracy is also not guaranteed. In a similar vein to Restoration, Reconstruction is the third option. The process of Reconstruction requires that removed or “non-surviving” forms and features are imitated in their former positions at an exact time during the buildings life. However, these reconstructed elements should be set apart from the existing: a distinct differentiation made between what is new and old.

148

149

150

ENTRANCE TO THE HILLBROW POLICE STATION. 2013

RE-DEFINING THE POLICE STATION

151

A PRIMER: DISCUSSING POLICE

An Interview with MARK SCHAERER

An Interview with MARJ TUNMER

Mark Schaerer graduated with a Master of Architecture degree from the University of Witwatersrand in 2003. Since then Schaerer has gained experience working abroad and is currently practicing for Michael Scholes & Associate Architects in Johannesburg.

Marj Tunmer enjoyed a long career as the principal architect in her selfestablished firm before taking up her current position - Chief Architect for the National Department of Public Works, South Africa. This position places Tunmer with the epic responsibility of overseeing the designs of the countries police stations; new builds and renovations.

Schaerer has had an active interest in policing in South Africa since he began his architectural thesis, entitled From Police to Polis: The Parkview Police Station. Scaherer is a member, and representative, of the Brixton Police Station’s Community Policing Forum (CPF), an organisation which developed with the ambition of improving police / community relations, empowering the notion of ‘community policing’, to combat rising crime rates in the area. Despite the efforts of the CPF and lengthy meetings between the CPF and SAPS which occur monthly the rate of house robberies and vehicle hijacking in Brixton has risen considerably in recent months (SAPS. 2013). Schaerer believes that their is a lack of interest and commitment from both the SAPS’ and the Brixton residents. Whilst the intentions of the CPF are correct the SAPS makes it difficult for the forum to be effective, part of the CPF’s role is to relay information provided by the Brixton police to the Brixton community, however, the SAPS avidly state that these are non-disclosure meeting. Thus, negating the purpose of the CPF. Schaerer believes a contributing solution to improving these relations and encouraging the police to interact with the public, and vice versa, has remained the same over the ten years since he completed his thesis: active involvement through the use of public spaces. This idea presents another hurdle though; the attendance of SAPS members at community events is not regulated. Furthermore, the SAPS will not allocate officers to be present at events which do not generate an attendance large enough to cause a potential safety hazard. A hazard which very few suburbs would be capable of creating. Schaerer expresses that the challenge is in taking the ‘event’ to the police, made more difficult by the police stations fortified nature.

Having spoken with Tunmer about the current condition of the South African police station her view became apparent: the police station is adequate. Although the research depicts an opposing view, Tunmer shed light on some of the more evident practical issues which police stations are commonly faced with.

Schaerer concluded the meeting by stressing the value of youth presence in neighbourhoods and the ‘untapped’ positive influence which they embody in the move towards ‘community policing’. He explained that because the youth generally do not function according to a rigid routine which working adults do, their unpredictable presence acts as passive surveillance - a deterrent for criminals. Police stations should be providing youth programmes to instil and encourage a sense of duty towards public safety.

152

Reiterating an opinion expressed in the research, Tunmer confirmed that the police are apprehensive about our violent society. Thus, the police station needs to not only serve the safety of the public, but also the safety of the SAPS staff who work within its confines. Hence the abundant use of face-brick. Not only is the brick resistant to an ‘attack’, it is also durable, requiring no maintenance; it is inexpensive from its initial application and throughout the duration of its life. A pertinent issue, which Tunmer states has improved greatly, is the degree of accommodation the police station provides the physically handicapped - an issue she emphasises to all architects who are commissioned to design a police station. Another prominent problem often complained about by the public is a lack of parking the police station’s provide. Tunmer says, all new police stations should be generous with their provision for public parking. Tunmer also advocates for the police’s desire to go beyond the minimal sustainable building regulation requirements; “It has become common practice to install heat-pumps in police stations, but only the detainees are provided with hot water.” The existing model of narrow corridors flanked by a series of small offices, preventing cross ventilation and natural light penetration, should therefore be avoided. Promoting the use of courtyards to address sustainable issues and provide staff with relief space, Tunmer noted that the courtyard is a design feature she is particularly fond of and one which she hopes to see in a lot more police station designs.

153

DESIGN BRIEF: A POLICE STATION FOR THE PEOPLE In today’s world, consumerism is widespread, the aesthetic is valued more highly than purpose or function, and image is paramount. Unfortunately, many architects have followed this trend, leaving society with buildings and spaces that are beautiful but white elephants. Particularly in the developing world, design needs to become human centred once again. This is not to say that architecture must become strictly functional, but rather that it should make the ‘everyday’ more enjoyable, maybe even more inspirational, for its users. With an appropriate site-specific and cultural response, the police station might be an example of a building that has a pleasing form, but more importantly, truly achieves its function. For above all, architecture is for the people.

SAPS + POLICE STATION

PUBLIC

PUBLIC SPACE

Therefore, it would be ineffective to simply impose a new facade over the existing police station in an attempt to create a new identity and shift perceptions. The development of a ‘new’ policing culture requires a reconfiguration of the SAPS’s spatial needs together with a new social platform whereby people and the police may begin to interact on an interpersonal level. Architecture and shared space can be the vehicle of change. A police station for the people, a building that goes beyond being simply a space which allows the police to carry out their daily tasks, must be a hybrid of sorts which allows for peer learning, cultural sharing, and reconciliation. The diversity of the nation should be reflected in a dynamic variety of programmes and spatial qualities which offer a ‘milieu of possibilities’ for civilians and police officers. The youth, who are able to bring communities together by engaging without preconceived ideas, are particularly important in the transformation of the SAPS. Thus, they must be regular users of the police station, active participants in its day-to-day life. The programming of the new police station should encourage quality service, learning, teaching, play, reflection, rest, and business — all characteristics which define and help build community. However, the SAPS is by its very nature institutional and resists change. Thus, a challenge arises. How does one meet the requirements of such a brief: design a space which allows the police to maintain law and order, but at the same time assist people to respond positively to the physical context and form connections irrespective of preconceived ideas, past experiences, and differences in race, religion, culture, age, gender, and class?

154

155

I NEED MY SON TO HAVE THE OPPORTUNITIES I NEVER DID.

156

157

I WANT A PLACE TO HANGOUT WITH MY FRIENDS AFTER SCHOOL. SOMEWHERE WE CAN MAKE A NOISE AND NOT GET INTO TROUBLE.

158

159

I WANT A PLACE WHERE I CAN TAKE MY GREAT GRANDCHILDREN AND KNOW WE ARE SAFE.

160

161

I WANT A PLACE WHERE I CAN FEEL INSPIRED.

162

163

I WANT MY DAUGHTER TO LIVE IN A PLACE WHERE SHE CAN RESPECT AND RELY ON THE POLICE.

164

165

EXISTING PROGRAMME The police station has existing predetermined programmatic requirements which permit the police to serve their fundamental purposes. However, the police station fails to meet the scope of SAPS, government, and public objectives. Police stations do not encourage community involvement or public interest and ultimately serve no means of spatial justice or â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;community policingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. The police station of today functions indifferently from the police station of the Apartheid era, albeit for racial segregation. Designed to be an intermediate space, an interface for the state and people, the police station exists as an island, fenced off or hidden behind walls, denying its civic duty. Concluding an analysis of the current programme three hierarchal groups are apparent each with its own distinguished level of privacy and circulation. These categories include the semi-public service centre, the private or administrative areas, and secure areas which the public are restricted from accessing.

Semi-Public

Private

Secure

Left EXISTING PROGRAMME SUMMARY The summary simplifies and indicates the current police stations programmatic requirements: semipublic, private, and secure spaces. Above TRADITIONAL POLICE STATION CIRCULATION The diagram illustrates how the different users move through the police station with its programmatic gradient: semi-public, private, and secure spaces. These spaces are predominantly connected by long corridors.

166

167

HYBRID SPACE

168

169

EXPANDING PROGRAMME

THE POLICE MUSEUM

The City and Suburban Police Station’s proposed additional programme primarily consists of public facilities which will inevitably encourage active public participation in the day-to-day life of the police station, where possible, and vice-versa. The expanded programme also proposes reappropriating the Nugget Hotel to serve as a ‘private’ police officer hostel for bachelors and bachelorettes. The expanded programme has been carefully selected as a result of existing conditions in the area and informal conversations with City and Suburban residents, for the purpose of promoting reconciliation and integration of the police and the public - learning, playing and living spaces - to create a “sense of place” and build community.

Public

170

Public

Semi-Public

Previous Page HYBRID SPACE The mind map illustrates all of the initially conceived programmes and emotions which could potentially encourage the police station’s integration with ‘overlaps’. Below EXPANDED PROGRAMME SUMMARY The summary below simplifies and indicates the proposed City and Suburban Police Station’s additional requirements: public spaces with the addition of a policing hostel. Right Fig 33 ITEMS FORMERLY ON DISPLAY AT THE PRETORIA POLICE MUSEUM Below Right OVERLAPS The diagram illustrates the potential integration of the extended programme with the existing programme, vertically and horizontally, through means of visual connections, circulation paths and collective spaces; represented as lines connecting programmatic groups.

Private

The Police Museum in Pretoria, South Africa’s executive capitol, hosted more than 60 000 visitors in 1984, which gave “impetus to the concept of turning the museum into an educational institution” (South African Police Service, 2013). However, housed in a building which was not designed to serve as a museum, a large portion of the museum has been closed since March 1999 for restoration purposes. The extensive collection of historical items, “including a display of police uniforms, insignia and medals, ... modes of transport, ... photographic exhibitions, ... historic crime scenes, and socio-historical scenes” (South African Police Service, 2013) remains hidden from public view, gathering dust in storage containers. Thus, both South Africans and foreign tourists are being denied the tools necessary to understand the nation’s policing heritage. Without access to the historic context and the means to understand the SAPS’s past, one cannot expect the social tensions between the state and its people to be reconciled. By restoring the Three Castles Cigarette Factory and appropriating it as the new home for the Police Museum, the authoritative connotations associated with a castle become neutralised. Simultaneously, through the introduction of an educational and commemorative dynamic, the police station becomes a space which encourages public participation, a space where the lives of police officer and civilian meet frequently, thus reminding one another of their humanism.

Public

Semi-Public

Private

Secure

171

172 1 1 1 1 1 3 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1

LEARN Auditorium foyer Auditorium Control room Media centre / library Think tank Study room Managers offices Store Police Museum (Three Castles Cigarette Factory) Multi-functional exhibition space Curators office Deliveries Store PLAY Youth Zone Meditation space (incl. roof scapes)

1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 3 1 1 1 1 1

Crime office Temporary SAP 13 store CSC Commander VICTIM FRIENDLY & SUPPORT CENTRE Reception Counselling room Bathroom Treatment room Passage Retail shops Snack bar Cafeteria Detainee's visitor's room Search room (adjacent to visitors room) Refuse area

1 1 1

1 8 1 1

1 1 2

1 4 1 1 1

Station Commissioner and Secretary VISIBLE POLICING Commander Member/Locker room JOC/WAR room DETECTIVE SERVICES Commander Member Data typist Typist CRIME INTELLIGENCE Commander Member Information management ADMINISTRATION Commander Member Registry DPO office Lecture/Tea room

PRIVATE

Sub-Total

1 1 3 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

CLIENT SERVICE CENTRE Work area in front of counter Work area behind counter Area for taking down statements Taking down of sensitive statements Locker rooms for members working shifts Parade room Kitchen Radio room Stationary store Fingerprint area (with whb) CAS terminal office

SEMI-PUBLIC

Sub-Total

Public toilets

1 1

Units

Lobby / Document certification Think tank

Security Level and Function PUBLIC

12 8 30 12 42

12 12 8

12 8 12 12

12 24 30

80 40 140 12 2

10 6 5 9 4

16 6 12

40 20 3 12 24 16 4 12 6 4 12

200 350

1000 200 25 75 15

100 180 12 500 50 5 25 10

100 36

m²

12 32 30 12 42

12 12 16

12 64 12 12

12 24 30

525

80 40 140 12 2

10 6 5 9 4

16 6 12

40 20 9 12 24 16 4 12 6 4 12

2893

200 350

1000 200 25 75 15

100 180 12 500 50 15 25 10

100 36

Total m²

CITY AND SUBURBAN POLICE STATION - PROPOSED AREA SCHEDULE

37 26 18 25

4 1

TOTAL

Sub-Total

UNDER COVER PARKING ( bays) Official light vehicles SAP 13 vehicle camp (Enclosed)

10 15

28 28

Blanket/linen store 1 14 Pantry 1 8 Kitchen 1 20 Toilet 1 2 Washing area 1 16 Prisoner property store 1 8 Waiting lobby 1 6 Declaration of statements 1 8 Admittance area (Including cell guard office and fingerprint 1 area) 25 Off-loading area 1 50 Holding cell 1 10 Wash bay 1 50

SECURE - CELLS. 5 STAR MALES Cell Security passage to cells FEMALE AND JUVENILES Cell Security passage to cells

15 18

24 7 38 85 40 100

18 20 36 12 12 7 12 7 6 36 16 10 6 18

24 4 12 9

2 1

Staff toilets Emergency generator Grey water purification room / Geyser room Sub-Total

2 1

Cleaners change rooms Cleaners tea room

21 6 1 2 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

STORE General store SAP 13 store (Large items) SAP 13 store (Small items) SAP 13 Store clerk Garden store Cleaning equipment Stationary store Safe for station fire-arms Safe for station ammunition Archive docket store Tyre store SAP 13 - fire-arm safe SAP 13 - ammunition safe Roadblock equipment (Lockup garage) LIVE - POLICE HOSTEL (Nugget Hotel) Bedrooms Bathrooms Counsellor Store Kitchen Dinning room Recreational room Gym

1 1 1 1

Lecture/Tea room Kitchen POTS room Computer swerver room

18 20 36 12 12 7 12 7 6 36 16 10 6 18

24 4 12 9

5067

414

14 8 20 2 16 8 6 8 25 50 10 50

72 25

74 26

1235

180 105 24 14 38 85 40 100

PROPOSED PROGRAMME The programme and the respective areas have been grouped according to hierarchy and security requirements: public, semi-public, private, and secure. The clear division and access control to specific areas is critical for the police station’s successful operation and for the safety of all users (SAPS staff, the public, and detainees). The new programmes proposed will transform the police station, and the police, into an accessible service to both state and people. The police station’s mandatory programmatic requirements were provided by The Department of Public Works, South Africa.

173

DESIGN CONCEPTS JEPPE POLICE STATION, JHB. 2013 Civilians wait to be served at the station’s CSC.

174

175

THE ARCHITECTURE The existing architecture of the institutional police station holds its authoritarian position through isolating itself from society and context. As a result the police station, and by association the police, are a static, orange face-brick box. Through conceptually breaking from the ‘mould’ the intervention aims to transform the institution’s spatial conventions. The idea is that the police station serves as a platform for both the police and public, facilitating the notions of identity and reconciliation - an inversion of the typical police station.

03. PUNCTURE The fort-like police station exists as a solid mass - an illegible civic building; a contradiction. ‘Punctured’ space and skin, necessary for ‘transparency’, will promote ‘inclusivity’ of the public realm and create an accessible public service.

04. MOVEMENT

01. LAYERING The traditional police station, with its self-concerned programme, should ‘overlap’ with the expanded programme and context. The ‘layering’ of the new with the old police station model should promote the integration of the police and the public into one another’s ‘everyday’, as well as the integration of the Three Castle Cigarette Factory. This will further provide the police station with an image in line with that of its urban context - accessible hybrid activities ‘stacked’.

02. TRANSPARENCY / VISUAL LINKS The new model as a ‘layering’ of hybrid programmes and contextual influences needs to become legible. The model therefore requires a degree of ‘transparency’; visual connections which permit the police and public to interact more frequently, even if it is from a distance. Symbolically, ‘transparency’ represents that the police and public have nothing to hide from one another and is a stand against police corruption. The concept also allows for the celebration and distinction of the Three Castles Cigarette Factory from the new building - old meeting new.

176

Operating behind walls and dense shading devices the SAPS appears to be static. However, as a result of the previous concepts the police station has progressed towards a living and involved archetype. The celebration of the institutions ‘new life’ through ‘movement’ will be depicted in a conscious experience of variations in horizontal and vertical movement, expressed at points where the manifestation of the previous concepts are most legible.

05. INVERSION The police station is often divorced from its surroundings and within the buildings themselves the services are placed along the periphery, thus creating a hard edge condition whilst exposing the unsightly plumbing works. Through ‘inversions’, conditions such as these will be removed, encouraging the design brief’s success and the potential inversion of perceptions.

04. SURVEILLANCE Vital for the creation of successful public space is surveillance - ensuring the safety of users. Through the application of the previous five concepts the manner in which surveillance is conducted will be tangibly different from the controlling nature of former police stations styles of surveying.

177

01. FORECOURT The forecourt means that the building is stepped back from the street. However, as already discussed, this can be interpreted in two ways: the institution embodying its civic responsibility by facilitating public gathering, or an attempt to maintain a distance from the ‘everyday’ whilst taking ownership of the space and making the public view the building in its entirety - a display of the institutions authority. The Johannesburg City Hall, opposite the Rissik Street Post Office is an example of the forecourt.

THE URBAN The Port Plein Park has the potential to be City and Suburban’s primary urban strategy driver. As public and private investors look towards the inner city’s southern periphery for prospective low-income housing developments, the park should in time become a celebrated, collective, democratic space serving a growing residential community. The central location of the park, relative to the ABSA and Maboneng Precincts, further charges City and Suburban with the responsibility to challenge perceptions and narrow the divide which exists in society; a space where the office worker, artist, and the ‘other’ can coexist. Thus, the proposed new police station’s relationship with the park is vital, not only for the success of the police station, but the park too. The new model needs to address this invaluable green space in a manner which will integrate the built and unbuilt into a holistic, stimulating entity. The following diagrams are an exploration of how the police station might sit in relation to, and interact with, the public gathering space.

02. ATRIUM The atrium moves the plaza from the public realm into a privatised ‘public’ realm. Commonly used by large corporates in the Johannesburg CBD, the atrium is often designed at the centre of a peripheral building. This scenario has been credited as the cause for ‘othering’ and the development of ‘dead’ streets surrounding the buildings. Thus, an institution which adopts this model might be perceived as self-concerned and attempting to remove itself from the public.

03. ‘INCUBATOR’ The ‘incubator’ has developed as a result of fusing and fragmenting the ‘forecourt’ and the ‘atrium’. Manipulating these models, the ‘incubator’ is a model which maintains the looseness of the forecourt, plaza, or park while providing an alternative, semi-public collective space, ‘protected’ by a fragmented peripheral building - a variation of the atrium. Unlike the former models, here the public is afforded freedom of movement through and around the site, as well as the security of visual links.

178

179

GENERATING THE FORM

180

181

DESIGN DEVELOPMENT With the discussed site analysis and design concepts in mind the police station must holistically integrate the programme and public spaces in a dynamic manner which will fulfil, and surpass, the requirements of the design brief. As a symbol of the nations transformation and progression the building needs to be adaptable and relevant to a constantly changing socio-cultural, -political, and -economic environment. The sketches below and the models on the opposite page are initial explorations of these ideas in spatial and formal compositions.

182

183

PROCESS SKETCHES The sketches illustrate a design process of continually moving between plan, section, elevation, perspective and diagram - a layering process of function, form, natural elements and physical materials. The primary struggles, as evident in these sketches, were 1. The creation of an appropriate park edge and ‘new’ police station entrance which sensitively integrates the two existing, flanking buildings. 2. The design of a courtyard which is both safe and intimate, yet permeable. 3. The design of multiple façades serving and expressing different functional activities whilst still appearing as a holistic development with which all citizens can identify. A conscious decision to limit the number of materials to prevent the police station from looking like a ‘hodgepodge’ of buildings also made the task of designing more challenging.

184

185

THE INTERVENTION 01. THE COURTYARD

PORT PLEIN PARK

The courtyard is the soul of the design proposal; supporting and connecting all of the proposed programmes. As a space of refuge and safety in the city, a space where police officer and civilian begin to interact informally, the courtyard is a space where all of the conceptional ideals manifest.

The Port Plein Park is conceived as an extension of the proposed police station: a gesture of the SAPS’s interest in the notion of ‘community policing’. However, with the park being the sole occupant of this city block, the space is maintained as an inclusive space which is in actuality an extension of all the buildings surrounding it. In order for the police station to become integrated with the district, the parks neutrality must be maintained, emphasised, and celebrated through physical features which will encourage the parks use. Thus, ensuring that the park continues to exist as a ‘just’ space.

02. THE PARASITE The conservation of the Three Castles Cigarette Factory will be dealt with in accordance with a Rehabilitation treatment. The historical remains will be repaired and a programmed ‘box’ will attach to the Castle’s roof and side. The points of connection will be made obvious; a celebration of new and old.

03. THE IN-BETWEEN The space between the Castle and the Nugget hotel is a void. As this is the main entrance to the police station a stronger edge which can address the Port Plein Park must be created. The in-between space needs to be appropriated - creating a holistic / stronger façade for the police station.

The introduction of a varied hard surface treatment stretching from the parks edge to the front door of all the buildings facing onto the park, portrays the park as being larger than it is whilst simultaneously acting as a symbolic reminder that the park belongs to everyone. Variations in colour and texture will undoubtedly make the park more appealing. Dense clustering of trees planted along the full length of the ‘outer’ side walks and the eastern, western, and southern edges of the park will mean that walking or driving passed the park, and by association the police station, will become an experience. Without definite edges the park will be a defined space with thresholds and edges which are tangible, but not restricting. Creating a clear open space with a water feature in the centre of the park gives the park a sense of ‘public square’. This open space, whilst not being vast, encourages the park to be used for events or large gatherings; its capacity to facilitate ephemeral activities diversified. Seating under the shade of the trees will provide parents and individuals who do not wish to be ‘watched’ with a place to observe children playing in the water, to rest, and a sense of privacy.

04. THE TOWERS The police station, expressed as a ‘free-standing’ destination building across the courtyard from the main entrance, requires an element which gives the building a greater presence or sense of importance. The towers, conceived for the celebration of active service (movement), will stand as unique, landmark features. The tower is also a gesture of connecting man with the temporal.

186

187

SITE RESPONSES As a result of the courtyard being identified as a vital device for the police station’s attainment of the brief’s requirements, inverting the police stations current relationship with its context and the public realm, the idea of the courtyard is where the proposed architectural scheme began. The building emerged in the most basic of forms: a peripheral building attaching itself to and filling in the gaps between the existing buildings on the site to enclose a central courtyard. However, this created a static space removed from its context and was fundamentally indifferent from the police station today. In response, specifically to movement around the site and the points of intersection where new building would meet the extant buildings, the peripheral form was punctured. This created openings or gaps, fragmenting the single building into six distinguishable forms. These punctures immediately allowed for the police station and the courtyard to become an easily accessible and visible space. Visual links permit the courtyard to ‘bleed’ into the street and park, transforming the courtyard into an extension of the ‘everyday’. To further activate the hybrid station, and in symbolic celebration of life and movement, vertical circulation is placed in the gaps where the new meets the old, whilst entrances are located in the remaining openings.

B I

D G

H C

01. THE PERIPHERAL POLICE STATION

188

02. THE PUNCTURED POLICE STATION

03. THE INTEGRATED POLICE STATION

Devoid of any significant variation in the intensity of pedestrian and vehicular traffic along Main, Nugget, and Marshall Streets, the primary entrance to the police station is located in the ‘in-between’ space, orientated south towards the Port Plein Park (A). Housing a lobby where the public can go for information or the certification of documents, this space acts as a threshold between the park and what will inevitably become a semi-public courtyard. The youth centre is placed above the lobby for the provision of passive surveillance over both the park and courtyard. The CSC and SAPS’s offices are located in a ‘free-standing’ building along Main Street (B). Thus, the SAPS’s operational building is made a destination building, increasing the potential for chance encounters as people move through the courtyard. Located opposite the South African Democratic Teachers Union (C) and a religious institution (D), and in view of Jeppe College (E), the Three Castles Factory (F) has been allocated the police museum with the media centre placed in a new build which sits above the museum. The new structure to the north of the Three Castles Factory, linking the media centre and SAPS building by a bridge, accommodates the remaining educational programmes: an auditorium, multipurpose exhibition space, lecture rooms, and a ‘think tank’ (G). On the busy corner of Nugget and Marshall Streets stands the Nugget Hotel (H). The intervention proposes to use this structure as SAPS officer accommodation with the ground floor converted from a pool lounge and pub to retail stores which all may access. The final new structure is attached to the Nugget Hotel’s northern elevation (I). Housed here is additional retail space responding to and attempting to stimulate commercial activity along Nugget Street (J) - and on upper floors detainee holding cells and their respective supporting programmes. To activate and create surveillance along the sites western periphery, SAPS vehicular parking has been allocated in quiet Goud Street.

189

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

04. SOUTHERN FACADE

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Standing as an edge to the park and serving as the main entrance to the police station, the image which the southern elevation presents is extremely important. In an attempt to not compete with the ‘unusual’ and rare presence of the castle, or the Nugget Hotel, the ‘in-between’ building is conceived as a floating, unobtrusive box. Separated from the flanking buildings by glazed circulation cores and raised off of the ground, the youth centre is elevated to a height level with the castle. To maintain the castles integrity the ‘parasitic’ media centre has partially been dropped into and pulled away from the castle’s façade.

05. BUILDING HEIGHTS PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Inner City

City and Suburban

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

The heights of both the ‘in-between’ structure and the SAPS’s main building were eventually resolved once a cross section was taken through the site. The section illustrated that the proposed buildings responded to the city’s height gradient. Furthermore, the built form steps down towards the park ensuring the proposed police station does not impose on the context.

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

The SAPS’s operational building along Main Street developed into the tallest building on the site due to its programmatic requirements. To reduce the building’s imposing presence the urban context was once again referred to. It was observed that the general building heights and roof scapes shifted from low- and mediumrise, flat roofed structures towards the inner city, to low-rise or single storey pitched roof structures away from the inner city. In response to this the SAPS’s main building’s height and form was dictated by the context - a gesture of respect for the context and a desire for integration.

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Following Page AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE PROPOSED POLICE STATION’S DEVELOPMENT.

190

191

THE CASTLE AND SYMBOLISM The castle has for centuries been recognised as a symbol of power and authority. Most prevalent in European and Middle Eastern countries, the castle was originally designed to serve as a military base protecting lands from foreign invaders. Often located near life-sustaining features such as farmland and water sources, castles were also used to control nearby communities and safeguard the most valued travel routes. The castle later developed into “a private fortified residence” (Coulson, 2003: 16) for the elite, used to safeguard their families and property and display their power and social rank. The castle is a familiar building typology in many people’s lives from an early age. Some children’s fairy tales and literature, such as Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, and Beauty and the Beast, frame the castle as a prison, whereas in The Wizard of Oz the castle is a place of safety. Regardless of the role a castle plays, it evokes an image of superiority. Thus, it is vital that the Three Castles Factory be made a ‘neutral’ space or a space of safety, and not another object of police control. The castle also carries connotations of water, as many castles were surrounded bt moats as defensive elements to keep intruders away from the castle’s walls. Water is a natural, calming, and reflective element due to how it looks, feels, and sounds. When combined, water and architecture together “represent qualities that are timeless - identity, variety and accessibility” (Fischer, 2008: 7) and evoke a number of different associations, many of which are spiritual or divine. Thus, it seems symbolically and psychologically fitting that the police station, a place where traumatised victims go for refuge, assistance, and counsel, utilises water as a feature.

IN APPRECIATION OF LIGHT Light, which enables one to see architecture and the world, has the ability to vary perceptions. Whilst light is immaterial, evoking a sense of the ethereal and embodying qualities of the spirit and the mind (Zumthor, 2006; Piano, 2002), it is also one of the most important elements that an architect can employ in the creation of spaces. Iconic French architect Jean Nouvel states that once an individual understands “how light varies, and varies our perceptions”, then his “architectural vocabulary is immediately extended in ways classical architecture never thought of” (cited in Peltason & Ong-Yan, 2010: 35). There are numerous ancient examples of the ecclesiastical power of light. The Vatican City’s St. Peter’s Basilica and Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia are world renowned for the atmosphere they exude and the emotions they arouse, largely credited to the way light interacts with the buildings. Similar to water, light is also cleansing, a symbol used by religious institutions in their monuments to serve as a reminder of the freedom and justice of God. Just as light is a powerful element in religion, it also carries power in civic buildings and houses of justice. Therefore, the police station should have a particular sensitivity to the use of light throughout the building: from the client service centre and trauma rooms where victims sit, to the holding cells where suspects and convicts wait, to the police museum where some will seek reconciliation, and to all other spaces inbetween. Light in the police station is a representation of justice for all.

192

“A room which must be dark still needs a crack of light to know how dark it is.” - Louis Kahn, architect (1991: 248)

EXPLORATORY SKETCHES Light and water in architecture and the public realm.

193

TECHNICAL STUDIES The design proposed for the integrated police station is grounded on four leading ideas or interventions. They are 1. The Courtyard, 2. The Parasite, 3. The In-Between, and 4. The Towers. In conjunction with these, the rehabilitation of the Three Castles Cigarette Factory and the use of specific elements, such as light, have emerged as vital influencing features on the overall design approach. Common to all of these is the development of the section; the building’s relationship with its context, the building’s relationship to the courtyard, the junction where new meets old, the manner in which light enters and creates atmosphere, the appropriation of specific materials, and so on, whilst still serving the most basic and practical requirements of shelter and weather proofing. The detailing of these areas to fulfil both the conceptual and practical objectives is therefore extremely important.

extent of transparency is achieved through a steel skeletal structure which is further left exposed for observation. In an endeavour to overcome some of the sustainability issues such transparency poses, Piano applied a secondary skin in the form of ceramic tubes. The sunscreen greatly reduces the amount of direct solar radiation the glass is exposed to, the ceramic rods absorbing heat, whilst diffusing sunlight into the building. In addition to this outer skin, an intelligent computer operated blinds system has been incorporated into the buildings design to control and maintain an average level of light to optimise productivity. Similar to the courtyard the ceramic tubes play a dual role in the buildings dynamism. The literature advocates that Piano spent a considerable amount of time deciding in the colour and scale of the ceramic rods, worked and reworked until they imbued the qualities of the ethereal (Ouroussoff, 2007). This elegant screen not only reduces the buildings carbon footprint it also ‘lifts’ the building. The screen projects six storeys beyond the roof top imposing an impression that the tower is dissolving - “ephemerally meet[ing] the sky” (New York Times Building. 2013).

The technical resolution of these interventions, in the endeavour to design an integrated police station, began by analysing buildings which share specific resemblances to each of the four leading ideas. Through gaining a better understanding of how these buildings were composed to meet their conceptual and practical objectives, it is hoped that the final design proposal will reach a greater level of holistic resolve.

RENZO PIANO, NEW YORK 2007

THE NEW YORK TIMES BUILDING

The New York Times Building, designed by Italian architect Renzo Piano, is regarded by some as “the most significant new building to be designed for the NYC skyline in decades” (New York Times Building. 2013). The new headquarters, completed in 2007, for one of the worlds most popular news providers stands 52 storeys high and is cloaked in a double skin consisting of low iron glass curtain walls, shaded by horizontal ceramic rods - its aesthetic has undoubtedly added another dimension to the city’s architectural character. However, the true value of this iconic piece of New York architecture appears to rest in its civic contribution; the result of a courtyard. Piano’s buildings are often made distinguishable by their civic openness and honesty; the New York Times Building is no exception to this. Regardless of the buildings heaviness, due merely as a result of its massive scale, on street level the building appears light. With glazed walls extending from ground to ceiling the pedestrian on the street is able to look passed the lobby, through a modestly proportioned courtyard - a lush green space with Silver Birch trees and a covering of moss in summer, a blanket of snow in winter - into the Times’ ‘red themed’ auditorium. As the street becomes a continuation of the auditorium, the auditorium is a continuation of street life - the courtyard facilitating a “continuous public performance” (Ouroussoff, 2007: 3). At ground level Piano blurs the interior and exterior, the built environment and the natural, and in effect, the life of the newspaper and the life of the street. The building, and by association The New York Times, are holistically integrated into the city, and vice versa. Furthermore, the courtyard affords Times’ employees a ‘soft’ outlook where the eye can rest; an escape from the city which enduringly presses in. The concept of transparency and the ambition for city / Times integration has consumed the sky-scraper, essentially producing an elongated glass box. The

194

Centre RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE STREET, COURTYARD, AND AUDITORIUM. Top Right to Bottom Right VIEW OF THE COURTYARD FROM THE LOBBY. VIEW OF THE AUDITORIUM FROM THE COURTYARD. THE AUDITORIUM AS A CONTINUATION OF THE COURTYARD, AND VICE VERSA. THE CERAMIC SCREEN DIFFUSES LIGHT INTO THE BUILDING’S UPPER FLOORS DIAGRAM ILLUSTRATING THE EFFECT OF THE CERAMIC SCREEN. Images sourced from Google Images. 2013

01. THE COURTYARD

195

PETER ZUMTHOR, COLOGNE 2007

RENZO PIANO, NEW YORK 2006

KOLUMBA ART MUSEUM OF THE COLOGNE ARCHDIOCESE

MORGAN LIBRARY EXPANSION

New York’s Morgan Library was constructed in 1906 in the style of the Beaux-Arts, acquiring an aditional Annex building in 1928 and an “indistinguishable glass atrium” in 1991, in what was an awkward ‘in-between’ space, designed to link the two large stone buildings (Ouroussoff, 2006: 1).

The Kolumba Museum in Cologne, Germany, has been credited with instilling “a sense of serenity and meditation ... transcend[ing] the boundaries of a specific religion to imbue the visitor with an atmosphere of spirituality away from the worldly bustle of the city” (Zeballos, 2012).

With a brief to once again expand the Morgan Library and Museum, Renzo Piano’s scheme, favoured over its competition for its modest scale and value for civic life, sensitively navigates its historical neighbours by reappropriating the ‘in-between’ space with three pavilions attaching themselves to the existing structures - bringing an order to the haphazardly arranged extant. Connecting the pavilions to the ‘grandeous’ stone buildings by vertical slots of glass, a distinction between new and old is emphasised. Through this separation Piano choreographs a rhythm which reveals the inner works of the building to the pedestrian - an internalised piazza in the form of a glass enclosed courtyard where circular holes have been cut into the timber floor to allow for the planting of trees. Surveyed by two flanking pavilions which house a gallery and offices, the courtyard is flooded with natural light, visitors and staff who enjoy the café, and a view of the city’s traditional architecture through a towering window which maintains a connection between user and New York.

Architect, Peter Zumthor, was given the task of transforming this highly charged symbolic church, almost entirely destroyed by allied bombing during the Second World War, into a museum to house the Roman Catholic Archdiocese’s extensive art collection which began over a thousand years ago. Zumthor’s respect for the site’s history and unique character inspired a humble building which gently rises up from the ruins, integrating the new into the old to form a holistically cohesive new building which maintains a spirit of the old: the “architectural concept is reconciliatory and integrative” (cited from Peltason & Ong-Yan, 2010). At first glance the museum appears to be a minimalist, monolithic mass of varied volumes. However, the scale of the building is in keeping with its urban context. Special attention given to the buildings materiality - handmade bricks - subtly blends the museum with surrounding buildings and the masonry of the ruins, through the bricks appropriate colour, size and bond. A play between solid brick and a lattice of open brickwork perforating the building’s skin redeems what might have been another severe museum building and is emphasised in the building’s interior.

Rethinking the use of the ‘in-between’, Piano has transformed the Madison Avenue façade into the new entrance. Facing onto this famous high street is a rectilinear glass and steel structure which facilitates a reading room. Slipping under this elegant, elongated ‘box’ “the full weight of the building bears down upon you, before experiencing the psychic release of the soaring glass atrium” (Ouroussoff, 2006: 2). The cube, respectfully standing at a height lower than that of the original library, is divided into twelve rectilinear panels, reducing this central pavilions scale to human comprehension and giving it a tactile rapport a contrast to that of the weighted and insular buildings on either side. On street level simple glass doors stretch the full length of the façade, blurring the line between inside and outside.

Inside the building light squeezes through the brick latticework creating a dramatic atmosphere which records the time of day and changing seasons the space is never static. Diffused light celebrates the merge of new with old. On upper levels Zumthor shifts the focus from the ruin to the city of Cologne and the art works. Large windows puncture exhibition rooms, strategically framing specific views, connecting the viewer to the city and sculptures which are placed in courtyards adjacent to the museum on ground level.

“Piano is less concerned with form-making than he is with balancing masses, materials, and scales” (Goldberger, 2006: 2). Whilst transforming the Morgan Library into a contemporary and appropriate member of New York life, Piano has also managed to preserve it, celebrating its place in history. The ‘in-between’ space has become an extension of the public realm, the heart of the Morgan Library, and a valued space in the densely populated city of New York.

The detailed attention given to the form, colour, materiality and use of light fuse a once fragmented site to create a monumental piece of historical architecture. Although the sheer scale and proportions of the parasitic museum dominate the ruin, Zumthor has masterfully maintained the ruins dignity, not allowing the new to overpower the old.

“This is one of the greatest modern rooms in New York, not by virtue of grandeur or scale but because of the subtle links it establishes between the Morgan’s older buildings and the rest of the city.” 02. THE PARASITE

196

Photographic images sourced from Google Images. 2013 Sketches are authors.

03. THE IN-BETWEEN

- Paul Goldberger (2006: 2) Photographic images sourced from Google Images. 2013

197

HERZOG & DE MEURON, MADRID 2008

MATERIALITY

The CaixaForum was conceived by its renowned architects, Jacques Herzog and Pierre De Meuron, as an ‘urban magnet’. Commissioned to serve as a gallery with the addition of administrative offices, a restaurant, and auditorium, but also to stimulate civic activity through the inclusion of a plaza - a hybrid space for all Madrid residents and tourists alike. The provided site contained an 1899 power station, “one of the city’s few remaining examples of historically significant industrial architecture” (Anonymous, 2008) and an insignificant gas station; replaced by a small forecourt to compensate for the narrowness of surrounding streets.

Designed to stand as a landmark and celebratory feature of the new, integrated police station, the materiality of the towers becomes significantly important. The search for an appropriate material began on site and continued through the contextual analysis. It then returned to the traditional South African police station with the intention of making connections between elements which are prevalent to the police station and elements which are prevalent to the proposed site’s context. Through these mappings corten steel presented itself as the most suitable material for the ‘job’.

CAIXAFORUM

CORTEN STEEL

The colour orange was a reoccurring colour on many of the buildings surrounding the site. A number of warehouses, offices, and residential buildings were constructed in an orange face brick, the Three Castles Factory, although flaking, is orange, and the Matthew Goniwe House opposite the castle was also orange until it was repainted white in August 2013. Furthermore, when looking southwards along Goud Street an iconic Johannesburg mine dump looms in the distance, its course sandy texture tangible even from afar, similar to the roughness of a raw brick. Studying police stations the orange brick emerged again; a conventional material used for the construction of police stations.

The endearing orange brick shell of the power station, an indication of the buildings age, was the only material the architects were able to use. Elements no longer required were removed in order for the new architecture to be inserted. Through this process of ‘editing’ the structure was separated from the ground. Raised, the power station appears to defy gravity; Herzog and de Meuron describe this condition as the creation of two worlds: one below and one above. The void between these opposing worlds provides a sheltered civic space and simultaneously, an entrance to the building (Etherington, 2008). The striking architectural insertion - similar to Zumthor’s Kolumba Museum - rises out of the power station; the sculptural silhouette derived as a reflection of the contextual roof scape so as not to appear alien. Clad in perforated, oxidised cast-iron panels, the material appropriated for the addition shares a coherency in colour and weight with the brick of the historical mass which supports it. The carefully detailed junctions where new meets old is articulated in a manner which suggests the ‘parasite’ developed naturally as a discourse of time.

Corten steel, also referred to as weathering steel, requires minimal maintenance due to its steel alloy composition. Left to rust, corten steel produces its own protective layer, negating the need for it to be painted. Rather, the material gains strength and resistance to corrosion as it ages - a material well matched with SAPS building requirements. However, no material is perfect. The detailing of joints and drainage is essential when cladding an exterior surface with corten steel. Water left to accumulate prevents the steel from producing protective layers and if not drained properly corrosion can cause the steel to rust through.

Though this outer skin light is filtered into upper floors creating a tranquil experience, whilst on lower floors and within the power station, large windows puncture the walls to create views and to allow light to juxtapose the otherwise expansive, dark interior. Furthermore, in the contained spiralling staircase which proudly sits at the centre of the building, linking basement with rooftop, the monotonous experience of moving between horizontal planes is transcended into a pilgrimage; the intensity of natural light entering through a skylight slowly diffuses as it approaches lower levels. The CaixaForum is a testament to the value of materiality and light in designing buildings; elements which are given insufficient attention considering their contribution towards the defining of a project’s success.

04. THE TOWERS

198

PERIMETER SECTION. The new ‘grows’ out of the old. Herzog and de Meuron. Photographic images sourced from Google Images. 2013

Top Right THE WORKS @ MAIN BUILDING AND THE RESIDENTIAL BUILDING LOOKING ONTO PORT PLEIN PARK. Both buildings are constructed from orange brick. Centre Right PANELS OF CORTEN STEEL The panels sit flush with one another and the joinery is concealed in clever detailing. Bottom Right BROADCASTING TOWER. Feilden Clegg Architects. Leeds, UK (2009) The tower is made distinguishable by the corten steel which it is clad in. Photographic images sourced from Google Images. 2013

199

THE INTEGRATED POLICE STATION 200

INTERIOR VIEW OF THE LOBBY TOWARDS THE COURTYARD The lobby serves as an interface between Port Plein Park and the police station’s courtyard.

201

Level 03

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

FUNCTIONAL DIAGRAMS

Additional Structure: Level 00

Level 02

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUC

Level 01

Additional Structure: Level -01

Private

Secure

02. CIRCULATION

01. PROGRAMME The plan diagrams illustrate the programmatic organisation of the proposed police station. Various programmes overlap, encouraging the SAPS’s / public’s integration whilst maintaining a division between the public and detainees. These spatial overlaps afford spaces the opportunity to be less specific, increasing the potential for chance encounters and the facilitation of the ‘everyday’.

Level -01

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Public and Semi-Public

Level -01

The need to design three different hierarchical ‘levels’ for movement was a challenge. The circulation plans show the various routes of movement according to public, private, and secure separations. Ramps have been designed at all level changes to afford the physically disabled easy access to all spaces.

Existing Structure

03. STRUCTURE The diagram depicts the structural grid of the development. As a result of fragmenting the building, the different programmatic clusters each has their own structural grid. Columns supporting the addition to the Three Castles Factory stand away from the castles façade, thus, reducing the risk of compromising the castle’s structural integrity.

202

DUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Public and Semi-Public

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

Level 00

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

203

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

VEGETATION The following trees and ground covers are proposed for planting inside of the courtyard, on street sidewalks, and in the Port Plein Park. They have each been selected for their biological and aesthetic characteristics; the trees more specifically for the physical function they serve the development’s users throughout the seasons.

01. ACACIA XANTHOPHLOEA

02. ACACIA SIEBERIANA

03. APODYTES DIMIDIATA

04. KNIPHOFIA UVARIA

05. CHLOROPHYTUM BOWKERI

• Indigenous, semi deciduous, striking tree; 15 – 25 metres tall. • Open shape, can be rounded or have a ‘flattish’ crown, sparse typically Acacia like foliage. • Lime green, smooth and often flaking bark. • Long, white, straight paired thorns which in mature trees are almost inconspicuous. • Flowers are clusters of bright yellow balls, sweetly perfumed, blooming in spring. • Brown seed pods follow flowers. • Attracts birds and bees.

• Deciduous tree with delicate brackets of small, feathery leaves in a dark green. • Shape is wide with a flat crown. • Grows to 8 - 10 metres high. • Variegated colour cream, yellow to brown, rough, peeling bark which is distinguishable. • Flowers are scented, small, fluffy balls which appear from spring to summer and attract insects. • Thorns are white, long, straight and in pairs.

• Small bushy tree that grows to a height of 4 - 7 metres. • Evergreen with shiny, bright green leaves, the reverse of which are paler and dull. • Bark – pale grey and smooth. • Blooms are small, white and perfumed. • Used as a shade tree year round. • Non-invasive root system, therefore no damage to paving or foundations. (Ideal for the courtyards planter boxes) • Fruits small and insignificant not a messy tree.

• Indigenous, hardy, evergreen, perennial suitable for sun or shade • Height - approximately 1 metre - thick clump forming, and propagate easily. • Leaves are tough, blue/green in colour, and sword shaped. • Flowers in late spring with long racemes of tubular flowers initially bright orange maturing to greenishyellow.

• Found throughout Southern Africa; indigenous. • Attains a height up to 1 metre. • Clump forming and spreads easily. • Leaves are lance shaped, green and variegated varieties. • Multiple small white flowers borne on long, single branched raceme. • Self propagating seed pods.

FEVER TREE

204

PAPERBACK THORN

WHITE PEAR

RED HOT POKER, TORCH LILLY

(Sheat, 1982.)

205

NORTH ALONG GOUD STREET The Police Station, with its hybrid programme and response to context is integrated with the City and Suburban community and the greater Johannesburg inner city.

206

207

PRODUCED BY AN AUTODESK EDUCATIONAL PRODUCT

SITE PLAN 1:600 5 10 0 metres

208

209

d-d

f-f

e-e

d-d server room lift motor room

ammo. safe

a-a

security check point