The movement to democratise London’s public spaces

The Elephant and Castle Shopping Centre in South London

The way that London’s developers and designers create public spaces is starting to change. A new movement involving a relatively small group of people, many of them women, believe the city’s urban spaces could be designed to support their local communities a lot better than they are now.

They’re challenging the way that projects in the public realm are briefed, procured and planned.

“How do we make cities and who are the voices that are being heard about what gets built? In the planning and architectural communities, there is a new wave of trying to open up that conversation,” says Alicia Pivaro, an urbanist and design teacher.

The innocuously-titled Neighbourhood Forums, introduced by David Cameron’s Localism Act in 2011, are supporting this diversity agenda. They enable communities to develop plans for their locality that are formally recognised in the planning process.

In Camden, the Camley Street Neighbourhood Plan, which covers the area north of Kings Cross station, has voiced community concerns and influenced council plans. In south London, VitalOKR, a grassroots group of people living and working near the Old Kent Road, is trying to influence Southwark Council’s planning agenda.

Guerrilla gardener Richard Reynolds fronted a rebellion against Lendlease’s plans to redevelop Heygate Estate in Elephant and Castle, South London, back in 2014—although that was more rogue effort than Forum. “They couldn’t stop the huge Lendlease project, but they definitely saved a lot of trees on the site and shaped the agenda to ensure greener spaces and community growing spaces. But it wasn’t the ideal process,” says Pivaro.

Much of the energy has gone into figuring out how to incorporate diverse voices at an early enough stage to influence the brief. The aim is to head off the corporate architectural styles that so often results from top-down development by councils and developers.

Deborah Saunt of DSDHA, the practice behind Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, says: “You have to go out and talk to people and push away your preconceptions. A lot of architects and designers find it very, very hard to let down their guard and to empathise with the range of often contradictory opinions.”

The Vauxhall project included the experiences of the LGBT community, night-clubbers, families with young children, sixth formers from the local school and professionals working nearby. “You have to be open to input and not to say ‘oh my God, this is too complicated’. If you want to democratise public space you have to respect all of those opinions,” says Saunt.

In Islington, the Central Street masterplan was shaped by a parkour workshop for 13- to 15-year-olds organised by designers We Made That. “We wanted to understand how young people could interact with the space in a way that wasn’t just walking down the street. It looked grey and concrete-y, but seeing it through their eyes we realised it could be incredibly playful,” says Holly Lewis, co-founding partner.

Built-ID, start-up technology firm, is recruiting new voices to property consultations by promoting digital surveys on Facebook and Instagram. “It leads to a more diverse consultation of a wider cross-section of society and not just people who have the time and inclination to go to exhibition meetings,” says founder Savannah de Savary. The firm translates adverts into Urdu and Arabic to connect to hard-to-reach groups and is much better at garnering views from busy working people compared to traditional exhibitions. It’s poised to go live on a consultation about Petticoat Lane Market redevelopment on behalf of the City of London and Tower Hamlets.

City Hall’s decision to embed social value and diversity into its procurement process has nudged diversity higher up the agenda for developers and designers. The measure can now tip the balance on winning or losing a project.

Saunt says: “They’re asking things like, ‘Who’s working in your practice?’ I’ve heard that some people are saying, ‘What do you mean?’ They can no longer just talk about how the project will increase diversity. No, no—it’s, ‘What are you doing personally and as an organisation to make life better for other people who want to participate in the project and in your profession?’ There’s nothing like that relationship between pressure and profit, and being asked those kind of ethical questions at the point of competition, to really help sharpen the mind.”


In South Africa's cities, evictions are happening despite a national ban

An aerial view shows a destroyed house in Lawley, south of Johannesburg, on April 20, 2020. The city has been demolishing informal structures on vacant land despite a moratorium on evictions. (Marco Longari/AFP via Getty Images)

On the morning of 15 July, a South African High Court judge ruled that the city of Cape Town’s Anti-Land Invasion Unit had illegally evicted a man when it destroyed the shack where he was living.

That afternoon, the Anti-Land Invasion Unit was out again, removing shacks in another informal settlement.

Evictions were banned in South Africa for nine weeks, after the national government placed the country under a strict Covid-19 lockdown in late March. At present, eviction orders are automatically suspended until the country moves to a lower “alert level” and can only be carried out with a special order from a judge.

Yet major cities including Cape Town, Johannesburg and eThekwini (created through the merger of Durban with several surrounding communities), have continued to use municipal law enforcement agencies and private security companies to remove people from informal housing. In many cases those operations have been conducted without a court order – something required under regular South African law.

Around 900 people were evicted from three informal settlements in eThekwini during the eviction ban, according to the Church Land Programme, a local NGO. Its director, Graham Philpott, says it’s also aware of evictions in other informal settlements.

While evictions aren’t a “new experience” in these communities, the NGO released a report on lockdown evictions because they were “so explicitly illegal”. “There was a moratorium in place,” Philpott says, “and the local municipality acted quite flagrantly against it. There’s no confusion, there’s no doubt whatsoever, it is illegal. But it is part of a trend where the eThekwini municipality has acted illegally in evicting the poor from informal settlements.”

Evictions also took place in Cape Town and Johannesburg during so-called “hard lockdown” according to local activists. In eThekwini and other municipalities, the evictions have continued despite restrictions. In Cape Town, authorities pulled a naked man, Bulelani Qholani, from his shack. That incident, which was captured on video, drew condemnation from the national government and four members of the Anti-Land Invasion unit were suspended. 

The cities say they’re fighting “land invasions” – illegal occupations without permission from the land owner.

“Land invasions derail housing and service projects, lead to the pollution of waterways, severely prejudice deserving housing beneficiaries and cause property owners to lose their investments over night,” Cape Town’s executive mayor, Dan Plato said in a statement. (Plato has also claimed that Qholani did not live in the shack he was pulled from and that he disrobed when municipal authorities arrived.)

South African municipalities often claim that the shacks they destroy are unoccupied. 

If they were occupied, says Msawakhe Mayisela, a spokesman for the eThekwini municipality, the city would get a court order before conducting an eviction. “Everything we’re doing is within the ambit of the law,” Mayisela says. But “rogue elements” are taking advantage of Covid-19, he added.

“We fully understand that people are desperately in need of land, but the number of people that are flocking to the cities is too much, the city won’t be able to provide housing or accommodation for everyone overnight,” he says. 

While eThekwini claims to be a caring city, local activists say the evictions show otherwise.

In one case, 29 women were evicted from shacks during the hard lockdown. With nowhere to go, they slept in an open field and were arrested by the South African Police Service for violating the lockdown, Philpott says.

“These evictions are dehumanizing people whose dignity is already compromised in many ways,” says S’bu Zikode, the president of Abahlali baseMjondolo, a community organization whose Zulu name translates to “the people of the shacks”. 

“It has reminded us that we are the people that do not count in our society.”

Municipal law enforcement and private security contractors hired by cities regularly fire rubber bullets, or even live ammunition, at residents during evictions. Some 18 Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed since the organization was founded in 2005, Zikode says, most by the eThekwini Land Invasion Unit and Metro Police.

(Mayisela says that if city employees have broken the law, Abahlali baseMjondolo can file a complaint with the police. “There is no conclusive evidence to the effect that our members have killed them,”  he says.)

Other Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed by what Zikode calls “izinkabi,” hitmen hired by politicians. Two eThekwini city councillors were sentenced to life in prison 2016 after they organized the killing of Thuli Ndlovu, an Abahlali baseMjondolo organizer. A member of the Land Invasion Unit who is currently facing a charge of attempted murder after severely injuring a person during an eviction remains on the job, Zikode says.

South Africa’s 1996 constitution is intended to protect the public from arbitrary state violence and guarantees a right to housing, as well as due process in evictions. But for Zikode, the South African constitution is a “beautiful document on a shelf”.

“For the working class and the poor, it’s still difficult to have access to court. You’ve got to have money to get to court,” he says. 

The actions by municipal law enforcement are breaking down social trust, says Buhle Booi, a member of the Khayelitsha Community Action Network, a community group in the largest township in Cape Town.

“There’s a lack of police resources and those very few police resources that they have, they use to destroy people’s homes, to destroy people’s peace, rather than fighting crime, real criminal elements that we see in our society,” Booi says.

For him, it’s a continuation of the practices of the colonial and apartheid governments, pushing poor people, most of whom are Black, to the periphery of cities.

Around one-fifth of South Africa’s urban population live in shacks or informal dwellings, according to a 2018 report by SERI. Many more live in substandard housing. City governments maintain that the shacks destroyed during anti-land invasion operations are unfinished and unoccupied. But Edward Molopi, a research and advocacy officer at SERI, says that this claim is an attempt to escape their legal obligations to get a court order and to find alternative accommodation for affected people. 

The roots of the current eviction crisis go back to apartheid, which barred non-white people from living in cities. Between the 1940s and 1970s, tens of thousands of people were forcibly relocated from neighbourhoods like Johannesburg’s Sophiatown and Cape Town’s District Six to remote townships.

In the 26 years following the end of apartheid, deepening economic inequality and rampant unemployment have limited access to formal housing for millions of South Africans. Government housing programs have mostly focused on building small stand-alone homes, often on the peripheries of cities far from jobs and amenities.

While these well-intentioned projects have built millions of homes, they’ve failed to keep up with demand, says Marie Huchzermeyer, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism & Built Environment Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg. Government-funded housing projects “will never on it’s own be enough,” she says. “It has to be accompanied by land release.”

Government policies call for the “upgrading” of informal settlements and the formalization of residents’ occupation. But “there are still very, very, very few projects” of that nature in South Africa, Huchzermeyer says. “Even if it’s an informal settlement that’s been around for 20 years, there still seems to be a political wish to punish people for having done that.” The government wants people to go through the formal process of being given a house, she says – and for them to be thankful to the government for providing it.

At the municipal level, change will require “real leadership around informal settlement upgrading and around ensuring that land is available for people to occupy,” she says. 

Despite the end of enforced racial segregation, spacial apartheid remains a factor in South Africa. There are few mixed-income neighbourhoods. Those who can afford to often live behind walls in sprawling low-density suburbs, while the poor live in overcrowded slums and apartment buildings.

The creation of the apartheid city “didn't happen by chance,” says Amira Osman, a professor of architecture at the Tshwane University of Technology. “It was a deliberate, structured approach to the design of the city. We need a deliberate, structured approach that will undo that.”

Since last fall, Johannesburg’s Inclusionary Housing Policy has required developments of 20 or more units to set aside 30% of those units for low-income housing.

The policy, which faced significant opposition from private developers, won’t lead to dramatic change, says Sarah Charlton, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism and Built Environment Studies, but it is “an important and significant step.”

Zikode isn’t optimistic that change will come for shack dwellers, however.

“People in the high positions of authority pretend that everything is normal,” he says. “They pretend that everyone is treated justly, they pretend that everyone has homes with running water, that everyone has a piece of land – and hide the truth and the lies of our democracy.”

Jacob Serebrin is a freelance journalist currently based in Johannesburg. Follow him on Twitter.