What exactly is “architecture for the common good”? The new MacEwen Award just found out

The upcycled building as it appears in Stockwell today. Image: Hugh Pearman.

We all know what one of the problems is, when it comes to buildings. Naked speculation. Greed.

In other words, the erection of buildings – often involving the destruction of other, perfectly good, perhaps even historic, buildings – for the sole purpose of enriching their developers and overseas investors. This, rather than, say, providing genuinely affordable housing, excellent schools, good places to live and work, hospitals that might make you feel a bit better, and so on – you know the kind of thing.

Hence the new MacEwen Award. It’s subtitled: “Architecture for the Common Good”.  

I launched the award as a zero-budget affair that was more of a journalistic investigation than anything. I edit an architecture magazine, the RIBA Journal.  Malcolm MacEwen had been an activist ex-Communist predecessor in my chair in the 1960s and early 1970s, campaigning successfully to reform what had become a mistrusted profession. His wife Anni, no less politically engaged, was a leading conservation-based town planner, who had doubts about the rule of the motor car way before anyone else in her line of business. 


I’d noticed that there was once again increasing unease in the architecture profession – especially at its younger end – about some of the sometimes regrettable things architects were getting associated with.  What about the good stuff, though? The ethical stuff?

There’s nothing wrong with commerce, you understand – great cities have always been all about commerce, and the homes and offices and resorts of the wealthy are part of that. But I also knew that there was another kind of architecture going on in the UK – often unsung, often small-scale, low budget.

Sometimes it involves new buildings; sometimes doing clever things with existing ones, and sometimes it’s not really buildings at all, more open space, or the streets. 

So we launched the MacEwen Award as a way to winkle these out.  We grandly said that whatever was entered should be of demonstrable benefit across society – whatever that meant.

Vague though all this was, it worked.  We got more than 80 entries, made a longlist of 39, and our judges whittled it down to a final dozen or so. Finally, we ended up with a winner, a couple of commendations and a special mention.

People sent us community-aware schools, properly affordable housing projects, imaginative youth centres, sundry social enterprises, welcoming healthcare buildings, streetscape improvements, and rural access schemes. Ultimately, though, the winner was a second-hand wooden hut in South London.

 

A squad of volunteers helps to reassemble the reborn building on its minimal foundations. Image: Jessica Thom/author provided.

Inside the building. Image: Benjamin Marks/author provided. 

But a noble one. The Oasis Children’s Venture in Stockwell is an inheritor of the post-war bombsite adventure playground movement, making good things happen in what can be a tough area.  The group needed a building kids could use in bad weather, but couldn’t afford to build a new one. 

Then it transpired that a very different organisation, Coin Street Community Builders on the South Bank – the group behind a lot of good co-op housing there, plus the OXO building and much else – actually had a 1988 building to give away.

 

The beautiful delicate timber system was designed by Walter Segal. Image: Benjamin Marks/author provided.

The building in question was built to an ultra-simple bolt-together timber construction method by an architect called Walter Segal. He had invented the system in the 1970s so people could build their own homes easily and cheaply.

Coin Street had adapted his system for their HQ building – but 25 years later, they no longer needed it. You can have it, they said to Oasis – so long as you take it to bits and take it away.

So – thanks to two determined architecture students, Matt Atkins and Benjamin Marks – they did so. Oasis recruited squads of volunteers; Atkins and Marks designed a new configuration for Segal’s kit of parts and led the way with spanners themselves. And so the building was taken in hundreds of bits to Stockwell and re-assembled in a different shape which suited its new use. And for the past three years it has been well used.

Inside the building. Image: Benjamin Marks/author provided. 

How could the MacEwen Award judges not love this? Not just the use it was put to; not just the dedication of volunteers or the design skills of Marks and Atkins; but the fact that a whole building could be moved and upcycled – boiler and radiators included – in this nifty medieval way. It’s an elegant post-and-beam system, too: it looks good. It has no obvious style you can readily date it by. It works. Clever old Walter Segal.

And bear this in mind: it started its new life at 25 years old. That’s the age when plenty of seemingly permanent heavyweight buildings costing untold millions in the City of London, say, get demolished and replaced – and that’s the end of them. Just a bit wasteful. 

Our inaugural MacEwen Award winner, in contrast, is the very antidote to waste.  And here’s the clincher. It’s a great thing, loads of people made it happen – and nobody made any money out of it. 

Hugh Pearman is editor of the RIBA Journal and the former architecture critic of The Sunday Times.

You can find out more about the MacEwen Award at RIBAJ.com.

 
 
 
 

What does the fate of Detroit tell us about the future of Silicon Valley?

Detroit, 2008. Image: Getty.

There was a time when California’s Santa Clara Valley, bucolic home to orchards and vineyards, was known as “the valley of heart’s delight”. The same area was later dubbed “Silicon Valley,” shorthand for the high-tech combination of creativity, capital and California cool. However, a backlash is now well underway – even from the loyal gadget-reviewing press. Silicon Valley increasingly conjures something very different: exploitation, excess, and elitist detachment.

Today there are 23 active Superfund toxic waste cleanup sites in Santa Clara County, California. Its culture is equally unhealthy: Think of the Gamergate misogynist harassment campaigns, the entitled “tech bros” and rampant sexism and racism in Silicon Valley firms. These same companies demean the online public with privacy breaches and unauthorised sharing of users’ data. Thanks to the companies’ influences, it’s extremely expensive to live in the area. And transportation is so clogged that there are special buses bringing tech-sector workers to and from their jobs. Some critics even perceive threats to democracy itself.

In a word, Silicon Valley has become toxic.

Silicon Valley’s rise is well documented, but the backlash against its distinctive culture and unscrupulous corporations hints at an imminent twist in its fate. As historians of technology and industry, we find it helpful to step back from the breathless champions and critics of Silicon Valley and think about the long term. The rise and fall of another American economic powerhouse – Detroit – can help explain how regional reputations change over time.

The rise and fall of Detroit

The city of Detroit became a famous node of industrial capitalism thanks to the pioneers of the automotive age. Men such as Henry Ford, Horace and John Dodge, and William Durant cultivated Detroit’s image as a centre of technical novelty in the early 20th century.

The very name “Detroit” soon became a metonym for the industrial might of the American automotive industry and the source of American military power. General Motors president Charles E. Wilson’s remark that, “For years I thought what was good for our country was good for General Motors, and vice versa,” was an arrogant but accurate account of Detroit’s place at the heart of American prosperity and global leadership.

The public’s view changed after the 1950s. The auto industry’s leading firms slid into bloated bureaucratic rigidity and lost ground to foreign competitors. By the 1980s, Detroit was the image of blown-out, depopulated post-industrialism.

In retrospect – and perhaps as a cautionary tale for Silicon Valley – the moral decline of Detroit’s elite was evident long before its economic decline. Henry Ford became famous in the pre-war era for the cars and trucks that carried his name, but he was also an anti-Semite, proto-fascist and notorious enemy of organised labor. Detroit also was the source of defective and deadly products that Ralph Nader criticized in 1965 as “unsafe at any speed”. Residents of the region now bear the costs of its amoral industrial past, beset with high unemployment and poisonous drinking water.


A new chapter for Silicon Valley

If the story of Detroit can be simplified as industrial prowess and national prestige, followed by moral and economic decay, what does that say about Silicon Valley? The term “Silicon Valley” first appeared in print in the early 1970s and gained widespread use throughout the decade. It combined both place and activity. The Santa Clara Valley, a relatively small area south of the San Francisco Bay, home to San Jose and a few other small cities, was the base for a computing revolution based on silicon chips. Companies and workers flocked to the Bay Area, seeking a pleasant climate, beautiful surroundings and affordable land.

By the 1980s, venture capitalists and companies in the Valley had mastered the silicon arts and were getting filthy, stinking rich. This was when “Silicon Valley” became shorthand for an industrial cluster where universities, entrepreneurs and capital markets fuelled technology-based economic development. Journalists fawned over successful companies like Intel, Cisco and Google, and analysts filled shelves with books and reports about how other regions could become the “next Silicon Valley”.

Many concluded that its culture set it apart. Boosters and publications like Wired magazine celebrated the combination of the Bay Area hippie legacy with the libertarian individualism embodied by the late Grateful Dead lyricist John Perry Barlow. The libertarian myth masked some crucial elements of Silicon Valley’s success – especially public funds dispersed through the U.S. Defense Department and Stanford University.

The ConversationIn retrospect, perhaps that ever-expanding gap between Californian dreams and American realities led to the undoing of Silicon Valley. Its detachment from the lives and concerns of ordinary Americans can be seen today in the unhinged Twitter rants of automaker Elon Musk, the extreme politics of PayPal co-founder Peter Thiel, and the fatuous dreams of immortality of Google’s vitamin-popping director of engineering, Ray Kurzweil. Silicon Valley’s moral decline has never been clearer, and it now struggles to survive the toxic mess it has created.

Andrew L. Russell, Dean, College of Arts & Sciences; Professor of History, SUNY Polytechnic Institute and Lee Vinsel, Assistant Professor of Science and Technology Studies, Virginia Tech.

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