Patriotism without war (in progress)

My recent trip across Europe made me reflect on the value of war in forging unity and national identity, and on how we depict that identity in our urban spaces.

I am an Australian but have not always been. I am part Polish, part English, mostly European and — more recently — a Secret Asian Man. I don’t have a strong sense of belonging to any particular nationality, but am faintly proud to be associated with a country that doesn’t take itself too seriously and is a long way from the border disputes that bedevil most other continents.

Australia is a nation of creeks, paddocks, beaches and bush (rather than bushes). We are suburbs and country towns and lots of empty space. We have only been invaded once and solemnly remember both our military victories and our defeats. We celebrate our sporting legends, fair play and mateship. We revel in our musical and artistic talent, and make the occasional award-winning movie. We don’t have a national dish, or anything edible which would carry a restaurant anywhere in the world. We export dairy products, education and stuff that we dig up. We share part of our flag with tax havens and our Queen with fifteen other countries. We see ourselves as the good guys, and perhaps we are. Ironic for a country that was once conceived as a penal settlement.

The Romans, conquistadors and slave traders never came here, and thank goodness the Huns, Mongols and Japanese imperial army stayed away. We don’t have a strong religious tradition and have so far avoided electing a dictator. Our racism towards our original inhabitants was our meanest streak but it festers still.

So what’s up, Doc?

Leaving the prickly topic of human relations aside for a moment, I feel there is something lacking in our cities. That space between our buildings. I came back to Sydney with relief that I was returning home, but wondering why our so many of our public spaces lack imagination and presence.

For one thing, there is something to be said for scale. Visit Place de La Concorde in Paris, Karl-Marx Allee in Berlin (or Tiananmen Square in Beijing) and the size of the place will give you pause. Yes there were big enough to hold military parades but none of them serve that purpose today. In graphic design the concept of white space reinforces the importance of the adjacent elements. So it is with architecture. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews in Berlin, on the other hand, is so hemmed in with residential buildings that it feels — I’m sad to say — ungenerous, like a vacant lot which will soon be put to more profitable use.

Where are our wide urban spaces in Sydney or Melbourne or Brisbane? The open spaces that come to mind abut water. That’s nice, but we can’t walk, celebrate or protest on it. Federation Square? Too small, too contrived and not on the way to anywhere. All our open urban spaces are actually in Canberra. It has squares, boulevards and greenery… and I love the post-apocalyptic thrill of being the only human in sight.

When I look outwards across a wide open area, I am Alexander the Great. I am Christopher Columbus. I am Robert Burke. Climb a mountain and see who you feel like. The world is suddenly full of possibilities; our mental glass is suddenly half full. Why else would we queue for four hours in the peak tourist season to ascend the Eiffel Tower?

Outwards and upwards

A recent eye-tracking experiment by architect Lauren Poon revealed that pedestrians only really look upwards when faced with an open space. Enter a cathedral, walk to the knave and resist the urge! When we look upwards, we gain a measure of ourselves. We remember our tiny place in the cosmos, and that feeling unites us. Feeling united is something we should do more often.

Sydney Opera House was an accidental success.

Dresden and Christchurch

I compared the contrived Federation Place in Melbourne with the thoughtful Mont des Arts in Brussels. They are similar in size and both beside important train stations.

I contrast a walk along the Yarra with a walk along the Spree in Berlin. The walk along the Yarra is pleasant enough but the noise and speed of traffic on Alexandra Avenue doesn’t make it a place for quiet contemplation. There is also the sense that I’m nowhere significant — that I am really between places rather than in one — as I have the river on one side and the traffic on the other. There is no reason to stop and look at anything or even to sit down. My overwhelming inclination is to clamber up the grassy slope across the road and lose myself in the Botanic Gardens. The path along the Spree doesn’t run parallel to a busy road, and there is a sense of following a seam which wends its way through significant places. Hire a Lime scooter and take this route at dusk and you’ll see what I mean.

… to be continued