Taking Down [Hi-]Story & Making [Hi]Story

On December 30, 2006, as Saddam Husein was executed at Iraq’s dawn, a small community was woken up abruptly at Bangkok’s dawn by the sound of hammers knocking down doors, windows, and walls. The dawn is not the only aspect on how the stories relate.

Wang Lee community has been living in Chareon Krong 52 Lane by the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok. Renting out shop houses on a land that belongs to Wat Yannava for the past 80 to more than 100 years, they are currently under threat of eviction from this temple landlord.

Two years ago, the temple decided not to extend their leases, and instead offered the land out to gain much better profit from a developer. 40,000 Baht (US$1,100) was offered as compensation for a family and approximately half of the community accepted the offer and moved out. But the rest want to stay, for the reasons that they have no where else to go, and they have formed an interlinked of families that make up a living history of Bangkok.

Most of Wang Lee community members are descendants of Chinese immigrants in Bangkok, some still have three and few even four generations living under the same roof. Their shop houses are living proofs of historical trading between China and Thailand. Although the buildings do not fall under historical conservation of Bangkok, they are nevertheless constructed ingeniously for the local climate. The shop houses are designed to be naturally ventilated, crossing the opening on the first-floor of the shop front to a double- or a triple- floor height ceiling with manually-operable roofs for ventilation.

Nevertheless, these facts do not seem to matter for the temple landlord. For the past two years, the chief monk at the temple has not agreed to meet directly with the people, making them start a series of negotiations with various government agencies, and a social activism supported and facilitated by NGOs and university lecturers. The community has lost in a court battle against the temple, and although the community has applied to appeal the case, the temple landlord has set up a January 4, 2007 deadline for all tenants to move out.

Hoping that the appeal to the court will delay the deadline, the community did not expect some twenty construction workers to come early in the morning, on the long New Year Day weekend, before the deadline is actually due.

As I arrived at the area, some fourteen empty shop-houses were already partially demolished.

Anxious citizens, shouting, talking, standing, staring
Fingers typing and phones ringing, informing, repeating, urging
East to West pacing, policemen standing, sitting, idling

Displaced doors and windows, knocking, banging, moving
Wooden stacks and piles on concrete pavements, waiting
Knocked-down walls of hundred years, grieving

After knocking down security measures and making signifying holes in the shop houses, the construction workers abruptly left the premises. The act of terrorizing has been achieved. Nevertheless, the community has not given up their hopes in keeping their living history, thanks to political, governmental, social, civil, and academic supports they have received. Click here for Bangkok Post's version of the story.

As Saddam’s execution made the day’s world [hi-]story (history and/or hi-story), what to make of the living [hi]story (history and/or story) of Iraqis people? How much would his death really matter in the making of current and future suffering and/or happiness of most Iraqis people and others affected by Saddam’s life? As parts of Wang Lee’s shop houses became history, what to make of the living [hi]story of this historical community in Bangkok? They may or may not succeed in keeping their homes, yet what has been gained, or lost, during the process of taking down parts of the history?

What if the hi-story of major relevance to few (media and political, or private enterprise in this case) is replaced by the [hi]story of everyday people? Perhaps only then could everyone look forward to the New Year.

Have a Happy Holiday (Brought to You by ...)

Apologies for the long absence from blogging. I'm currently in Bangkok, conducting research on Bangkok's urban poor. More to report later when I have access to internet on a more regular basis. But for now, here's some pictures of Christmas in Bangkok, in which Christmas is not even a public holiday, but where Christmas is nevertheless celebrated - however commercially. The stars above the trees are of the sponsoring banks.

On a more sincere end: Wishing all of you a Happy Holiday and a Happy New Year.

Fresh Angles (from a Sick Bed)

I had been pretty much bedridden with fever for three days since Tuesday – which I used as yet another excuse to read non-work related books. The first one is a continuation of Junichiro Tanizaki saga: “The Secret History of the Lord of Musashi” [1], and the second one is a science book my friend dropped for another friend, but which I confiscated out of necessity at least for the time being: Richard Dawkins’ “The Selfish Gene”.

By the title and the cover, their difference couldn’t be starker. Yet, upon finishing Tanizaki and starting Dawkins, it is their similarity that is most striking: it is how each author deliberately set up their work by looking at an old issue from a “fresh” angle (the books are written in 1931 and in 1976 respectively, thus the quotation marks capturing the word fresh).

Tanizaki experimented on how most Japanese history books were traditionally written: very matter of fact, focusing on the male figures, leaving out the role of females and the private lives of the heroes. In “The Secret History”, Tanizaki created a novel precisely where these history books left off: by looking into the private lives of the heroes, and focusing specifically on the role of females in making ‘history’. He even went as far as fabricating two historical sources he quoted over and over throughout the novel. The result is a bizarre yet comical, ahistorical yet wildly imaginative, piece of literature [2].

Dawkins in “The Selfish Gene”, on the other hand, presented Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution and the famous ‘survival of the fittest’ with a new light by asking a question: survival of what? Is it the species, the group, the individual, or the gene? The title obviously gave out Dawkins’ version: it’s the survival of the gene. So that takes care of the third word of the title. The second title word, selfish, represented his other unorthodox argument: that human beings are innately selfish, not, as many would like to believe, altruistic [3].

Not completely convinced how significant a fresh angle can be?

In the preface to 1989 edition of the book, Dawkins, an etymologist and a professor of zoology at Oxford University, illustrated his intent to present a new angle in presenting the theory of evolution by using the metaphor of the Necker cube. In his own rather long words:

“This is a two-dimensional pattern of ink on paper [and now pattern of dots on your computer screen], but it is perceived as a transparent, three-dimensional cube. Stare at it for a few seconds and it will change to face in a different direction. Carry on staring and it will flip back to the original cube. Both cubes are equally compatible with the two-dimensional data on the retina, so the brain happily alternates between them. Neither is more correct than the other. …

I now think that this metaphor was too cautious. Rather than propose a new theory or unearth a new fact, often the most important contribution a scientist can make is to discover a new way of seeing old theories or facts. The Necker cube is misleading because it suggests that the two ways of seeing are equally good. To be sure, the metaphors gets it partly right: ‘angles’, unlike theories, cannot be judged by experiment; we cannot resort to our familiar criteria of verification and falsification. But a change of vision can, at its best, achieve something loftier than a theory. It can usher in a whole climate of thinking, in which many exciting and testable theories are born, and unimagined facts laid bare. The Necker cube metaphor misses this completely. It captures the idea of a flip in vision, but fails to do justice in its value. What we are talking about is not a flip to an equivalent view but, in extreme cases, a transfiguration.”

Richard Dawkins, “The Selfish Gene”, Oxford University Press, New Edition, 1989: xviii-ix.

Note:
[1] If you’re wondering where is the best place in Jakarta to get Japanese novels, you definitely should go to Periplus in Sudirman Place. They sell Japanese novels from Rp. 15.000,- to Rp.40.000,- per book! Not sure if this is applicable in other Periplus outlets, though.
[2] His other essay within the same book that I haven’t read, “Arrowroot”, is apparently based on actual historical accounts.
[3] I’ve only read about a quarter of the book, so can’t quite elaborate yet on the specifics of the book.

On Dreams and Imaginations

Here’s a quotation from a bookmark my brother brought from his recent business trip to Singapore, courtesy of The Mandarin Oriental Hotel:

If you can imagine it, you can create it.
If you can dream it, you can become it.
William Arthur Ward

On Calvino and Tanizaki

Two literary works that are often referred to by architects are Italo Calvino’s “Invisible Cities” and Junichiro Tanizaki’s “In Praise of Shadows”. These past few weeks, out of procrastination, I read other works by these authors, namely Calvino’s “Marcovaldo, or The seasons in the city”, and Tanizaki’s “Naomi”, and “The Key”.

After reading Tanizaki’s novels, followed by Calvino’s, the contrast between the two is indeed striking. Tanizaki is definitely a master (along with Yukio Mishima and Yasunari Kawabata) in capturing beauty in tranquility, perversity, and sadness, revealing the darker side, psychologically repressed life. Meanwhile, Calvino (like Umberto Eco) is a master in finding humor, irony, wittiness, quirkiness in an otherwise mundane and even death-threatened life (think of the movie “Life is Beautiful”). Could these reflect the particularity of Japanese and Italian societies?

Here’s how Tanizaki pictures the built environment:

“I found the house easily. For a few minutes I walked up and down the street in front, studying the layout. There was a fine stone gate, beyond which the grounds were densely wooded. A gravel path weaved through the trees and shrubs to a secluded entrance. The faded writing on the nameplate, “Okubo Villa,” and the mossy stone wall surrounding a spacious garden gave the place the look of a venerable estate, rather than of a summer residence.”

From Tanizaki, J., “Naomi”, 1924. Translation by Chamber, A.H., Tuttle Publishing, 1985: 138.

Here’s how Calvino depicts the city:

“The city of cats and the city of men exist one inside the other, but they are not the same city. … in this vertical city, in this compressed city where all voids tend to fill up and every block of cement tends to mingle with other blocks of cement, a kind of counter-city opens, a negative city, that consists of empty slices between wall and wall, of the minimal distances ordained by the building regulations between two constructions, between the rear of one construction and the rear of the next; it is a city of cavities, wells, air conduits, driveways, inner yards, accesses to basements, like a network of dry canals on a planet of stucco and tar, and it is through this network, grazing the walls, that the ancient cat population still scurries.”

From Calvino, I., “The garden of stubborn cats”, in “Marcovaldo, or The seasons in the city” 1963. Translation by Weaver, W., Harvest Book, 1983: 101-102.

Values and Sensibility

From an interview with Eko Prawoto:

“Manusia itu adaptif, bisa tinggal di lingkungan ekstrem panas dingin, luas sempit, tapi juga nanti ada satu saat dimana dia rindu pada hal-hal yang tertanam kuat dalam diri. Semacam nilai-nilai rasa.”

See here for full article in today’s Kompas.

May this bring light to this and this?

From the same interview, Prawoto revealed that from the late Mangunwijaya he learnt:

“Yang didapat dari Romo Mangun adalah aspek tektonika, kepekaan bagaimana teknik menyambung, mempertemukan bahan dan mengartikan sambungan, bagaimana memahami kodrat dan bakat dari bahan, kreativitasnya, juga pada keberanian untuk berbeda, dan mencari dari dalam. Melihat persoalan dari persoalan itu sendiri, tidak risau dengan sekitar. Tidak tentang kulit tapi dari spirit. (Pada akhirnya arsitektur harus) memerdekakan manusia …” [my emphasis].

I stumble over the parts in italics with my students. And I wonder how did Mangunwijaya convey these through his teaching?

Learning from Everything

I finally got my own copy of the classic “Learning from Las Vegas” and finished reading it over the break. Here’s an excerpt from the book:

There is a perversity in the learning process: We look backward at history and tradition to go forward; we can also look downward to go upward. And withholding judgment may be used as a tool to make later judgment more sensitive. This is a way of learning from everything.
Venturi, Brown & Izenour, “Learning from Las Vegas”, revised edition, The MIT Press, 1977: 3.

Have a Branded Ied

As if holiday season has not been commercialized and transformed enough with mobile technology, here’s a text message I received from a friend that captures it all :)

Hatiku mungkin gak sebening XL atau secerah Mentari.
Banyak salah yang kubuat.
Fren, kuminta Simpati-mu.
Bebas-kan aku dengan maafmu.
Selamat Idul Fitri 1427H.
Semoga amal ibadah kita mendapat acungan Jempol di mata-Nya.

Mall Hopping

With parents and old friends coming to town, I went out entertaining people most of the time during this holiday break. And guess where we go? The malls. Where else could we Jakartans go? And guess why Jakarta’s streets seem so deserted? Its because those who are in town are in the malls. These places are literally swamped with people, I get so drained from simply being immersed in the wasted energy. Traffic aside, where else could one walk around in Jakarta without being devoured by its pollution, heat and humidity?

Ied in/and Jakarta

The Ied is just around the corner now. Nicest time of the year to be in Jakarta: traffic-free streets and significantly reduced density. The atmosphere even feel almost eerie as you start wondering whether everyone has evacuated the city because they know something you don’t.

Holidays like the Ied here in Indonesia or Thanksgiving in America always make big impact on the density of cities, as millions of people are travelling to be with their families and relatives, or simply taking time off for a vacation away from home – wherever that may be.

In a city like Jakarta, where millions of its population are migrant workers (including myself), the impact of Ied is extremely significant. You suddenly realize how overly crowded the city is, and how inefficient it runs normally. And you start thinking how nice it would be to experience the city when your mood is not clouded by the irritation you get from being in traffic.

Enjoy it while it lasts! Happy holidays and Selamat Hari Raya Idul Fitri 1427 H.

Why Architecture is Important

Having said that importance of anything is subjective in this posting, here is a posting to argue why architecture is important, objectively speaking.

Here’s a start: The study of architecture is the study of the built environment. By this definition, then anything built (be it actual, mental, virtual, or hyper, to name a few) by human is architecture. The discipline has existed as long as human has started to build on natural environment. It is one of the oldest and most developed disciplines of knowledge. Few other disciplines could pose this reason as an argument.

Altogether, the actual built environment (buildings of all kinds) creates what we know as human settlements, where cultures take form and create civilizations. All kinds of civilizations, in turn, leave behind settlements, some of which that survived enable us to understand about human history on this earth and its development over time. This bit especially explains the close relationship of architecture with cultures, sciences (hard and soft) and arts (fine and applied).

The mental built environment happens inside our minds. As we can walk through spaces in real life, we can also walk through spaces within our minds (for example, when we read description of places in literature). But, I would argue, mental built environment goes beyond walking through spaces mentally.

Mental built environment includes the creation of images we have within our minds, how we construct our thoughts, how we structure the world around us to understand it, how things fall into place. The actual built environment affects the creation of our mental built environment, and vice versa. This is why the design of actual built environment matters and why the creation of mental built environment is pertinent. This bit especially explains the close relationship of architecture with literature (of all kinds), thinking, and philosophy.

The virtual built environment refers to any computer-generated environment. This is one of the later mutations of architecture that has breached into previously unexplored frontiers. Likewise, architecture has crept into other disciplines, including computer.

The hyper built environment is also another later mutation of architecture. It entails the creation of space that is hyper-real, being described rather simply by Eco in “Travels in Hyperreality” (1986) as “… [a condition where the] [a]bsolute unreality is offered as real presence.” Makes you think of the wedding cake houses mentioned here, doesn’t it?

So you have got to admit: Few other disciplines are as fluid and as interconnected to other disciplines as architecture as they currently stand. Since human evolution has practically rendered most of us unable to survive in open nature for too long of a time, architecture is therefore indispensable to modern life.

And here’s the end of my argument: All beings exist in space. As such, what else can be as important as architecture? :) It’s all about argument, isn’t it?

Just for Fun

Take a good look at this photograph.

Yup, you got that right! It’s the new BMW 116i being showcased in front of the main gate to UPH’s campus. If you think that the two image don’t seem to belong together, and the campaign seems a rather early induction for a desired life style, you may want to think again :)

Why is Anything Important?

About two weeks ago, I stopped by a gas station. I noticed that it was a lady that helped me pump the gas into my tank. I started talking to her, because I never saw her there before. She said that she was usually there in the afternoon to late evening hours. She told me that in the morning hours, she teaches in a middle school somewhere in Pancoran (the gas station is in Kebun Jeruk area), goes home around 1pm to fresh herself up, and leaves for the gas station to work there until 10 o’clock at night. And I thought to myself: why is she teaching? Obviously the pay is not good enough for her. So what makes her work two jobs when she probably could have earned more money by working at the gas station double shifts?

During Q & A in a panel discussion mentioned in this posting, one of my ex students Amy, asked a question of “why is architecture important?” I responded that she was the only person who could answer that question for herself, because what one thinks as important may not be as important to other people.

This afternoon, she asked me a more specific question about why architecture is important to me. I told her that because when I went to school, I was fortunate enough to be able to sample different courses in the art and design field. So when I took a 3d design course taught by an architect, I fell in love with architecture. Designing architecture gave me a very different kind of satisfaction I didn’t find in any other fields. There’s something intriguing about architecture that I find mind boggling to date (I still have goose bumps when I come across something I find amazing about architecture), but I’m still trying to define how is architecture important to me, and in which area(s) I can best contribute to.

She asked again whether other than personal reasons, there were more objective reasons why architecture is important. And I said no. Architecture is the same with any other fields of knowledge: it’s how human try to make sense of the world. Some do it through the field of medicine, computer, anthropology, astrophysics, biology, economics, sociology, and so on and so forth. But of course if you happen to ask a person who is already established within the field, he or she would argue vehemently (as some architects would) that their field is the one most important discipline in the world of knowledge. Can’t blame it, we mortals want to leave a mark of our existence in this ephemeral world – and of course that mark is important.

Anyway, after that conversation with Amy, I stopped by the same gas station and saw the lady again. Obviously, earning money is not the only thing important in her life. Like many underpaid teachers in Indonesia, she sticks to her job, because it is important for her.

And does design matter? I guess it only matters for those who consider it important. And for them, design gives meaning to an otherwise indistinguishable being.

On (Architectural) Teaching and Learning

Yesterday I was invited to speak on a panel discussion with Albertus S. Wang, from the University of Florida about Space and the Making of Space makers, with Prof. Gunawan Tjahjono & Prof. Herman D. Sudjono as panelists. Mr. Wang presented his experiences about pedagogy, practice, and place, while I shared my experiments in teaching thinking in architectural design studio.

At the end of his presentation, Mr. Wang shared a quote from Peter Zumthor’s book “Teaching Architecture, Learning Architecture” (1998):

“Young people go to university with the aim of becoming architects, of finding out if they got what it takes. What is the first thing we should teach them? First of all, we must explain that the person standing in front of them is not someone who asks questions whose answers s/he already knows. Practicing architecture is asking oneself questions, finding one’s own answers with the help of the teacher, whittling down, finding solutions. The strength of a good design lies in ourselves and in our ability to perceive the world with both emotion and reason. … Students have to learn to work consciously with their experiences of architecture. Their allotted tasks are devised to set this process in motion.” [My emphasis.]

While exploring possibilities of space making with students, they often ask me what exactly I mean by a particular task. And when I try to explain by giving indirect examples, as mentioned in this posting, students seemed to hanging for dear life on every single word I spoke of. Mr. Wang apparently also came across this problem where his students were holding on to his words while working on an assignment, to which his response to the student was: “I already forget what I told you.”

What should become clear to all (architectural) learners is that teachers are just human beings. Although most of the time we try to be mindful about what we say, like everyone else, sometimes we would only say things in passing. Sometimes we just babble on for the sake of giving you some kind of feedback. Sometimes we would make things up just to appear intelligent and resourceful (when in reality it’s just BS). Sometimes we would actually say something opposite of what we think just to see how other people would react. Sometimes we are just being sarcastic or wanting to joke around. Or sometimes we are just having a bad day that we just want to take the easy way out. But sometimes we actually are inspired with sudden flash of brilliance that doesn’t come very often, really.

So as learners, we should all be mindful about these possibilities, so we are able to filter out the things that don’t really matter, but at the same time be alert for the times when those flashes of brilliance actually happen.

Be mindful of your own learning. There is only so much information you can take in and digest: throw out the junk you don’t need. Otherwise, if you stuff your head with junk, sooner or later you will find it choking and stop digesting. You are your own filter.

Design as ‘Frozen’ Patterns, Time and Constraints

This quotation from David Friedman in this posting by Arya Gaduh (sorry ‘Ry, I got to use your quotation first) has somehow got to the back of my mind:

"The fundamental mistake is in taking the patterns we observe around us as facts of nature. They are not; they are the result of rational individuals adjusting to a particular set of constraints... Change the constraints and, given a little time to adjust, the patterns change."

How does this relate with architectural design? The function of buildings is first and foremost to shelter and cater for beings and/or things. In architecture, this information becomes data – which interpretations depend on whomever happen to hold the set of data – upon which design is based on. Yet, are they ‘facts of nature’? – or are they ‘set by particular contraints’?

Say for example you want to design a house. And you talk to an architect about your needs and desires for this new house. A good architect, in turn, will start asking you questions about your activities in order to get ‘patterns’ of your needs, requirements, wishes, and constraints for this new house.

But if the above quotation holds true, then it means that your constraints are only particular for certain period of time, set by the current needs projected by your current house. Once the design of your new house is done, you will encounter new sets of constraints – which will come out of the new design of your house (which, by the way, explains why not one single building is perfect).

If the above quotation holds true, buildings then tend to ‘freeze’ patterns from a particular time and a particular set of constraints – which will no longer be applicable by the time the building is constructed, or if you’re lucky enough to get good architects, for longer period of time (because s/he has taken into account of these future contraints as part of the design). If such is the case then, let me ask the same question again: does design matter? Can architecture be ‘liquid’ and adjust to new patterns and constraints? Can it be timeless?

On Books and Walls

Herlily, a friend and a Ph.D. student at UC Berkeley, forwarded me this article in The Jakarta Post, about books that are (still) barred from entering Indonesia (thanks Mbak!). Interestingly, it coincides with my recent re-reading of an unpublished article written by my professor at UC Berkeley, Jill Stoner on “Reading and the City” (1992):

Historically, the very existence of libraries raised a specter of anarchy, and the most authoritative rulers were careful to maintain close control over the production and existence of books. Much has been written about the Chinese emperor Shih Huang Ti, who ordered the burning of all books that were written prior to his reign. He was also responsible for the construction of the Great Wall. Books open; and walls shut down. As Jorge Luis Borges says, “burning books and erecting fortifications is a common task of princes.” [in “The Wall and The Books,” Labyrinths, p.186.] The first instrument of control is the un-making (or books); and the second is the making (of walls). It is not surprising that the Emperor forced all those who were found to be in possession of illegal books to labor on the Great Wall.”

"I Will Jump if ..."

Here’s a paradox to this posting.
I will actually jump from the fourth floor of a building, if:

… the building was on fire and there is a slide from the window to the ground where strong-built firemen were waiting to catch me :)
… the building I was in was at the scale of 1:10 (which would reduce the height from about 15m to 1.5m)
… I had with me a parasail (still can’t afford trying it in real life)
… I suddenly got the courage to bungee-jump
… by jumping and dying I will make my life statement (inspired by Coldplay’s Rush of Blood to the Head: “I’m gonna buy a gun and start a war … If you can tell me something worth fighting for …”)

What will you jump for?

Will You Jump? … Lives on “Autopilot”

If I ask you to open the window on a fourth floor, go out, and jump – will you jump?

Mid term review in my architectural design studio. With 17 students presenting, similar patterns soon were becoming obvious: every single one of my students proposed their designs in the form of (mostly color-coded) boxes. Even now that I have to go over the images for grading purposes, I start to get confused which models belong to which student: they look that much alike (no offense to my students).

Yulia Lukito, a friend and a lecturer at Universitas Indonesia who came to be our guest critic for the day, wondered why students who had 17 different clients, 17 different studies and data could end up with very similar methods to represent their proposals. At some point she actually asked permission from one of the students to take the boxes apart, and crumpled them to make a point that the shape of these boxes are very confining as study models.

I started wondering how could this happenned. Then I remembered making a passing comment to one of my students about the way he represented his study which incorporated color-coded boxes. I told him that to be consistent, he should be using the same color-code in his future models so he could easily remember what that color represents. As it turned out, sixteen other students did exactly the same, when my point was about being consistent, not to specifically use color-coded boxes.

Upon reflection of the review, I asked my students: “If I ask you to open the window, go out, and jump, will you jump?” They all looked at me as if I had gone mad. But within a few seconds, some started to smile, and said “Of course not!” I asked them again “Why not?” Then one responded, “But we’ll die!” So now they’re thinking …

Here’s a quote:

“Most people, most of the time, do not think of themselves as reflexively responding to complex signals and cues …, they mostly operate on ‘autopilot’. This socially skilled but unreflective reproduction of practices, norms, and values [are what Pierre] Bourdieu [a sociologist] refers to as the Doxa or ‘doxic experience’.
Simon Parker, “Urban Theory and the Urban Experience”, Routledge, 2004: 143.

Think! … Even when your life is not threatened by death.

Pride before Function

Yesterday’s Kompas featured several articles on consumption. One of the articles here noted that according to AC Nielsen study, 93% of Indonesian consumers are recreational shoppers, while “only” 68% of American society –known as consumer society – are recreational shoppers [1]. Consumption of goods contributed to 66.5% of Indonesian gross national production in 2004, and it increased to 74% in year 2005.

In another article here, Rhenald Kasali noted that in Indonesian society:

Derajat seseorang dinilai berdasarkan apa yang Anda miliki atau apa yang Anda pakai. Untuk menunjukkan jati dirinya orang cenderung berbelanja berlebihan.

This may explain similar attitude in design of houses in Indonesia, where consumption rules. If you wonder what I mean, all you need to do is to drive along upper housing complexes part of Pantai Indah Kapuk, Pondok Indah (the main avenue), or Lippo Karawaci and you’ll see houses that look like wedding cakes (the extremely elaborate one with curly icings), in more elaborate shapes and colors, but in a scale so huge you’ll start wondering how many families actually live there.

My sister Yenna, who is a branding consultant, calls this “Pride before Function”. The term “Form Follows Function” (a principal associated with modernism movement in architecture) means that function should be the foundation for design and therefore guide the resulting form. The term “Pride before Function” means that whatever form the design takes and however well the design functions are not as important as the pride and prestige that the design would bring to the owners.

Following the quotation above, Rhenald Kasali wrote:

Prinsip ini berbeda benar dengan upaya membangun karakter bangsa yang menekankan pada kekuatan jati diri, mulai dari kematangan berpikir, kerendahhatian, pendidikan, dan kepedulian sosialnya.

Pretty scary, huh?

Note
[1]. The article mentioned that AC Nielsen survey covered only consumers with access to internet, only 8% of Indonesian society.

Libraries as Doors

A competition brief for City of Stockholm public library:

“Libraries should be door-openers showing visitors new ways of learning and experiencing, as well as maintaining and reinforcing their own cultural capital in a variety of ways.” [Added italics].

Contrast that with this comment from Raynata:

"... Have you gone the library now? Now we've to leave all our stuff in the locker... "

in this posting. In this case, the library is door-closers showing visitors only one way of learning and experiencing: you have to belong to the university and you must relinquish all your belongings to access it :)

A --> B =/= B --> A

A crop of an ad in Kompas: This is Jakarta!

Travelling time from point A to point B is often not equal from point B to point A. Look at the difference in time between weekdays and weekends!

Intuition to Dwell

Last term, I taught architectural design studio in which students were challenged to create personal space for themselves. Piece of cake, as we all have innate spatial ability as discussed in this previous posting – right? But as it turned out, not many students could create space that was in the least comfortable. I tried to go in and out of some of their constructions, and I could have broken or hurt my neck or other parts of my body if I weren’t mindful.

So why is it, while human ability to gauge and utilize space is innate, yet, most architectural students (at least those I’ve worked with) are having a hard time creating space?

Several possible reasons, but I’ll start with one: the lack of trust in the realm of our intuition. When we learn about a subject matter in university, suddenly the subject we’re interested in becomes a discipline with fields of “experts” that we consider know better about the discipline. The theories, lectures and discussions - some of which we may understand, but more often make us feel even more incompetent - overwhelmed our senses. The result is the lack of trust in what we see, what we feel, what we hear, what we touch, what we taste. We lose our intuition, our innate human ability, and belief in self.

That’s the reason why I am fascinated by construction of space created by traditional communities, by those living in adverse conditions, by those who adapted spaces and constructions of every day life to fit their needs. Through them, we are reminded why space is designed in the first place: to shelter and comfort our body. To be our third skin. Apart from that, these type of constructions are most likely constrained by available materials, by their surroundings (the site), and therefore attempt to create the most optimal solution for the problem.

The child in this photograph could have slept in many other places other than in the cart. Yet, the cart was the optimal solution for the problem. The cart raised the child’s body from the asphalt road – removed her from heated asphalt and dirt, from being accidentally trampled on, and from being awakened by animals that might have wondered by her. The cardboard box provided her with added cushion to support and comfort her sleeping body. And she can still be supervised by an adult who brought her there in the first place. The most optimal solution for taking a nap in public place.

A classic book in this topic is “Architecture without Architects” by Bernard Rudofsky.

Does Design Matter?

I was struck by this photograph of a child published in Kompas (19 September 2006, p.3). She was sleeping in a cardboard box in a cart. And I thought to myself: how fit she was to the space she occupied. This photograph proves that the ability of human to gauge and utilize space is innate. Human also has high capacity to adapt. When we are tired, we will immediately scan our surrounding to look for places where we can sit: a chair, a step, a fallen pole, an upside down drum, a stone. And when we can’t find anything, the earth would do.

It seems that our survival instict will enable us to adapt to any kind of spaces we are in. Under adverse condition, as in the case of the homeless, people will find a way out and think creatively – see here for another example.

And I wonder: does (architectural) design matter?

Plan-less: Heaven for the Homeless

Adi Purnomo (a.k.a. Mamo), an architect who authored “Relativitas” and won numerous awards to say the least, asked me to collaborate with him to work on Shinkenchiku Residential Design Competition 2006. Below is my only contribution to the so-called collaboration, some parts were inspired by our discussions, while others are direct translations of Mamo’s writings. Image is courtesy of Mamo.

Scorching heat on undulating asphalts
Dirt and rocks, unfriendly concrete pavements
Passing cars and motorcycles: Be careful, these roads are not yours!

I am here!
Walking
Scanning every meters of the streets
Trying to find scraps of materials I can reuse

Shade: Cover my restless, dehydrated body from the tropical sun
Let me sit on your threshold
Let me lie under your canopy
Let me watch the world go by
Thinking: How could I feed myself today?

Water: Drench the crevices of my organs
Clear my spirit before my feet lead me on to other urban nooks and expanses
But spare me from your overflowing angst

I am a residue of a sprawling, rhizomatic Jakarta
I roam its spaces with my senses
I stop or turn, work or rest, sit or sleep, walk or run, whenever my feet tells me to
Whenever I am conditioned to
Whenever these spaces invite me to

The street lamps. Starless, smoggy night
Immortal fireflies composing a skyline
I am finally at peace with this metropolis
I roam its streets as free as a bird, soaring towards heaven

I am uprooted, but I am one with Jakarta
The universe is in my palm
My house is everywhere
My home is in my heart
Plan-less, as is my life

University Makes the Society

In this previous posting, I ranted about recent security measures taken by Universitas Pelita Harapan (UPH). So what is my problem?

When I think about the word university, I think of a place where learning is shared. According to Wikipedia:

The word university is derived from the Latin universitas magistrorum et scholarium, roughly meaning "community of masters and scholars".

The great architect/ philosopher Louis Kahn stated:

“School began with a man under a tree, who did not know he was a teacher, discussing his realizations with a few others, who did not know they were students. The students reflected on the exchanges between them and on how good it was to be in the presence of this man. They wished their sons, also, to listen to such a man. Soon, the needed spaces were erected and the first schools came into existence. The establishment of schools was inevitable because they are part of the desires of man.”

Kahn, who designed Salk Institute (commissioned by Jonas Salk the inventor of polio vaccine), considered educational institutions as:

… “the houses of the inspirations” – places defined by the fundamental inspiration to learn and by concomitant need to shelter learning within a supportive community.”
Brownlee & De Long, “Louis I. Kahn, In the Realm of Architecture”, Rizzoli, New York, 1991: 94.

As a university, UPH by Kahn’s definition is also one of “the houses of inspirations”. Yet, by being such an exclusive, highly-secured compound on an already homogeneous Karawaci, what kind of inspiration does UPH seek to foster from its students, staff, and community? That university and its graduates should set themselves apart and away from the society?

Granted that UPH is a private university, but there are many private world-famous universities that share its facilities to the public. Even after 9/11, private universities in the US like Harvard and MIT still keep their doors open and unguarded. On my visit to these two institutions last October, I could stroll around the university compound, and entered some of their buildings and libraries without anyone asking me to show an ID. Even MIT’s relatively new Stata Building designed by Frank Gehry that housed the Computer, Information and Intelligence Sciences was very accessible down to its private offices.

The strictest entry I encountered was to Harvard’s Fine Arts Library. It was secured by metal detectors and security guards at entry points to check whether or not one belonged to the university. This security measures, however, was due to the library’s connection to Fogg Art Museum that showcased valuable art works. Even so, when I, as an outsider, wanted to go inside the library, all I had to do was to check in at the front desk to get a guest tag, and I was allowed to roam the library for the whole day.

UPH should aim to do as Kahn maintained:

… Community making was also one of mankind’s – and the architect’s – chief responsibilities. … [He added:] “I don’t believe that society makes the man. I believe that man makes the society.”
Brownlee & De Long, “Louis I. Kahn, In the Realm of Architecture”, Rizzoli, New York, 1991: 94.

Likewise, university makes the society.

Let’s not leave universities to resemble this excerpt from Wikipedia:

“Bill Readings contends in his 1995 study The University in Ruins that the university around the world has been hopelessly commodified by globalization and the bureaucratic non-value of "excellence." His view is that the university will continue to linger on as an increasingly consumerist, ruined institution until or unless we are able to conceive of advanced education in transnational ways that can move beyond both the national subject and the corporate enterprise.”

When University Starts to Resemble Mall

In this past month, something has been bothering me every time I go to teach at Universitas Pelita Harapan (UPH). I knew it right away when it started: the beginning of the school year back in August. Prior to that time, whenever I drove my car into the designated parking area for staff and lecturers, a security guard would greet me and give me a parking card after he ensured that I had a pass to park in the area. But on that August morning, after the two-months break, I didn’t see just one guard, but another two who opened the doors and trunk of the cars queuing in front of mine.

Great, I thought to myself. The security checks had finally caught up with this university! But I didn’t put much thought into it, simply because we all had gotten so used to security checks in our ways around Jakarta. I got out of my car, and went through my usual route towards Building B, where the Department of Architecture was located. And there were two other security guards, standing in between the gates that separated the parking area from the university compound, checking bags of students who were walking ahead of me.

Fine, they wanted to do a comprehensive security check. Again, I didn’t put much thought into it because I was more concerned about getting into my studio and met my new students on the first day of school. After an introductory workshop, I went out of the compound to have lunch with other lecturers. And again, there stood two security guards in front of the gate, checking everyone’s bag. I asked my full time lecturer friend when they started doing the security checks at all entry points. My friend told me that it happened when UPH Festival was held about two weeks prior to beginning of school year.

Because I had borrowed some books from the library over the break, I decided to go there. Besides, I wanted to check out the library since it had been relocated into a new building. And there I saw the new building that had been scaffolded during its months of construction. The street level was almost completely open, and it had a big sign “FJ Square” on its front. I asked my friend again, what did FJ stand for? He had no idea. But apparently it’s the new food court.

What struck me most about this food court was its stark contrast with the old one they demolished about two years ago now. The old food court was an open air structure, with many stalls that were rented out, most were modest and sold food that was pretty affordable for students. But this new one was not like the old one. This food court could easily belong to any of the luxurious malls in Jakarta. The price, even after 25% discount for UPH students, was still rather expensive. Some of my students told me that they could not afford eating there. In August 2006 edition of Umbul-Umbul (Karawaci’s monthly complimentary magazine), I found out that FJ Square was modeled after the Food Junction in Singapore.

Because I had eaten lunch, I didn’t stop by the food court, and instead went straight to the library, which was located above the food court. I was told by my friend that as part of the new security system, all UPH students and staff had been required to possess a “smart card” which would let security guards quickly identify whether or not someone belong to the university. Now apparently, this “smart card’ was needed to enter the new library. Because I didn’t have one, I couldn’t even open the door of the new library!

As if having the “smart card” was not enough a security measure, there stood yet two other security guards in front of the door, ensuring that people with no “smart card” like me could not pass through the door by tailgating the person in front of me. After my friends ensured the security guards that I was indeed a lecturer there and I was asked to show my old library card, I was finally let in to the extremely luxurious library.

I said extremely luxurious, because the spaces between the aisle were around one meter or more. It’s fully air-conditioned, and here and there I saw genuine leather sofas that must had cost hundreds of millions of Rupiah to purchase! And when I walked towards the back of the library, the space was open, naturally lit, and had full horizontal windows opening to a view of rather undeveloped area of Karawaci.

But the very unfortunate fact was that the books I found remained the same unimpressive ones. Most of the architectural books were still the coffee-table books that you could typically purchase from book distributors, rather than those that you purchased in bookstores and through Amazon after you browsed through hundreds of them to determine which ones were of better qualities than the rest.

Done with checking the books, I decided to leave the library through the same doors that again were now guarded on the inside. I nodded confidently as I passed through the guards, and pushed the door in front of me. And I couldn’t open it! The guards started to surround me, which for some reason made me feel a bit panicked. They started asking me to use my “smart card”. So once again I gave them the same explanation that I gave to the two guards just outside to the right of the exit door. And they finally let me out.

On my way out of the university compound, I was struck by the unpleasant experience of the day. I kept thinking: Why would they not let anyone out from the library after they had ensured that whoever got in did belong to the university and had the right to be there? What would happen if there was fire and people were inside the library? Had the security of the university been breached over the break that made decision makers at UPH decide to intensify the level of security?

My experience at the university has started to resemble my experience in going through malls – and worse. I think a university shouldn’t be this way. But I couldn’t formulate what exactly is troubling me, except that I dislike the malls for this reason. But after having this issue at the back of my mind, found the least secured path into the university compound, and avoided going to the library for a little more than a month, I could finally pin point what the problem is. More on here.

Regulation of Shortcuts or Shortcut Regulations?

My everyday route around Jakarta includes picking up my sister in Kebayoran Baru area. If you happen to pass this area, you would know that some minor but significant changes have happened in the past month or two. In some intersections one could no longer take a left- or right- or u-turn because the police has constructed concrete portals.

At first it happened only in one intersection that the police might have found to cause traffic jam in the area. Later people (including myself) find another shortcut route that soon was closed off as well. But still we notorious shortcutters find another route that I’m hoping would not be closed off by the police.

For me it’s not simply a matter of finding the shortest possible route that I can pass through without breaking any traffic regulation. Rather, I find that Indonesian traffic regulation attempts to find shortcuts to problems that could not be solved simply by closing off streets and asking people to take a detour instead.

If the last shortcut I take now is closed off, it means that I would have to take more than 3 kilometer detour to travel the same distance. That detour would have added a total of 6 kilometer to my original round-trip route, additional cost for gas at around Rp.2.700,-, and additional 15-20 minutes every day. This is equal to 30 kilometer, Rp. 13.500,-, and 75-100 minutes every week. 120 kilometer, Rp.54.000,-, and 300-400 minutes every month.

This personal cost captures the big loss of Jakarta’s population in general. The Study on Integrated Transportation Master Plan (SITRAMP) funded by Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) estimated Jakarta’s traffic congestion caused the region to suffer annual economic loss in the amount of Rp.3,000 billion (US$ 315.7 million) for vehicle operating costs and Rp.2,500 billion (US$ 263.1 million) for travel time.

All too often temporary solutions are offered to solve problems that in turn create long-term repercussions. Instead of regulating shortcuts, perhaps the police should be thinking about how to create regulations to solve problems in the long-term.

Speed Bumps

My brother told me the other day that he goes through 62 speed bumps during his 23 kilometer route from home to our sister’s office in Kebayoran Baru, to his office in Sudirman, and back home again. That’s incredible! True he goes by small streets, but still! It means on average, for every 370 meters of travel, he would have to pass one speed bump!

I started wondering why this is the case. In my ten years of living in the U.S., speed bumbs can rarely be found along the streets. So how does the police ensure that people don’t speed up in (heavily-populated) residential areas? The answer is because they have traffic regulations in the form of stop signs and speed limits that people actually follow. In Jakarta, such signs can rarely be found. If you ask me why, I would not know the answer.

But signs are definitely much cheaper than speed bumps! If we are skeptical about whether it would work, think about the time when we hear that the police decided to enforce car passengers to use seat belts. We thought that it wouldn’t work. But apparently it works better than expected. Perhaps it’s worth a try with traffic signs – before the bottom of our cars got too many bumps!

Map & Sense of (In)security

Last Sunday, I was invited to be a guest on a radio talkshow at Radio Utan Kayu with Dahlia Citra, host and producer of "Cuma Perempuan". The talkshow highlighted the issue of public participation in urban planning in Jakarta, particularly on Jakarta's transportation. One of the listeners commented that she was afraid to take the public transportation because of the lack of security.

I too am afraid of taking Jakarta’s public transportation. The only time I tried to take it on my own was to go to a friend’s house which isn’t too far from my own. That one experience leaves a particular memory in my mind. Although I know the direction and the area (I normally drive), I had no idea which public transportation I should take, and I was feeling insecure. I didn’t want to ask a stranger on the street. So I asked the driver of the public transportation instead, which was no help, because he was more eager to have me on his angkot than letting me know which one I should have taken. At the end, I had to transfer three times to travel a distance of less than 8 kilometers in total.

This feeling of insecurity could have been reduced if I at least have a map on my hand, telling me which public transportation I should take. As part of a research I did for IASTE conference, my research assistant Bevani found out that the reason why such a map does not exist in Jakarta is because Jakarta’s Transportation Department (Dephub) does not even have such a map. Bevani found that public transportation routes in Jakarta was not established by the government, but rather, by private companies that proposed these routes to the government. Later when we mapped public transportation routes around South West Jakarta, predictably, most started or ended in commercial and/or residential areas and routes that are populated, creating routes that resemble a rhizome rather than one that create a coherent whole.

Public space and social demarcations

Jakarta Post, Opinion and Editorial, March 18, 2006

When was the last time you were in a public space in Jakarta? If you don't use public transportation and hardly walk or bike on the streets of Jakarta, you might start thinking about malls, dining places or other entertainment places inside offices, hotels and other commercial complexes. Or you might think about parks, sports facilities, or other public areas including the streets inside your housing or apartment complexes.

You may want to think again, because all of these places may not be true public spaces, in the sense that they are not accessible to everyone. In other words, most malls, offices, hotels and other commercial complexes are privatized public spaces. Even when you spend hours of your time on Jakarta's congested streets inside your car -- you are in private property in a public space.

True public space in Jakarta is rarely frequented by members of the upper (or middle) class, while privatized public space is exclusive. The result, I am afraid, is further demarcation between the upper and lower classes of Jakarta.

Bestuzhev-Lada categorizes public space for leisure activities as "places for contemplation (religious buildings, parks, embankments), places to obtain new information (museums, libraries, exhibitions), places for creative activities (clubs, daily centers, etc.), places for sports activities (stadiums, sports centers), places for entertainment (dancing/concert halls, theaters), and places where public holidays are celebrated (squares, streets)" (Bestuzhev-Lada, 1972, in Gabidulina, 1994). Nowadays, it is questionable which of these places have remained true public space, as some, if not most of them, have been privatized.

What makes a public space privatized? Margaret Crawford reveals that the designs of most malls attempt to "create essentially a fantasy urbanism devoid of the city's negative aspects: weather, traffic, and poor people". She adds that malls are heavily patrolled to ensure safety of their homogeneous clientele by exclusion of others (Crawford, 1992).

Trevor Boddy, in arguing against privatized skyways, specifies that "two forms of policing kept the skyway system a haven of middle-class propriety: formal, by police officers at key entrance stairs and security guards in lobbies, and informal, through the visual codes and cues indicating that anyone not dressed appropriately or behaving in an acceptable manner is unwelcome" (Boddy, 1992).

The fast growth of malls in Jakarta after 1998 is linked by Abidin Kusno with "looseness" of power which triggers the feeling of insecurity among the formerly protected upper-middle class of Jakarta (Kusno, 2004). Malls have become safe havens for the upper-middle class, and I would include all privatized public space in this category.

Even when the upper (and some middle) class leave home (inside a housing or apartment complex), they are most likely moving around Jakarta in a private car, going from one private property to another without being part of public space. Being in the car, they are physically separated and psychologically removed from the activities and the people on the street by sheets of tempered glass and galvanized metals.

The car windows become screens though which the city is passively viewed, rather than a space in which we can actively participate. The city, the streets and the people outside become images, not too different perhaps from what we have seen on other screens like computers, televisions, movies. The public space is seen and experienced as visual stimuli -- the unwanted aspects we can both consciously and unconsciously filter or ignore.

Children from upper (and some middle) class who are born post-1998 are most likely growing up within homogeneous communities. They could become unaware of, insensitive toward and immune to lower-middle classes that are excluded from places they encounter in their daily lives. Nowadays in Jakarta, the only possibility for interaction among different socioeconomic groups of children are organized by schools under the umbrella of community work.

The way we design, use and experience Jakarta's public space has remarkably influenced our social interactions, and will surely have social implications. If we maintain the present conditions, we can only imagine the effect on the growing class division.

Fortress mentality leaves Jakartans isolated, fearful

Jakarta Post, Opinion and Editorial, January 21, 2006.


A home should be a safe abode, thus security is important. A common solution to the security of Jakartan houses is to put bars on the windows facing the street. After the May 1998 riots, the use of security bars has proliferated, with all open spaces being covered, making their occupants feel caged in their own homes. Housing complexes that have been developed over the past ten years are more likely to be surrounded by three-meter walls, and can only be entered through secured gates.

Older middle-upper housing complexes, on the other hand, are not gated. I will argue that it is precisely this openness and inclusivity towards other racial, social and economic groups, that has strengthened social security.

Gated communities aim to exclude "others". Most of them don't allow street vendors and those who "don't belong" to enter the complexes. Caged-in houses can even be found within these complexes. It seems that the fear of "others", traditionally addressed towards those of a different race, social or economic status, has extended itself to become a generalized fear of everyone, period. The implication of gated communities is that they create pronounced social, economic and, in most cases, racial enclaves, that are in fact far more likely to trigger resentment and thus cause insecurity.

Mike Davis in City of Quartz (1990) suggests two reasons for explaining the phenomena of house fortresses in Los Angeles. "In the first place, the market provision of 'security' generates its own paranoid demand. 'Security' becomes a ... prestige symbol. Secondly, as William Whyte has observed of social intercourse in New York, 'fear proves itself'. The social perception of threat becomes a function of the security mobilization itself, not crime rates." Post-1998 housing complexes in Jakarta reveal similar paranoia, with security becoming a commodity rather than a real need against crime.

Older middle-upper housing complexes, such as Menteng, Kemang, and Permata Hijau, have no clear boundaries with plenty of open pedestrian and vehicular access to the surrounding (kampung) areas. According to David Hutama, an architect in Jakarta, the areas of Pulomas, Kayu Putih, Taman Buaran Indah and Bintaro are also ungated, and remain this way to this day.

Occupants of these complexes, although mostly from middle and upper social and economic groups, are racially mixed. Permata Hijau is considered by many as one of the most prestigious housing areas in Jakarta. Yet, here and there, smack right up against huge, multi-billion-rupiah houses, are informal settlements ranging from low-income houses, warung, and informal businesses.

Some security measures are taken. Security posts can be found at almost every other intersection, some streets are closed off after 10 p.m., and some houses even have their own security guards. But apart from that, Permata Hijau streets are open to kaki lima and kampung dwellers, some of whom work in or provide services to these houses, while others simply hang out. Some of the streets and vacant lots are even appropriated as public space where kampung dwellers play soccer or volleyball, while others are privately used as gardens maintained by kampung dwellers.

The welcoming stance towards the kampung dwellers brings a sense of belonging to the area that in fact helps prevent crime.

Clearly, securing our homes can be done effectively without the need to live in a fortress. Jane Jacobs proposed in The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961) that the problem of insecurity can be solved by three means.

First, there must be a clear demarcation between what is public space and what is private space.

Second, there must be eyes upon the street; eyes belonging to those who we might call the natural proprietors of the street.

And third, sidewalks must be in continuous use by pedestrians.

As most houses are gated anyway, demarcation of public and private space is already clear in most cases. However, if you happen to drive through any of the newer housing complexes, the streets are almost vacant. Gated communities create a environment that alienates and excludes others.

This is not the case in Permata Hijau, and most other older housing areas, where the inclusion of dwellers has created natural proprietors who use the streets fairly continuously, and whose "eyes" are always present.

These older complexes demonstrate that it is not necessary to exclude pre-existing and surrounding communities. Moreover, open complexes create mutual benefits for both dwellers of the housing complexes and those from surrounding communities.

Malls as “Public” Places (?)

The popularity of shopping malls as hang out places may very well be a global phenomenon. Yet, in the case of Jakarta, the utilization of shopping malls as “public” places has been intensified by the growth of commercial areas, diminishing green areas, and privatization of public places.

Panangian Simanungkalit indicated that in 2005 alone, commercial areas (shopping malls, supermarkets, and trade centers) in Jakarta reached the total of 5,100,424 square meters (Kompas, 21 April 2006: 46). Meanwhile, Nirwana Joga pointed out that Jakarta’s green area has been reduced from 37.2% of total area in year 1965-1985, to 25.8% in year 1985-2005, to 13.94% in year 2010 (Joga, 2002). Currently Jakarta’s green area is merely 9.67 percent of total area according to Yayat Supriatna (2004).

Some of green areas have been converted into malls (Plaza Senayan, Mal Taman Anggrek, and Mega Mal Pluit), five-star hotel (Hotel Mulia), upper-middle housing complex (Pantai Indah Kapuk), and even government’s office (Kantor Walikota Jakarta Selatan; Joga, 2002). Even the National Monument (Monas) is no longer accessible for all citizens. The renovation of Monas surrounded it with four meter gate, making the public space inaccessible to underclass citizens – hawkers, panhandlers, and prostitutes.

Interviews conducted with 154 random visitors to five malls in Central and South Jakarta reveal that they visit the malls between two to four times a week for eating (71.43%), watching films (50%), strolling (25.32%), working out (24.68%), conducting work-related meeting (24.03%), shopping (20.78%), and people watching (7.79%). This result indicates that, firstly, shopping is actually not the main intention for most mall-goers; and as such, secondly, these activities do not have to be conducted in shopping malls. So why do people go to the malls?

My argument is because they have no better choices. Malls and other commercial areas are more profit-generating and easier to maintain for developers than culturally-oriented and socially-mixed public places. Yet, these commercial areas are targeted towards specific customers: they segregate people according to social-economical backgrounds. 57.11% of interviewees in my samples are professionals, 32.47% students, and 9.09% house wives. Only 1.23% is in the service sector, and no respondents are member of the working class or in agriculture. The malls where interviews were conducted are not targeted for these “other” classes.

In the case of Jakarta, and of Indonesia to a larger extent, the impact of homogenous and exclusive commercial areas is especially alarming. Many areas in Indonesia have, historically and repeatedly, experienced social unrest caused by clashes between different ethnic, religious, political, and social-economical groups. Casual interactions between different groups of people, including those from different social-economical classes, are often mediated by open public spaces, safe public transportation, and streets with good pedestrian sidewalks. Unfortunately none of these public amenities are available in Jakarta. Jakarta, therefore, desperately needs to re-create its public places, where people from different backgrounds – or at least those who want to – have the options to mingle.

A specific tenant within the malls, cheaper price, and traffic condition to and surrounding the area are other particular reasons the interviewees go to malls. The specific tenants are not just department stores or supermarkets, but also cinemas (50%), fitness centers (24.68%), and bookstores (14.94%). Some 13.64% mention certain ambience of the malls, and 7.14% actually conduct job-related activities in addition to 24.03% of meeting with clients. These very specific reasons indicate that some people have the desire to be culturally entertained and others to be healthy. They appreciate the design and cultural atmosphere being offered by a specific mall. Some even go to the malls to gain knowledge.

Of five malls in my samples, the one that attracts most visitors is located in prime location, easily accessible both by using public and private transportations, and has variety of tenants which cater to different ages. A successful future public places in Jakarta will have to equal, if not exceed, these criteria while avoiding homogeneity. Yet, this may remain a utopian hope for Jakarta, if one particular stand has not changed.

Privatization of public places indicate that Jakarta’s local, regional, and national government need to, first and foremost, have the political will to put forward issues related to public needs – rather than submitting to short-term financial gain, but losing the long-term battle to realize a functional, healthy, society. If this is not a possible expectation, then citizens of Jakarta will have to wait and hope that there will be private enterprises that develop commercial sites that also put forward public concern.


This article is part of paper submitted for “Arte-Polis: Creative Culture and the Making of Place”, an international seminar organized by Institut Teknologi Bandung.