In 2017, when it was still under construction, my first and only glimpse of CSW bus stop in Jakarta resulted in my utter amazement. Who had dreamed up this scary construction? I wondered how many people would be brave or fit enough to walk up to a bus station soaring 24 meters high above ground level – I envisioned very few would make the effort.

As I saw it, the station’s giddy height, its slender design and rather feeble looking handrails and balustrades, combined with Jakarta’s soaring air pollution and daily temperatures of 30 degrees Celsius or higher, would discourage even the most ardent user and advocate of public transport: myself included. These immediate concerns turned out to be prescient; the CSW bus stop was never fully utilised for all the reasons I’d anticipated.

U-turn

After that initial view, I didn’t give the station much thought. That is, until a few weeks ago when Yogi Fajri, a friend from Semarang, out of the blue, sent me images from this station. After seeing Yogi’s pictures though, there are now two very good reasons for me to visit CSW bus stop next time I’m in Jakarta.

The first, is that the bus stop is no longer the scary platform floating somewhere in mid-air as it was when I initially encountered it. Instead, it’s an integrated part of CSW Asean Station, an impressive new public transport node in Jakarta’s rapidly expanding public transport network. Although the position of the platform hasn’t changed, the addition of two floors underneath and elevators connecting the different floors have considerably improved the platform’s accessibility and appearance, it’s no longer ‘scary’. For passengers who alight here, the raised and covered corridors at first floor level create easy, safe and fast connections to the metros and buses situated on second and ground level while shops, eateries, public toilets and a mosque on the newly added floors enhance the station’s user friendliness.

The second reason, and perhaps a more personal one, is a small booth in one of the transit spaces on the second floor that provides the station’s users with a brief history of Kebayoran Baru genesis and that of the area surrounding CSW Asean Station. Not because I’m curious to learn about the history of Kebayoran Baru, but because it would be fun to see, for myself, the reference to one of my own articles as the source of information for the story in the booth. For who would have thought that, my contribution to a rather obscure publication some two decades ago, would be cited as a source of information to inform passengers on Jakarta’s public transport.

An obscure publication

The book I’m referring to is called Sejarah Penataan Ruang Indonesia 1948-2000 (History of Indonesian Planning 1948-2000) and was the result of a joint initiative between the Indonesian Department of Settlement and Regional Infrastructure (Departemen Permukiman dan Prasarana Wilayah, KIMPRASWIL) and its Dutch counterpart. I contributed to the book thanks to an invitation by Steef Buys, the Dutch senior official who co-initiated this project. I was flattered by the invitation, not only because I recently started my PhD research at Delft University of Technology, but also because my co-authors were esteemed professionals and academics.

My chapter examined planning in the Dutch East Indies during the first half of the twentieth century. It discussed the myriad of issues planners dealt with, who these planners were, why and how they addressed the various issues, what plans they designed, and how colonial and early post-colonial planning in Indonesia were intrinsically connected. Considering the latter, my chapter was a good springboard to the following chapters dealing with the many aspects of planning in post-colonial Indonesia.

Unfortunately, the book’s anticipated readership of professionals, academics and university students never materialised. The reason was regrettable but simple: the limited edition of the book that was soft-launched in 2003 was never succeeded by a final version printed in large numbers. Although the book occasionally came up in conversations with colleagues and friends – including fleeting ideas to publish the book after all – it gradually turned into one of those books known to its authors, editorial team and to the people who attended its soft-launch, but few others.

Validation

I’m a firm believer in scholarly publications being shared in the public domain and wanted to avoid my chapter slipping into complete oblivion, I therefore uploaded it on various free to access online platforms. Whether the anonymous writer of the text in the booth at CSW Asean Station traced my text on any of these websites or managed to obtain one of the rare copies of the 2003 book, I don’t know. What I Do know is that somebody, somewhere, somehow, traced the text and used it to write a short narrative about the history of the area surrounding one of Jakarta’s public transport hubs. How’s that for delayed validation?!

Obviously, I’m fully aware that most passengers pass the booth without paying it too much attention. But as a Jakarta taxi driver once pointed out, even if only one percent of all passengers take notice, the impact is still considerably larger than if the information would have been confined to the pages of a somewhat obscure publication.

 

At the dawn of the 21^st century, Bank Indonesia (BI) was concerned about  its historical buildings and became increasingly involved with their care and conservation. After the careful restoration of Bank Indonesia’s former headquarters in Jakarta Kota, the bank undertook many other projects including the controversial and much debated modern extension to BI’s building in Solo. It also introduced the  ‘Bank Indonesia Heritage Award’. Thanks to all these efforts, BI became one of Indonesia’s influential supporters of ‘good architecture’, both old and new. However, BI’s commitment to ‘good architecture’ during the first decade of the 21^st century, seems to have come to a full-stop; for how else can one explain what happened in Medan last year?

Polonia

I’m  referring to the construction of the new extension to the residence of BI’s director in Medan. The residence dates from the 1930s and is situated on Jalan Sudirman in the grand and lush designed residential area Polonia. Although the architect of the residence is unknown and  the building itself is not listed as national or local heritage, Polonia is listed as a heritage district. The latter designation implies that all building projects must consider and respect and  contribute to the physical qualities of the area: its spaciousness and green character plus the careful arrangement and design of its buildings.

1980s extension

The new extension, completed in 2016, replaced an extension from the 1980s: a fully air-conditioned and oddly shaped volume with low ceilings, dark glass windows and a semi-outdoor pound. Lacking any sign of sophistication or subtlety, the 1980s extension very much clashed with the design and setting of the original, free-standing house. Not so much because the style of the extension was different from the style of the house, but because its design, the selection of material and their application lacked sophistication and subtlety: and this wasn’t the only drawback.

The second drawback of the 1980s extension was its position. Situated where it was, it not only completely blocked the view and the access from the street to the garden, and vice versa, it also stopped the free flow of air around the original mansion ‒ turning the garden into a mosquito infested semi-open space  as I experienced myself.

Repairing the past 

Although the earlier extension  provided BI’s Medan representative with additional living space, it could never be described as offering the ‘sensitive’ architecture one would expect in a heritage district. As such, BI’s intention to replace it with a new extension offered an excellent opportunity to undo an error from the past. Being well aware of BI’s recent commitment to built heritage, the l architect (a local) was delighted when BI asked him to not only restore the original residence to its former glory and replace the 1980s extension with a new design. And how he delivered!

Modest and sophisticated

Using his expertise based on wide national and international knowledge, the architect designed an extension that was everything the 1980s failed to provide: the 2015 design was modest and sophisticated in scale, details and materials. While the new design met the required functionalities, it also restored the residence’s original, free-standing character, its unconventionally  shaped but generous garden reconnecting the visual reference between the garden and the street. Last but certainly not least, the new extension was designed to be of low in maintenance and of a low carbon footprint. The new extension, in other words, would sweep away the 1980s blooper with one well-designed stroke of the architect’s pencil.

Overruled

However, things are rarely straight-forward: while everybody in Medan liked, understood and supported the architect’s contemporary yet restrained concept and design, BI headquarters in Jakarta stopped the project in its track. Just minutes before the architect was to present to and discuss his final design with BI Jakarta, he was told BI Jakarta had already decided what it wanted and it wasn’t what he designed. During the meeting, and without even discussing his design, the architect’s proposal was put aside. Instead, BI Jakarta asked him to design what BI wanted.

What BI wants

BI’s ‘design’ couldn’t have been more different from that the local architect had designed. Rather than seizing the moment to undo a historical error, BI opted to repeat it. Rather than opting for a restrained and smart design that restored and celebrated the original architecture and setting, BI insisted on what can best be described as a 2015 stylistic update of the 1980 extension. Instead of a sensitive application of contemporary architecture and material, BI opted to more or less ‘mirror’ the architecture of the original house: white stucco walls with an eclectic mix of 1930s details. In so doing, BI destroyed the possibility offered  and in one stroke annihilated the careful balance between ‘old’ and ‘new’ the architect so carefully designed.

And it didn’t stop here. Rather than following the architect’s suggestion to position the new extension on the border of the plot, BI insisted the new extension was once again to be directly positioned adjacent to the original house. The only difference this time was that instead of one volume, the extension was to consist of three interconnected volumes – one of which, by the way, was only be used during halal bihal  i.e. once a year. Due to its volume and position, the BI extension would thus once again visually and physically close the garden off from the surrounding urban fabric. On top of which the extension would leave nothing but a relatively small garden with narrow, dark and warm spaces at its back where, once again, mosquitoes would thrive.

What happened

Comparing BI’s unimaginative plan with the architect’s carefully balanced design, one can’t but weep and wonder what happened? Why was BI Jakarta so dismissive and not open to the architect’s considerate proposal? What was BI Jakarta thinking when it overruled the architect’s thoughtful and considered design? Apparently, budget was not the issue. The extension that BI ultimately ordered to be built in Medan is not in any way, shape or form cheaper than the architect’s sophisticated and sensitive design.

What we want

While the architect was left little choice but to withdraw his design – although involved in the extension’s construction, he was not responsible for its design  – this course of events in Medan does not stand on its own. Time and again, architects in Indonesia are overruled by commissioners. Not on the basis of professional arguments, but simply because commissioners dislike a design and think they know best. As architects have little support to fall back on, they often loose out and (have to) give in to the untrained preference and unprofessional opinion of commissioners.

 In a world where ‘like’ or ‘dislike’ suffice to win people over, no further argument or explanation is required. But is this what we want? Do we want (and accept) living in a world where the expertise of professionals time and again is ignored? How would other professionals respond? How would, say, bankers feel if farmers or entrepreneurs would mingle in banking affairs? How would lawyers and judges feel if, for example, instead of lawyers and judges teachers and taxi drivers would pass judgement in legal affairs? If we respect and accept the professional expertise of these professionals, why then are architects’ professional expertise in Indonesia time and again side-lined and disregarded.

Respect

While most people recognise and respect the expertise of professionals other than themselves, the majority of building commissioners in Indonesia seem to think very little of the expertise of professional architects. Completely unjust, as the executed extension of BI’s director’s residence in Medan illustrates. In the case of Medan, the architect’s carefully blending old and new architecture would have restored the original residence’s qualities and complemented it with a functional, smart, modest and environmentally friendly addition. Instead of encroaching and dominating the existing house, as the executed extension does, the architect’s extension would physically and visually have celebrated it by taking a step back.

The only uplifting thought in this repeated BI-drama in Medan is that one day BI’s 2016 ‘historical blooper’ might also be undone. Let’s hope that when this happens, the new commissioner will indeed respect the expertise of the architect he or she puts in charge. For the time being though, the architect, Bank Indonesia, Bank Indonesia’s director in Medan, Medan citizens, Polonia and Medan as a whole can’t but lick their wounds.

 

©Photographs of the 2016 extension are taken in 2016 by Josh Rafael Gultom, Medan.

 

 

For some time now, heritage professionals and enthusiasts in Semarang have been lobbying the government and UNESCO to appreciate and acknowledge the significance of Kota Lama. While everybody seems up in arms to preserve this part of Semarang, significant buildings in other parts of town are ignored and not taken care off. What, for example, is going to happen to one of the extraordinary houses in the hills that was recently put up for sale? Is it on the brink of disappearing, or can and will it be saved and cherished?

Gesamtkunstwerk

The house I am referring to is inextricably linked to Semarang and Indonesian history. Commissioned by a Semarang resident, the house was designed by Semarang born and based architect Liem Bwan Tjie in 1934. The first ‒ and unfortunately only ‒ time I visited the house and gardens, my jaw dropped. First of all because of the location: a vast, partially sloping plot of land that offered an uninterrupted view over Semarang all the way to the Java Sea. Secondly because of the remarkable flat-roofed modernist design of the house and its lush garden. And finally, because of the house’s original interior. An interior for which Liem Bwan Tjie singlehandedly designed the geometric stained glass and all furniture: tables, chairs and light fixtures. This house was a Gesamtkunstwerk in the true sense of the word: a work of art in which all separate elements were conceived and designed as one entity/artefact.

Care takers

Although taken somewhat aback by my candid enthusiasm, the then owners/occupants – heirs/children of the initial commissioner – greatly appreciated it. They recognised and took great pride in the remarkable architecture of their home. When some time later friends of mine went over to see the house, they had completely repainted the house: the house looked stunning. Over the years, the house and its delightful owners regularly crossed my mind. It always felt good, knowing the piece of Semarang architectural heritage was appreciated and lovingly cared for by its owners.

House for sale

Last year though, my confidence in the future of the house was fundamentally shaken. Just days after I spotted a ‘for sale’ sign on the estate’s gate, Liem’s daughter contacted me. She was worried. If a bid was made, she and I realised, it would probably not be prompted by the house’s architecture, but rather by its location and plot size. Which, as so often happens in Indonesia in general and in this area in Semarang in particular, in all probability would imply the new owner would demolish the house and garden and instead build a new and financially more lucrative construction: a luxury hotel annex restaurant, or an upmarket apartment block.

What’s next

While it can be hoped the house will be purchased by somebody who appreciates its history and quality, the odds are that it is on the brink of destruction. Not because the house is not of monumental value, but because the house was never identified and listed as such. As with so many monumental buildings in Semarang, it simply is not on Semarang’s heritage list. And thus, while local, national and international attention is being paid to Kota Lama, equally interesting and relevant areas in Semarang remain ignored and outlawed to the caprices of the economic market.

Who cares?

The question is why this happens time and again? Why do so few people seem aware or care about the loss, or at best invasive ‘conversions’ of monumental houses in Semarang? How come, the government and architecture enthusiasts ignore buildings that in many countries around the world would be listed as a monument?

The Liem Bwan Tjie house that is currently up for sale has got all it takes: historical, social and architectural relevance. Had the house been listed as heritage, its continued existence would have been guaranteed – at least on paper. For, had it been listed, its sale would have implied an agreement to keep and save the building – on paper at least.

Icon of Indonesian architecture

Although all may not be lost yet for this outstanding Liem Bwan Tjie house in Semarang, it is time to turn the tide. While obviously Kota Lama has its qualities, many other areas in Semarang are also have plenty to offer in terms of buildings and lay-out. With regard to the Liem Bwan Tjie house, all one can hope for is that its buyer recognises and appreciates the building for what it is, and treats it accordingly: as a remarkable piece of early twentieth century Indonesian architecture, designed by an Indonesian architect for an Indonesian commissioner.

Epilogue

The need to publish this text as a blog illustrates the lack of urgency in Indonesia in general and Semarang in particular. Despite many efforts over the last year to get the Indonesian translation published in Indonesian newspapers and/or journals and despite several promises, the text remained unpublished.

©All photographs are taken in 1998 by Rinandi Chandra Aditya, Jakarta.  

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This is a story about my ‘serendipitous’ discovery of an unknown building designed by Herman Thomas Karsten: the Red Cross hospital in Bogor. Or, as it was called during Dutch colonial rule, the Ro(o)de Kruis-ziekenhuis in Buitenzorg.

First time

My discovery started in 2014 when I was composing a list of town plans Karsten either designed or advised on. My initial tool for this venture was www.delpher.nl: a repository/website developed by the National Library of the Netherlands that offers free, online access to millions of pages from Dutch and the Dutch East Indian newspapers, books and journals. My research method was simple: after entering Karsten’s name in combination with the names of major and minor towns in the Dutch East Indies, Delpher showed me the documents that contained both terms.

While I was primarily searching for references to town plans, I didn’t turn a blind eye to texts about buildings. Not only because this would prevent me from having to go over all ‘hits’ again if one day I would be working on Karsten’s list of buildings, but also because you never know what you may find. For although I am a scholar and therefore like to work in an orderly fashion, I also recognise – and embrace – serendipity can be a very welcome and significant contributor to a research process.

Several hours into my desk-top research, I struck lucky. While checking ‘Karsten’ and ‘Buitenzorg’ in 1928 and 1929, I came across four newspaper articles that referred to the Roode Kruis in Buitenzorg. Two of them even contained photographs of the buildings and part of the audience during the opening ceremony. The photographs were revealing, and remarkable. Firstly because the photographs demonstrated the hospital was more than just a plan. Secondly because they gave an impression what the buildings looked like. And thirdly because they suggested that the opening of the hospital was an important event. As newspapers in 1929 only rarely included images in articles, including two photographs was highly exceptional.

Happy with my find, I shared my discovery with a colleague and publisher with whom I was working on a book on the life and work of Karsten. Their somewhat lukewarm response puzzled me but didn’t diminish my excitement about my discovery. I added the hospital to my personal list of Karsten’s oeuvre and continued with other work.

Until that day I visited the National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia (ANRI) in Jakarta, and spotted the words ‘Karsten’, ‘Roode Kruis ziekenhuis’ and ‘Buitenzorg’ in the index to the archives of the Dutch Department of Public Works (Burgerlijke Openbare Werken).

Second time

Recollecting my research findings via Delpher, the combination of the words ‘Karsten’, ‘Roode Kruis ziekenhuis’ and ‘Buitenzorg’ rang many bells. Could this be true: could this be a file containing material regarding the hospital mentioned in the newspapers?

If this was the case, I was about to find something exiting on several levels. Firstly because the file indicated Karsten worked for BOW. This would be another discovery, as so far no scholar or publication ever mentioned Karsten in relation to BOW. Secondly because, knowing BOW-files usually contain blue prints and correspondence, I soon might stand eye to eye with unique documents. Unique because archival material is unique by definition, but even more so because practically none of Karsten’s original drawings and professional correspondence survive. If the BOW-file were to contain correspondence and blue prints about the commission and the design of the hospital, it would enable me to dig deeper into and thus more faithfully reconstruct the hospital’s history and development.

After opening the file, it realized I struck lucky again: its content indeed concerned the hospital referred to in the newspapers and (hurray!), contained a fair amount of correspondence and blue prints with Karsten’s name and stamp on it. As I was now well on my way to uncover and document a building that was clearly designed by Karsten but to my knowledge so far had not been linked, let alone attributed to Karsten, I make one last inquiry.

Third time

To get an idea what the hospital actually looked like, I needed more, and preferably qualitatively better images of the hospital, than the ones in the newspapers. Once again, online tools were a great help. The online image collections of Leiden University Libraries and the Nationaal Museum van Wereldculturen in Amsterdam turned out to contain a total of 31 photographs.[i] Depicting some of the hospital’s buildings, surroundings, and staff, they create a vivid image of what the hospital looked like. The photographs, together with the BOW-file and the newspaper coverage, sketch an interesting and intriguing insight into all aspect of the hospital’s history: the considerations and discussions that steered its design and preceded its implementation, as well as its reception and appearance. As a researcher, I could not have been happier.

 

Next time

The only thing that might temper my enthusiasm though, could be my visit to the site itself. For although it’s clear from Google Maps that the hospital’s original plot is still intact, Google Maps’ street view function seems to suggest the buildings have been fundamentally altered. To what extend this online impression is accurate, needs to be verified. Let’s see, next time I visit Bogor: can one be four times lucky?

 

[i] The photographs were taken by G.F.J. Bley in 1938. Bley was hospitalised in the Red Cross hospital for at least 6 weeks. To express his appreciation for the staff’s affectionate treatment, Bley donated an album with the photographs to the hospital.