ISSUE 17: SMILE TO YOUR BAD LUCK

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ISSUE 17_SMILE TO YOUR BAD LUCK: HOW A GROUP OF MELBOURNE RESIDENTS ENDED THE CITY'S DRACONIAN SLUM CLEARANCE POLICY
_BY KIMBERLEY THOMSON
_SUBJECTS_ #

DEAR ARCHITECTURE SCHOOL...
_Towards the end of the 1960s, the residents of Brooks Crescent received a letter. The Housing Commission of Victoria was writing to kindly inform them their homes would soon be compulsorily acquired by the state. Due to a thick wave of post-war migration, there was a large Italian population living in the Fitzroy neighbourhood, so, wanting to be helpful, the Commission included a translation in its correspondence. They botched it — much to the bemusement of residents — and wrote “Fare buon viso a Cattiva Sorte”, translating as the rather condescending, “Smile to your bad luck”. Surrounded by a ring of brutalist dwellings, the crescent today is a very different scene to the quaint rows of cottages that existed mid-century. A commemorative plaque has been constructed, baring the translated phrase, in honour of the social justice movement that was to unfold into the 70s. Inhabited at that time by working class families and a migrant population as large as 60 per cent, the Commission ruled the street — and a vast area around it — a slum that needed to be cleared.
By this stage, ‘slum reclamation’ policy was nothing new to Melbourne. Since the 30s, the Housing Commission had been intent on cleaning up inner-city areas, which were known for, as one ABC reporter put it, their “often grotesque vitality”. By the 50s, high-rise, high-density living was being touted as good for modern society, and a panacea to the increasing suburban sprawl. The infamous Shaw/Davey Report was released in 1960, earmarking 1000 acres of land to be acquired. Melbourne poet and Fitzroy resident, Pi O, describes the bureaucratic insouciance bestowed upon his neighbourhood when he was a kid living in Fitzroy with his Greek family:“We were beginning to make a lot of money in that shop in Fitzroy, when a bomb more powerful than the one dropped on Nagasaki exploded. What happened was an officer of the Housing Commission, armed to the teeth with coloured pencils and a copy of Morgan’s Street Directory, climbed into a light blue Ford and set off in search of a place he could call a slum.
“So off he went. And without so much as bothering to get out of the car, he drove through an area bounded by Gertrude St, Brunswick St, Napier St and King William St, which he marked down with red pencil on his copy of Morgan’s, and overnight — by virtue of section 56 of the Local Government Act — the shop and rooms we lived in were declared a slum.” Residents were evicted, homes were destroyed and high-rises went up without apology. By the late 60s, it seemed the same fate awaited Brooks Crescent, despite a long silence from the Commission. Barry Pullen got involved early on in the protest. In a commemorative walk hosted by the Fitzroy Historical Soicety, Pullen (who would later enter State politics) described initial dealings with the Housing Commission: “The clearances in this area began in ways that the residents regarded as movement by stealth. When it started, the Commission purchased houses by private treaty from people. Those houses often fell into neglect, as they weren’t tenanted, and they were demolished.
“People like myself and others from outside didn’t really know what to do. We thought that maybe some of the houses weren’t too good and that maybe the Commission needed to do something about them. People also felt that the Commission wasn’t so bad in that there was a need for affordable housing and that maybe, in providing more modern dwellings, they were doing good for people.” A resident action group formed and undertook a door-knock survey of the area. It became clear the Commission’s actions weren’t in the best interests of residents, who wished to stay in their homes. One lady who was convinced to sell her house, remarked, “It wasn’t that bad, I got the same as when I bought it!” She had bought three decades earlier. People didn’t shy away from airing their discontent. There were demonstrations, posters, marches, street sculpture. A legal battle followed, involving local factory owners.
Individual characters emerged within the protest. A panel beater, Jack Strochi, was known for his enthusiasm. Said Pullen: “Jack was a war hero from Italy and he saw the Housing Commission as the enemy. He was not at all ambivalent about it. He built a crucifix with barbed wire on the top from chrome bumper bars and the title ‘They are crucifying us in Brooks Crescent’.”Daisy Croft, an “Aussie battler”, became another key figure not hiding her angst toward the Commission. “I feel like getting a shotgun and shooting them,” she told The Age in 1972. She went and fetched a shotgun to prove her point and was arrested for her efforts.The Commission’s intentions were becoming increasingly unpopular within public opinion. Unions got involved and tried to stymy construction work that had begun in the crescent. “But,” Pullen explained, “houses were still demolished in the early hours of the morning by scab labour, who would come in and take the roofs off and damage the buildings to such an extent that they were open to the weather and eventually had to be demolished.”
In a dramatic community meeting, residents decided to abandon the legal battle against the Commission, or risk being liable to pay damages they couldn’t afford. Hope was wearing thin. But pressure was mounting on the Liberal government. In 1973, the residents association was invited to a meeting with the Premier. “When we entered the room, it was clear from the demeanor of the Housing Commissioners, that we’d won,” said Pullen, “The olive branch that was offered by the Premier was the forming of a joint planning committee which involved the Fitzroy Council and the Commission.” A process of rebuilding began and the program of slum reclamation in Victoria was formally abandoned. Despite the victory, Pullen said many residents suffered a sense of irrevocable loss: “In these struggles sometimes it is difficult knowing when you’ve won. Sometimes people just keep going on and on. We knew that we’d won, but everybody felt the same exhaustion, and some were very sad at the loss of particular houses.”
It seems incredible today that the state could wield such authority over people’s livelihoods. But, you don’t have to look far to find modern day parallels. At the time of writing, Bendigo St in Collingwood is occupied by protestors lamenting the fact that houses acquired for the East West Link have been left abandoned for months. At the same time, over 35,000 people sit on a public housing waiting list and up to 80,000 homes across the state are empty. The scene at Bendigo St is lively—potted plants, deck chairs, cups of tea—there’s a clear sense of community amongst the squatting protesters, who are mostly homeless, disenfranchised and angry, but still smiling, amidst a housing situation that remains incredibly fraught.
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(1) The full transcript of the walk around Brooks Crescent can be found on the Fitzroy Historical Society’s website: www.fitzroyhistorysociety.org.au

RIGHT OF REPLY

[FITZROY HISTORICAL SOCIETY] WALK AROUND BROOKS CRESCENT, TRANSCRIPT

www.fitzroyhistorysociety.org.au

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