Photography James Rogers Stumped
In early 1995, the sprinklers were
turned on in Weld Square in North
Perth. They stayed on for weeks,
effectively forcing the Aborigines who
frequented the site daily to find drier
ground. Although the official explanation
was irrigation, the act resonated with
intolerance and a lack of respect for
Aborigines who express legitimate
claims to land within urban centres.
While much has been said about Mabo
and the rejection of terra nullius,the
fact remains that no native title claim to
an urban area is likely to succeed. Yet
sites of aboriginal significance litter our
urban centres. The obvious question
then is how do we address this clear presence? How do we become
sympathetic to what Paul Carter
describes as the “lie of the land” [ The
Lie of the Land, Faber, 1996]; an
attitude that reflects the subtle shifting
of the ground and recognises different
relationships to it? How do we identify
when an urban landscape is ‘marked’?
Metaphorically speaking, the marked
landscape lies beyond the black
stump, the mythical boundary
separating the colonial presence from
the unknown. It is the ground which
awaits a new reading—a reading which
transcends the existing colonial
discourse and accepts a prior claim to
the land. While the black stump is
currently located outback, both
physically and spiritually, it is just as
present within our cities as it is in the
bush. Not before we can address this
latent anxiety in our own backyards will
we be able to understand the greater
Australian landscape.
With few genuine Aboriginal
perspectives emerging from the
landscape profession, how will
landscape architects equip themselves
for this journey? The current attitude to
Aboriginal affairs needs to be revised in
favour of a more honest and proactive
exchange that eliminates the token
gesture and fully acknowledges the
frustratingly difficult nature of the
problem. Weld Square in Perth is an
interesting example since it has
recently undergone a concept design
and management plan designed to
unearth the multiplicity of relationships
that cross the site, albeit from within a
rather disaffected framework. Site Lines
Weld Square is a curious place,
physically shaped by its colonial
heritage yet spiritually defined by its
black presence. Aborigines had
established a strong connection to the
site prior to white settlement. As one
local commented, “Noongar been living here since God was born probably”.
This association continued after the
establishment of Perth; strengthened by
the location of Aboriginal services in the
nearby streets. Weld Square soon
became a favoured meeting place for
Aborigines from near and far. More
recently this visibility has coincided with
a rise in crime and alcoholism,
reinforcing racist stereotypes and
contributing to a negative perception of
the park.
The result is an uneasy tension
between form and function, a space
characterised by Ignazi de Sola
Morales’ notion of terrain vague [ Kerb:
Journal of Landscape Architecture,
Issue 3, RMIT]. The land has become
unproductive to the city, a temporal
space which operates outside the
existing order. The uncomfortable
silence that has descended over the
square is indicative of the ambiguity it
has created in the minds of many
people, revealed in such shameful
episodes as the sprinkler affair. Today
it survives as a strangely morphed
space, struggling to mediate between its dual histories.
Nevertheless, it is out
of this curious juxtaposition that the
richness of the square can potentially
emerge, providing what Stephen
Muecke describes as “a fluid turbulent
model or framework for understanding”
[ Reading the Country, Benterrak,
Meucke & Roe, Fremantle Arts Centre
Press, 1996]. Representations
Recently there has been growing
discussion as to the most appropriate
form that ‘aboriginality’ should take in
architecture. Several large
commissions, including the Museum of
Victoria, have forced architects to
address the physical representation of
Aboriginality in their buildings [see
‘Architecture About Aborigines’ by Kim
Dovey in Architecture Australia,Vol 85,
No. 4]. The obvious problem to arise is the representation in built form of a
mindset traditionally invested in the
landscape. Given this generalisation,
landscape architecture is perhaps a
more suitable medium to accommodate
an Aboriginal perspective in a manner
which avoids mimicry and superficial
appropriation.
To succeed, landscape architects must
be conscious of the way Aboriginality is
constructed. According to Meucke, the
most common representations fall into
anthropological, romantic (primitive) or
racist assumptions about Aborigines
and tend to be | totalising rather than
specific [ Textural Spaces: Aboriginality
and Cultural Studies,NSW University
Press, 1992]. These are constructed through language and belief systems
and become manifest in the landscape.
The myth of the primitive Australian
landscape relies heavily on a romantic
discourse, while the sprinkler incident
at Weld Square clearly invokes a racist
representation. Similarly, the use of
natural materials and amorphous
shapes may also conform to one or
more of these representations.
The politics of representation are both
dangerous and powerful. Landscape
architects must proceed with caution
when dealing with notions of
Aboriginality. A conscious effort must be
made to avoid predetermined or
stereotypical outcomes. The danger
always lies in speaking on behalf of any
group whose intentions can be difficult
to decipher, making assimilation a very
real, if unintentional, possibility. Structure
The initial difficulty lies in negotiating
the accepted process for such projects.
The system is inherently conservative,
making a radical solution difficult to
deliver. The veil of professionalism and
the motives of profit tend to reinforce
rather than break down typical and
accepted solutions. When dealing with
sensitive issues of race, radical departures are usually called for, yet are
rarely delivered. As with most
established professions, outcomes are
determined by precedence rather than
by invention, perpetuating a backward
rather than a forward-looking focus.
Only when people understand the need
for a radical solution will one eventuate.
In the absence of an alternative
framework, projects under this system
will bear the burden of history rather
than a vision for the future.
Projects which require significant
Aboriginal involvement inevitably
require a closeness both to the site
itself and those connected to it.
Unfortunately, the professional world of
consultants and clients usually denies
such closeness. Projects run to strict
budgets and deadlines which are
insufficient to understand the problems
of the site in any meaningful manner. Consequently, results become too subjective, inconclusive and, worst of all,
difficult to manage. In such projects,
the specificity needs to be recaptured
—by directly engaging the ground,
however difficult to traverse it may be.
Complicating the problem are the
severe limitations imposed by political
correctness. So entrenched has this
phenomenon become that many
projects buckle under its weight and
achieve very little. The normalising
forces at work with political correctness
deny the possibility of bold, innovative
solutions necessary for sites such as
Weld Square. It sadly denies the
possibility of grand failures at the
expense of grand successes. There
must be an acceptance that new ideas
can only emerge through the freedom
to explore new ground, and not through
the repetition of existing, flawed
solutions. The vision, however different,
must be given a voice.
Consultation
The act of consultation is
simultaneously one of the most necessary yet frustrating, components
of any project. It attempts to bridge the
gap between the designer’s personal
conception of space with the needs and
wants of the people who will ultimately
inhabit the space. Mediating this
exchange is difficult, yet is more so
when Aboriginality looms as a major
issue. Not only does it highlight a
history of massive oppression, but
reveals significant differences in
perception and thought. The process of
consultation must do more than
legitimise a project—it must engage
the stakeholders beyond a token
recognition of their presence and
attempt to unearth the multiplicity of
readings that define the site. It is a sad
indictment that so many projects which
offer little in the way of genuine
reconciliation are given token Aboriginal
names. (The Northbridge tunnel, which
will be built beneath Weld Square, has
already been given an Aboriginal name.)
During the Weld Square project, the
delicate nature of the consultative
process soon became evident when the
head of the local Aboriginal Council
intimated that the only way to receive
any Aboriginal feedback was to pay
individuals to attend meetings. Such
payoffs are common in Western
Australia, to the point where many
Aborigines will not attend consultation
meetings unless there is a direct
financial gain. (There was a rumour that
at the opening of Mardalup Park in East
Perth, a family of Aborigines were paid
to be present during the official
presentation.) The landscape architect
is then faced with the moral dilemma of
payment—is it fair to pay Aborigines for
something which is ultimately for their
own good, and do such payments
contribute to a dependency on
handouts? Alternatively, are Aborigines
| 
Above Aborigines gather at Weld Square. Top right Weld Square’s ficus macrophylia (Moreton Bay figs). Top left A sign on a Weld Square fig protests against the Northbridge tunnel being built beneath this site.
merely using the situation to their own advantage by reversing two hundred years of exploitation? The arguments are nebulous, yet are indicative of the dilemmas inherent in the
consultation process.
Complicating the problem is the issue
of visibility and the tendency to accept
silence as an expression of disinterest.
To provide the opportunity to speak is
no longer adequate; the paths of
communication must be extended
and a constant dialogue must be
encouraged. Landscape architects must
put their ears to the ground and listen
more carefully. It soon becomes evident that many
questions raised by Aborigines relate
to much broader issues of social
justice, reconciliation and self-determination. The suggestion that low
wooden fences be placed around the
perimeter of Weld Square to prevent
the police from driving up to groups of
Aborigines meeting in the park clearly
imposes on larger questions of justice. In these situations, landscape architects
are placed in the uncomfortable position
of having to comment on the wider
social context of their work, an
obligation avoided by most.
The political nature of any act must be
recognised and the importance of
initiating discussion—even if this falls
outside the project brief—must be
encouraged. Those involved must not
turn their back on their duty to
comment.
Aboriginal groups themselves are
equally subject to the perils of politically
motivated thought and action, with
many alternative and conflicting
viewpoints held. Negotiating these
can be extremely hazardous, requiring
the landscape architect to be more
aware of the multifarious nature of
indigenous affairs and any prevailing
local conditions. The totalising
construct of Aboriginality needs to be
dismantled in preference to a more
site-specific understanding if
consultation is to be more successful in
recognising the Aboriginal presence in
urban landscapes. Disclosure
For a country which has shamelessly
exported the myth of the Australian
landscape for many years, it is time the
focus returned to more local
interpretations of landscape and how
we can draw together the many
different readings of the land. What
Mabo achieved was to legitimise an
area of study previously repressed by
the colonial discourse, allowing a
legalised framework in which
alternative readings of the land could be
brought forward, albeit in a atmosphere
of immense uncertainty. It has provided
the opportunity for Aborigines
themselves to represent their
relationship to the land, in effect their
“aboriginality”. While we are
participants in this representation, we
can no longer control it.
Landscape architects must learn to
position themselves more effectively
within the competing discourses of
Aboriginality. More time and effort must
be spent, more questions must be
asked and more frustrations must be
felt before the landscape will more
accurately reflect those who participate
in it. Landscape architecture appears
poised to express something uniquely
indigenous in a manner which
architecture has failed to do so far.
Unlike architecture which suffers from
the metaphor of enclosure, the
landscape opens up before us as a
more suitable medium for exchange.
The landscape forces an investigation
into boundaries and connections in a
way which is easily avoided in discreet
built objects. We need to pass beyond
the black stump and discover the
richness present in our own backyards.
Christopher Sawyer is a landscape
architect now working with Paterson
+ Pettus in Melbourne. He spent 1996
living in Perth, where he worked as a
tutor at the University of Western
Australia and a landscape architect
at Plan (E). |
