Anarchitects

by Arlyn Culwick

Somewhere, in a Jo’burg more aesthetically and politically conscious than the one we currently imagine to exist, lurks a radical collective of public space architects…

Confronted with consumerist urban sprawl of pandemic proportions, the Collective plots a dramatic redress of post-Apartheid architectural evils. Tuscan facades, vast cookie-cutter property developments, class-oriented security paranoia, golf-estate-cum-English-manor fantasies: all must go.

The undulating spaces between Sandton and Centurion, known to some as the Filthy North, is a repository for the spoils of a vast consumerist empire. The Powers That Be create an army of middle-class drones, depleted of cultural richness and hungry to display newfound material wealth. By reducing consciousness to nothing more than the generic, populations are suckered into wanting the same thing. This creates mass markets out of thin air, generating superefficient production, yielding endless income from endless consumption. Genius at its most evil, certainly. And so, like semiotic robin hoods, the Collective steals cultural value from the generic and crass, and puts it in the hands of the downtrodden, the oppressed, and the forgotten. Aged vernaculars, quirky originals, subtleties, richness, and soul must be liberated from the shackles of late Capitalism.

True to the character of many an anarchist on the fringe, the Collective resolves to use symbolic violence as its method of attack. The objective: communicate their opinions to the public, educate them, scare them into wakefulness. They are provocateurs, performance artists, cultural practitioners, vigilantes for a noble cause. Spaces must be skilfully appropriated, untruthful architectures defamed, and the whole symbology of the Northern Suburbs made a mockery of.

Thus, they come upon a perfect target, an archetype of paranoid, materialist, paper-thin Tuscan fantasy: Dainfern. Dainfern is unique in that its aesthetic repugnance is accompanied by an object of extreme conceptual repugnance: a huge overhead sewage pipe spanning Dainfern valley, visible to all. Nervously known as the ‘Dainfern Aqueduct’, it occasionally smells and spews forth flies, and transports 306 million litres of sewage a day to a nearby sewage plant.

Photo: David Goldblatt. Source: http://www.macba.cat/media/goldblatt/

The potential is almost irresistible, and so the Collective enacts their plot: they plant small explosives along the length of the pipe, alert the press, and trigger them successively. The result is one of perfect symbolic symmetry: tons of sewage rain down on those Tuscan roofs, architectural excreta meeting its human counterpart, forever united in public consciousness, made one in unholy matrimony, which, as we know, no man may put asunder. Tuscany retreats back to Italy where it belongs. Jo’burgers take a stab at inventing a local vernacular. Dainfern lies abandoned, entombed in its own symbol. The world is a little brighter.