Here's how Australia's cities have grown over the last 30 years

More than any other Australian city, Melbourne has led a 30-year turnaround in inner-city density (red indicates increases and blue decreases in density as persons per square kilometre). Image: author provided.

Since settlement, Australian cities have been shaped and reshaped by history, infrastructure, natural landscapes and – importantly – policy.

So, have our cities changed much in the last 30 years? Have consolidation policies had any effect? Have we contained sprawl? Yes, probably and maybe, according to our newly published research.

Reviving the centre

The great Australian baby boomer dream of home ownership caused our cities to spread out during the second half of the 20th century. Urban fringes expanded with affordable land releases, large residential blocks and cheap private transport.

By the 1980s, across Australia’s cities, the urban fringes were ever-expanding. Inner areas had become sparsely populated “doughnut cities”.

By the end of that decade urban researchers, planners, geographers and economists began to warn of looming environmental, social and housing affordability problems due to unrestrained sprawling growth.


Governments responded swiftly, focusing policy attention on urban consolidation through programs such as Greenstreet and Building Better Cities. Concerned individuals formed groups such as Smart Growth and New Urbanism to promote inner-city development and increased urban density.

Since this time, large- and small-scale policy interventions have attempted to repopulate the inner- and middle-urban areas. The common policy goal has been to encourage more compact, less sprawling cities. Subdivision, dual occupancy, infill development, smaller block sizes, inner-city apartments and the repurposing of non-residential buildings have all been used.

Mapping the changes

In a newly published paper, we map the changing shape of Australia’s five largest mainland cities (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, Adelaide) from 1981 to 2011.

Across each of these cities, which together are home to 60 per cent of Australians, there has been substantial, suburbanisation and re-urbanisation. In the last 20 years this has resulted in a repopulation of inner cities.

In Melbourne’s case, the return to the inner city has been particularly pronounced in the last decade. Here, the population jumped from around 3,000 to 4,000 people per km². The extent of this change is visualised in the chart below.

Melbourne may well be the exemplar for inner-city rebirth. More than any other Australian city it demonstrates the 30-year turnaround from inner-city decline to densification.

Between 1981 and 1991 Melbourne became a classic “doughnut city”: population declining in inner areas, density increasing in the middle-ring suburbs, and growth steady in the outer suburbs. For example, in the inner 5km ring there was a decrease during this time of almost 200 people per km².

From 1991 to 2001, even though growth was still focused on the middle and outer areas, the inner area began to be repopulated. Overall, between 1981 and 2011 there were approximately 1,500 more people per square kilometre living in the inner 5km ring.

Over the last decade, greenfield development, infill and urban regeneration have increased urban density throughout Melbourne – as shown in the five-yearly map animation below.

Changes in Melbourne population density (persons/km² over the 30 years to 2011: red is increasing, blue is decreasing). Image: author provided.

While the turnarounds in Sydney, Brisbane, Adelaide and Perth have been less marked than in Melbourne, they are all no longer “doughnut cities”. This means that where people live in these cities has changed.

Australia’s cities are now more densely populated – and we are much more likely to live in inner areas than we were 30 years ago.

A result of government policy?

We can probably attribute the changes in where urban Australians live to government consolidation policies.

The policy focus throughout the late 1980s and early 1990s was based on incentives to repopulate inner and middle areas.

Policies were changed from 2000 to increase population density across whole metropolitan areas. State and territory strategic plans aimed to promote urban consolidation, with a focus on the inner city.

State and territory plans now focus much more on specific zones throughout the whole of the city, including former industrial areas and surplus government land. New housing development occurs within these defined zones, particularly around transport and areas with urban-renewal potential.

South Australia’s 30-Year Plan for Greater Adelaide targets growth in “current urban lands”, along major transport corridors and hubs. Similarly, the Plan Melbourne – Metropolitan Planning Strategy plans to establish the “20-minute neighbourhood”, contain new housing within existing urban boundaries, and focus development in new urban renewal precincts.

The map visualisations reinforce the scale of this absolute growth across each of the five major Australian cities over the last 30 years.

Have we contained sprawl?

Our research would suggest urban-consolidation policies have slowed but not prevented sprawl, especially in the faster-growing cities like Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth and Sydney.

So, have we reached the point at which our cities are full? How can we accommodate future population growth? And do we need to focus our attention on new urban areas?

Containing and, more importantly, controlling sprawl may present the next big challenge.

Neil Coffee is a senior research fellow in health geography at the University of South AustraliaEmma Baker is associate professor at the School of Architecture and Built Environment, and Jarrod Lange a senior research consultant (GIS) in the Hugo Centre for Migration and Population Research, at the University of Adelaide.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

Two of the graphics in this article were updated to clarify that population density changes were shown in persons per square kilometre, consistent with the measure used in the text.The Conversation

 
 
 
 

A nation that doesn’t officially exist: on Somaliland’s campaign to build a national library in Hargeisa

The Somaliland National Library, Hargeisa. Image: Ahmed Elmi.

For seven years now, there’s been a fundraising campaign underway to build a new national library in a nation that doesn’t officially exist. 

Since 2010, the Somali diaspora have been sending money, to pay for construction of the new building in the capital, Hargeisa. In a video promoting the project, the British journalist Rageeh Omar, who was born in Mogadishu to a Hargeisa family, said it would be... 

“...one of the most important institutions and reference points for all Somalilanders. I hope it sets a benchmark in terms of when a country decides to do something for itself, for the greater good, for learning and for progress – that anything can be achieved.”

Now the first storey of the Somaliland National Library is largely complete. The next step is to fill it with books. The diaspora has been sending those, too.

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Some background is necessary here to explain the “country that doesn’t exist” part. During the Scramble for Africa of the 1880s, at the height of European imperialism, several different empires established protectorates in the Somali territories on the Horn of Africa. In 1883, the French took the port of Djibouti; the following year, the British grabbed the north coast, which looks out onto the Gulf of Aden. Five years after that, the Italians took the east coast, which faces the Indian Ocean.

And, excepting some uproar during World War II, so things remained for the next 70 years or so.

The Somali territories in 1890. Image: Ingoman/Wikimedia Commons.

When the winds of change arrived in 1960, the British and Italian portions agreed to unite as the Somali Republic: a hair-pin shaped territory, hugging the coast and surrounding Ethiopia on two sides. But British Somaliland gained its independence first: for just five days, at the end of June 1960, it was effectively an independent country. This will become important later.

(In case you are wondering what happened to the French bit, it voted to remain with France in a distinctly dodgy referendum. It later became independent as Djibouti in 1977.)

The new country, informally known as Somalia, had a difficult history: nine years of democracy ended in a coup, and were followed by the 22 year military dictatorship under the presidency of General Siad Barre. In 1991, under pressure from rebel groups including the Hargeisa-based Somali National Movement (SNM), Barre fled, and his government finally collapsed. So, in effect, did the country.

For one thing, it split in two, along the old colonial boundaries: the local authorities in the British portion, backed by the SNM, made a unilateral declaration of independence. In the formerly Italian south, though, things collapsed in a rather more literal sense: the territory centred on Mogadishu was devastated by the Somali civil war, which has killed around 500,000, displaced more than twice that, and is still officially going on.

Somalia (blue) and Somaliland (yellow) in 2016. Image: Nicolay Sidorov/Wikimedia Commons.

The north, meanwhile, got off relatively lightly: today it’s the democratic and moderately prosperous Republic of Somaliland. It claims to be the successor to the independent state of Somaliland, which existed for those five days in June 1960.

This hasn’t persuaded anybody, though, and today it’s the only de facto sovereign state that has never been recognised by a single UN member. Reading about it, one gets the distinct sense that this is because it’s basically doing okay, so its lack of diplomatic recognition has never risen up anyone’s priority list.

Neither has its library.

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Rageeh Omar described the site of the new library in his fundraising video. It occupies 6,000m2 in the middle of Hargeisa, two minutes from the city’s main hospital, 10 from the presidential palace. In one sequence he stands on the half-completed building’s roof and points out the neighbours: the city’s main high street, with the country’s largest shopping mall; the Ministry of Telecoms that lies right next door.

This spiel, in a video produced by the project’s promoters, suggests something about the new library: that part of its job is to be another in this list of landmarks, more evidence that Hargeisa, a city of 1.5m, should be recognised as the proper capital of a real country.

But it isn’t just that: the description of the library’s function, in the government’s Strategic Plan 2013-2023, makes clear it’s also meant to be a real educational facility. NGOS, the report notes, have focused their resources on primary schools first, secondary schools second and other educational facilities not at all. (This makes sense, given that they want most bang for their buck.)

And so, the new building will provide “the normal functions of public library, but also... additional services that are intentionally aimed at solving the unique education problems of a post conflict society”. It’ll provide books for a network of library trucks, providing “book services” to the regions outside Hargeisa, and a “book dispersal and exchange system”, to provide books for schools and other educational facilities. There’ll even be a “Camel Library Caravan that will specifically aim at accessing the nomadic pastoralists in remote areas”.

All this, it’s hoped, will raise literacy levels, in English as well as the local languages of Arabic and Somali, and so boost the economy too.

As described. Image courtesy of Nimko Ali.

Ahmed Elmi, the London-based Somali who’s founder and director of the library campaign, says that the Somaliland government has invested $192,000 in the library. A further $97,000 came from individual and business donors in both Hargeisa and in the disaspora. “We had higher ambitions,” Elmi tells me, “but we had to humble our approach, since the last three years the country has been suffering from a large drought.”

Now the scheme is moving to its second phase: books, computers and printers, plus landscaping the gardens. This will cost another $175,000. “We are also open to donations of books, furniture and technology,” Emli says. “Or even someone with technical expertise who can help up set-up the librarian system instead of a contemporary donation of a cash sum.” The Czech government, in fact, has helped with the latter: it’s not offered financial support, but has offered to spend four weeks training two librarians.  

Inside the library.

On internet forums frequented by the Somali diaspora, a number of people have left comments about the best way to do this. One said he’d “donated all my old science and maths schoolbooks last year”. And then there’s this:

“At least 16 thousand landers get back to home every year, if everyone bring one book our children will have plenty of books to read. But we should make sure to not bring useless books such celebrity biography books or romantic novels. the kids should have plenty of science,maths and vocational books.”

Which is good advice for all of us, really.


Perhaps the pithiest description of the project comes from its Facebook page: “Africa always suffers food shortage, diseases, civil wars, corruption etc. – but the Somaliland people need a modern library to build a better place for the generations to come.”

The building doesn’t look like much: a squat concrete block, one storey-high. But there’s something about the idea of a country coming together like this to build something that’s rather moving. Books are better than sovereignty anyway.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and also has a Facebook page now for some reason. 

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