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Tuesday, 20 December 2016
Wednesday, 12 October 2016
Last days at Millers Point
Last days at Millers Point
Florence, Cherie and Barney are some of the few residents left after the NSW Government sold off public housing in Sydney's Miller's Point.
Ann Arnold and Tiger Webb
In 2014 the NSW Government announced a sell-off of public housing in the historic Millers Point area of the Sydney CBD and the nearby Sirius Building.
The Government says the more than $500 million raised will be used to build over 1,000 houses elsewhere.
Most Millers Point residents have been relocated to new homes, but for now a handful remain.
Halfway through our interview, Florence Seckold's phone rings. She's been shedding a few tears, but as she excuses herself to answer the phone, she grins. "I've won Lotto, I hope," she says.
Florence is 83 years old, and — with the exception of a few years living with her mother-in-law — has lived in Millers Point and the Rocks her whole life.
"I'll ring you back," she says, hanging up the phone. A pause. "That's another girl [who is] terribly upset at the thought of having to go".
In the 1950s, Florence worked at the Bushells factory, operating the machines, packing parcels of tea.
She met her wharf worker husband, Teddy, at Bushells, and together they raised two children. Teddy died in 2014, after 62 years together.
Florence received the letter informing her of the Millers Point housing sale the day after her husband's funeral.
There are over 60,000 people on the waiting list for public housing in NSW. Expected waiting times, according to government figures, are often over 10 years.
Florence's stone cottage is over 100 years old. The NSW Government is selling these heritage-listed properties, with their expensive maintenance costs, to build new housing elsewhere.
"I've said to people: why can't I die around here? Let us age and die in place. Don't shunt us around like we're chess pieces. I've had enough; I want to stay to the bitter end."
She points to her respiratory problems, her history of shingles. "I mean, how long am I going to live for?"
For the past two years Florence been agonising over what to do — where to go, and when. Now she has accepted a suitable place to relocate in a nearby suburb.
The apartment on offer has new carpet, a fresh coat of paint. She'll have company, as well — three women from the Millers Point area have already relocated to the same building.
"People that've moved there say, 'Oh, it's lovely.'"
Most of the 400 social housing tenants who were in Millers Point and The Rocks have left already.
Florence says that even though they appreciate the better condition of their new accommodation, when they close their doors at night, there's one thought in their minds: it's not Millers Point.
Florence was brought up not to cry. "But now, drop of a hat, I'm in tears," she says. "It's emotional strain. It's not fair."
"This is where I would like to stay, but I can see that it's not going to happen." She considers her Pyrmont offer.
"It would be stupid not to take it."
Sitting in her living room with the radio on, Cherie Johnson was stunned to find out she had lost her home.
It was 2014, and Pru Goward — then NSW minister for planning — was holding a press conference atop the Cahill Expressway, with Cherie's 1980s apartment building, Sirius, as a backdrop.
Some 293 "high value public housing property assets" in Sirius and nearby Millers Point had been earmarked for sale.
The profits were to be reinvested into the flagging NSW public housing system.
Tenants in Millers Point and the Rocks — many of whom were elderly, some from families who'd been in the area for generations — were to be moved elsewhere within two years.
"It was 11am," Cherie says. "I almost collapsed."
Hours later, Johnson opened the front door and saw the notice of the sale, a letter left on the ground.
Whoever had left it hadn't even bothered to knock, Cherie claims.
The Sirius building is a protrusion in the brutalist style, a jut erupting from Sydney's tourist mecca. Cherie moved in with her mother in 1980, the year it opened.
"We had never been in [public] housing beforehand," Cherie says. Cherie and her mother were in financial dire straits.
They'd been living on top of a fruit shop for 14 years, but the rent went up and they ran out of options.
On her first day in the neighbourhood, Cherie — big hair, a bright smile and even brighter lipstick — was greeted warmly by a neighbour. She smiles.
"We both felt — mum and I — instantly at home."
For 19 years, Cherie worked at a nearby pub. When her mother had a stroke and required daily care, Cherie didn't bat an eyelid.
"She was my mum, my best friend, and sister all rolled into one," Cherie says, offering foil-wrapped chocolates.
Her mother, Betty Johnson, died three years ago.
Nestled gently on a favoured chair beside the window, the urn that holds her ashes has one of the nation's best views.
The sense of community at the Sirius social housing building is difficult for Cherie to articulate.
"I felt like I was living in a little country town," she says. "Everyone knows, loves, cares and respects one another. We come together in times of crisis or hardship."
Cherie talks in present tense, but in fact most of her neighbours have gone. There's just a handful left, and no-one on her floor.
The absence of people, combined with the shag carpet and plywood walls make give Sirius something of a Overlook Hotel vibe.
The elevators hum, bored. "It's like living in a ghost town," Cherie says.
For her part, Cherie doesn't know when — or where — she will go next. There have been some offers, but she can't see herself leaving the area.
Access to her doctors is a consideration, as is the prospect of returning to work at the nearby hotel. She also worries about security in a new neighbourhood.
"I've never had depression before but since [the sale was announced], I'm finding it very difficult.
"I'm devastated. I think that if I move somewhere else, I feel as though I'll sort of curl up in the fetal position and die."
Then she collects herself, and starts showing off her many ornaments and photos. Cherie works endlessly in her apartment.
"I'm a worker," Cherie Johnson says, "and I've always been a worker."
In nearly 70 years, Barney Gardner has only lived in two houses.
"The house I live in now, I moved into in 1989," he says of his downstairs nook on High Street in Millers Point. The other house is the house next door.
His home is one of a long line of two-storey red brick terraces with white wooden railings, one flat upstairs, one downstairs. Many are now boarded up.
"I lived a whole 67 years of my life in this one spot."
When Barney describes scenes of his upbringing, it sounds closer to Victorian England than Sydney, Australia.
Barney has tales of sneaking onto the long-gone wharves to go fishing — of being caught by watchmen, and hiding in the nooks among the terraces.
Barney chased trucks laden with goods from the docks, cutting holes in bags of onions, potatoes and carrots.
As the trucks changed gears up the hill, the vegetables would fall out. "We'd pick them up and take them home to our mums," he says.
The men worked on the wharves, in bond stores and wool stores. The women mostly stayed at home.
After work, the men would go to the local pub for beers, and the mothers would chat while they sat on the steps shelling peas. "It was a typical working-class area."
The Millers Point properties haven't always been public housing. For most of Barney's lifetime, the area was home to hundreds of workers.
Nobody else, he says, wanted to live here. The terraces were constructed by the government in the early 1900s, purpose-built for dock workers.
In the 1980s, Barney says, a meeting was called at the local community hall, informing residents that the Department of Housing was taking over management of the properties.
"And we weren't happy about that," Barney says. "Weren't happy at all."
Often, public housing residents are tarred with the derogatory term "housos". "I detest that," Barney says.
"We tried to explain to people, we weren't Department of Housing, we were Maritime Service Board tenants, and before that Trust tenants."
When the Maritime Service Board owned the houses, Barney says, they had their own tradesmen to take care of periodic maintenance.
Dockworkers are a handy lot — Barney remembers many working bees and house paintings.
Once the Department of Housing took over, things started to change. "Both governments slowly let things deteriorate."
There are collapsed balconies, houses with serious mould problems.
"We've had people that have left here because of that," Barney says. "I call that eviction by dereliction, due to non-maintenance of repair work."
Barney is the main point of contact for the Miller's Point Public Housing Tenants Group. His wish to see the suburb preserved goes beyond nostalgia.
"It is the only living heritage suburb in Australia," he says.
Looking over his collection of newspaper articles and TV spots, you can see the effect years of fighting to save Millers Point has had on him.
"Barney has done — is doing — an incredible job," a resident tells me. "A largely thankless job, too."
Recently Barney went along with relocation officers to look at a place in Chippendale, just west of the CBD.
It was a nice-enough unit, he says, but it was on the fourth floor. Barney doesn't deal well with heights.
But there was a bigger problem.
"When I went there I said to the people, 'I don't know anyone here. I don't know anyone within a kilometre radius. What am I going to do?'"
In 2014 the NSW Government announced a sell-off of public housing in the historic Millers Point area of the Sydney CBD and the nearby Sirius Building.
The Government says the more than $500 million raised will be used to build over 1,000 houses elsewhere.
Most Millers Point residents have been relocated to new homes, but for now a handful remain.
Florence
Halfway through our interview, Florence Seckold's phone rings. She's been shedding a few tears, but as she excuses herself to answer the phone, she grins. "I've won Lotto, I hope," she says.
Florence is 83 years old, and — with the exception of a few years living with her mother-in-law — has lived in Millers Point and the Rocks her whole life.
"I'll ring you back," she says, hanging up the phone. A pause. "That's another girl [who is] terribly upset at the thought of having to go".
Photo: "I've said to people, why can't I die around here? Let us age and die in place." (ABC RN: Tiger Webb)
In the 1950s, Florence worked at the Bushells factory, operating the machines, packing parcels of tea.
She met her wharf worker husband, Teddy, at Bushells, and together they raised two children. Teddy died in 2014, after 62 years together.
Florence received the letter informing her of the Millers Point housing sale the day after her husband's funeral.
There are over 60,000 people on the waiting list for public housing in NSW. Expected waiting times, according to government figures, are often over 10 years.
Florence's stone cottage is over 100 years old. The NSW Government is selling these heritage-listed properties, with their expensive maintenance costs, to build new housing elsewhere.
"I've said to people: why can't I die around here? Let us age and die in place. Don't shunt us around like we're chess pieces. I've had enough; I want to stay to the bitter end."
She points to her respiratory problems, her history of shingles. "I mean, how long am I going to live for?"
Photo: Many of the social houses around Millers Point have been vacant for some time (ABC RN: Tiger Webb)
For the past two years Florence been agonising over what to do — where to go, and when. Now she has accepted a suitable place to relocate in a nearby suburb.
The apartment on offer has new carpet, a fresh coat of paint. She'll have company, as well — three women from the Millers Point area have already relocated to the same building.
"People that've moved there say, 'Oh, it's lovely.'"
Most of the 400 social housing tenants who were in Millers Point and The Rocks have left already.
Florence says that even though they appreciate the better condition of their new accommodation, when they close their doors at night, there's one thought in their minds: it's not Millers Point.
Florence was brought up not to cry. "But now, drop of a hat, I'm in tears," she says. "It's emotional strain. It's not fair."
"This is where I would like to stay, but I can see that it's not going to happen." She considers her Pyrmont offer.
"It would be stupid not to take it."
Cherie
Photo: Cherie Johnson was stunned to find out the Sirius Building was being sold (ABC RN: Tiger Webb)
Sitting in her living room with the radio on, Cherie Johnson was stunned to find out she had lost her home.
It was 2014, and Pru Goward — then NSW minister for planning — was holding a press conference atop the Cahill Expressway, with Cherie's 1980s apartment building, Sirius, as a backdrop.
Some 293 "high value public housing property assets" in Sirius and nearby Millers Point had been earmarked for sale.
The profits were to be reinvested into the flagging NSW public housing system.
Photo: The Sirius social housing block is an iconic building but opinions about its aesthetic appeal are divided (ABC RN: Tiger Webb)
Tenants in Millers Point and the Rocks — many of whom were elderly, some from families who'd been in the area for generations — were to be moved elsewhere within two years.
"It was 11am," Cherie says. "I almost collapsed."
Hours later, Johnson opened the front door and saw the notice of the sale, a letter left on the ground.
Whoever had left it hadn't even bothered to knock, Cherie claims.
The Sirius building is a protrusion in the brutalist style, a jut erupting from Sydney's tourist mecca. Cherie moved in with her mother in 1980, the year it opened.
"We had never been in [public] housing beforehand," Cherie says. Cherie and her mother were in financial dire straits.
They'd been living on top of a fruit shop for 14 years, but the rent went up and they ran out of options.
On her first day in the neighbourhood, Cherie — big hair, a bright smile and even brighter lipstick — was greeted warmly by a neighbour. She smiles.
"We both felt — mum and I — instantly at home."
For 19 years, Cherie worked at a nearby pub. When her mother had a stroke and required daily care, Cherie didn't bat an eyelid.
"She was my mum, my best friend, and sister all rolled into one," Cherie says, offering foil-wrapped chocolates.
Her mother, Betty Johnson, died three years ago.
Nestled gently on a favoured chair beside the window, the urn that holds her ashes has one of the nation's best views.
The sense of community at the Sirius social housing building is difficult for Cherie to articulate.
"I felt like I was living in a little country town," she says. "Everyone knows, loves, cares and respects one another. We come together in times of crisis or hardship."
Cherie talks in present tense, but in fact most of her neighbours have gone. There's just a handful left, and no-one on her floor.
The absence of people, combined with the shag carpet and plywood walls make give Sirius something of a Overlook Hotel vibe.
The elevators hum, bored. "It's like living in a ghost town," Cherie says.
Photo: Cherie wears a green band in support of a green ban for the Sirius building (ABC RN: Tiger Webb)
For her part, Cherie doesn't know when — or where — she will go next. There have been some offers, but she can't see herself leaving the area.
Access to her doctors is a consideration, as is the prospect of returning to work at the nearby hotel. She also worries about security in a new neighbourhood.
"I've never had depression before but since [the sale was announced], I'm finding it very difficult.
"I'm devastated. I think that if I move somewhere else, I feel as though I'll sort of curl up in the fetal position and die."
Then she collects herself, and starts showing off her many ornaments and photos. Cherie works endlessly in her apartment.
"I'm a worker," Cherie Johnson says, "and I've always been a worker."
Barney
In nearly 70 years, Barney Gardner has only lived in two houses.
"The house I live in now, I moved into in 1989," he says of his downstairs nook on High Street in Millers Point. The other house is the house next door.
His home is one of a long line of two-storey red brick terraces with white wooden railings, one flat upstairs, one downstairs. Many are now boarded up.
"I lived a whole 67 years of my life in this one spot."
Photo: Over 50 years ago, kids played laneway cricket here using these painted wickets. (ABC RN: Tiger Webb)
When Barney describes scenes of his upbringing, it sounds closer to Victorian England than Sydney, Australia.
Barney has tales of sneaking onto the long-gone wharves to go fishing — of being caught by watchmen, and hiding in the nooks among the terraces.
Barney chased trucks laden with goods from the docks, cutting holes in bags of onions, potatoes and carrots.
As the trucks changed gears up the hill, the vegetables would fall out. "We'd pick them up and take them home to our mums," he says.
The men worked on the wharves, in bond stores and wool stores. The women mostly stayed at home.
After work, the men would go to the local pub for beers, and the mothers would chat while they sat on the steps shelling peas. "It was a typical working-class area."
The Millers Point properties haven't always been public housing. For most of Barney's lifetime, the area was home to hundreds of workers.
Nobody else, he says, wanted to live here. The terraces were constructed by the government in the early 1900s, purpose-built for dock workers.
In the 1980s, Barney says, a meeting was called at the local community hall, informing residents that the Department of Housing was taking over management of the properties.
"And we weren't happy about that," Barney says. "Weren't happy at all."
Often, public housing residents are tarred with the derogatory term "housos". "I detest that," Barney says.
"We tried to explain to people, we weren't Department of Housing, we were Maritime Service Board tenants, and before that Trust tenants."
When the Maritime Service Board owned the houses, Barney says, they had their own tradesmen to take care of periodic maintenance.
Dockworkers are a handy lot — Barney remembers many working bees and house paintings.
Once the Department of Housing took over, things started to change. "Both governments slowly let things deteriorate."
There are collapsed balconies, houses with serious mould problems.
"We've had people that have left here because of that," Barney says. "I call that eviction by dereliction, due to non-maintenance of repair work."
Barney is the main point of contact for the Miller's Point Public Housing Tenants Group. His wish to see the suburb preserved goes beyond nostalgia.
"It is the only living heritage suburb in Australia," he says.
Looking over his collection of newspaper articles and TV spots, you can see the effect years of fighting to save Millers Point has had on him.
"Barney has done — is doing — an incredible job," a resident tells me. "A largely thankless job, too."
Recently Barney went along with relocation officers to look at a place in Chippendale, just west of the CBD.
It was a nice-enough unit, he says, but it was on the fourth floor. Barney doesn't deal well with heights.
But there was a bigger problem.
"When I went there I said to the people, 'I don't know anyone here. I don't know anyone within a kilometre radius. What am I going to do?'"
Thursday, 22 September 2016
Unions ban construction workers from demolishing Sydney's brutalist Sirius building
Australian trade unions have banned construction workers from demolishing one of Sydney's only brutalist buildings, which failed in its bid for heritage listing earlier this summer.
The New South Wales (NSW) government plans to sell off the Sirius housing building in the city's Rocks area for redevelopment.
But a new "green ban" by Unions NSW and the Construction, Forestry, Mining and Energy Union (CFMEU) means no unionised workforce will be allowed to work on the site.
"The removal of residents from Millers Point to make way for the city's elite shows us what will happen if Sirius falls," said Rita Mallia, president of the CFMEU.
"The top end of town will move in and working people will be moved, out putting multibillion-dollar projects ahead of green spaces and affordable housing. We can't let that happen."
"The Sirius building is not only an important piece of architectural history – it is one of the last areas of public housing in the district," added Mallia.
At the same time, Unions NSW released a statement saying "no unionised workforce will take part in the Sirius demolition".
On Saturday 17 September 2016, hundreds marched from Customs House Forecourt to the Sirius building to protest the building's sale and the government's failure to protect it through heritage listing. People have also been posting images on Instagram to win support.
The protests were supported by Sydney mayor Clover Moore.
"Heritage and community are worth more than a quick buck!" Moore wrote on her Facebook wall.
"The State Government's decision to level the iconic building and replace it with luxury apartments is an outrageous cash-grab that sets a dangerous precedent," she added.
"By selling out our communities and our history to make a quick buck, this decision could undo the very reason heritage legislation exists. We need to keep fighting for Sirius."
In July 2016, NSW Environment and Heritage Minister Mark Speakman made the decision not to heritage list the Sirius.
Speakman ignored unanimous advice to list the building from the Heritage Council, as well as National Trust NSW and the Australian Institute of Architects (AIA).
Save Our Sirius – an organisation chaired by local AIA president Shaun Carter – is currently running a petition and a crowdfunding campaign to take legal action against the state government's decision.
"The Baird Government has failed to acknowledge the architectural, social and cultural importance of Sirius by refusing to list it on the State Heritage Register, paving the way for its demolition," said Carter.
So far over $38,000 AUD has been raised towards the campaign's $50,000 AUD target, which aims to cover legal action, rallies and promotion.
Australian comedian Tim Ross performed a show inside the Sirius building last month as part of a tour of architecturally significant buildings. He also took part in last weekend's rally.
"It's unlikely that the government will change their mind straight away but the green ban makes it a very unattractive sale proposition," he told Dezeen.
"No union labour will work in the site and a non sale will see them eventually back down," he added. "Few investors will want the headache of trying to demolish and build without a Union workforce."
The Sirius public housing block was designed by architect Tao Gofers in the 1970s. It has 79 apartments as well as communal areas including a lounge, library and roof terrace.
Each residence is housed within a concrete cube, with large windows giving residents unparalleled views of the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge.
The proposed redevelopment of the Sirus apartment block is part of a wider sell-off of public housing throughout the nearby Millers Point neighbourhood. Plans for the site include 250 new luxury apartments.
RESOURCED: http://www.dezeen.com/2016/09/21/unions-ban-demolition-redevelopment-sirius-social-housing-sydney-australia/The New South Wales (NSW) government plans to sell off the Sirius housing building in the city's Rocks area for redevelopment.
But a new "green ban" by Unions NSW and the Construction, Forestry, Mining and Energy Union (CFMEU) means no unionised workforce will be allowed to work on the site.
"The removal of residents from Millers Point to make way for the city's elite shows us what will happen if Sirius falls," said Rita Mallia, president of the CFMEU.
"The top end of town will move in and working people will be moved, out putting multibillion-dollar projects ahead of green spaces and affordable housing. We can't let that happen."
"The Sirius building is not only an important piece of architectural history – it is one of the last areas of public housing in the district," added Mallia.
At the same time, Unions NSW released a statement saying "no unionised workforce will take part in the Sirius demolition".
On Saturday 17 September 2016, hundreds marched from Customs House Forecourt to the Sirius building to protest the building's sale and the government's failure to protect it through heritage listing. People have also been posting images on Instagram to win support.
The protests were supported by Sydney mayor Clover Moore.
"Heritage and community are worth more than a quick buck!" Moore wrote on her Facebook wall.
"The State Government's decision to level the iconic building and replace it with luxury apartments is an outrageous cash-grab that sets a dangerous precedent," she added.
"By selling out our communities and our history to make a quick buck, this decision could undo the very reason heritage legislation exists. We need to keep fighting for Sirius."
In July 2016, NSW Environment and Heritage Minister Mark Speakman made the decision not to heritage list the Sirius.
Speakman ignored unanimous advice to list the building from the Heritage Council, as well as National Trust NSW and the Australian Institute of Architects (AIA).
Save Our Sirius – an organisation chaired by local AIA president Shaun Carter – is currently running a petition and a crowdfunding campaign to take legal action against the state government's decision.
"The Baird Government has failed to acknowledge the architectural, social and cultural importance of Sirius by refusing to list it on the State Heritage Register, paving the way for its demolition," said Carter.
So far over $38,000 AUD has been raised towards the campaign's $50,000 AUD target, which aims to cover legal action, rallies and promotion.
Australian comedian Tim Ross performed a show inside the Sirius building last month as part of a tour of architecturally significant buildings. He also took part in last weekend's rally.
"It's unlikely that the government will change their mind straight away but the green ban makes it a very unattractive sale proposition," he told Dezeen.
"No union labour will work in the site and a non sale will see them eventually back down," he added. "Few investors will want the headache of trying to demolish and build without a Union workforce."
The Sirius public housing block was designed by architect Tao Gofers in the 1970s. It has 79 apartments as well as communal areas including a lounge, library and roof terrace.
Each residence is housed within a concrete cube, with large windows giving residents unparalleled views of the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge.
The proposed redevelopment of the Sirus apartment block is part of a wider sell-off of public housing throughout the nearby Millers Point neighbourhood. Plans for the site include 250 new luxury apartments.
Tuesday, 20 September 2016
Sydney's endangered Sirius public housing tower – in pictures
Sydney's endangered Sirius public housing tower – in pictures
Protesters gathered in Sydney’s historic Rocks district on Saturday to rally against the New South Wales government’s plans to sell off the Sirius building – which contains 79 social housing tenants – to developers for more than $100m. The 1970s Brutalist building was nominated for heritage listing by the NSW National Trust in 2014 but the government has refused to grant it, saying the proceeds from the sale are needed to build more public housing elsewhere in Sydney
Protesters gathered in Sydney’s historic Rocks district on Saturday to rally against the New South Wales government’s plans to sell off the Sirius building – which contains 79 social housing tenants – to developers for more than $100m. The 1970s Brutalist building was nominated for heritage listing by the NSW National Trust in 2014 but the government has refused to grant it, saying the proceeds from the sale are needed to build more public housing elsewhere in Sydney
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