Gate without fences: The future of a strip of land

During the first weeks of June, mostly Ocean View inhabitants, according to Councillor Patricia Frank, moved onto the private land next to Ocean View, along Kommetjie Road. A looming gate now stands as a visible reminder of the attempted land occupation and the few days of unrest that followed. On the gate is a clear sign reading “Private Property. No Trespassing.” To me, it feels slightly surreal: a strong boundary marker in a place where the boundaries themselves are not physically clear.

The owners obtained a court order to stop the occupation and to remove the people and the structures. After that, there were several evenings of unrest at the Ocean View entrance road, Milky Way, with gunshots from rioters and Casspirs from the police. Scars in the road are the only evidence of tyre burning. It’s quiet now. But the quiet doesn’t mean the questions have gone away.

A Chinese conglomerate apparently owns the land. Before COVID, the plan was for an upmarket development; at one point, there was even talk of a vineyard being built alongside the housing units. Two road names—Brittlestar Road and Pipefish Drive—already appear on Google Maps, as if the development existed somewhere between intention and reality. Then COVID arrived. Since then, I haven’t seen any activity on the land. I would be interested to hear from anyone—owners, developers or local officials—who knows what interrupted or delayed the project and whether there is still a plan for it.

The strip of land connects De Oude Weg to Ocean View. At the left edge is the Tears cattery, and the right edge is Ocean View. It’s a long strip running along Kommetjie Road, with the Table Mountain National Park Reserve marked by the Steenberg mountain jutting out behind it. It sits at the intersection of different interests: residents who need housing, investors who have invested in development, and environmental considerations tied to the nearby reserve and the broader landscape.

How long is this land going to lie dormant? Has it been abandoned by the owners, even though some private entity allegedly paid about R500,000 for the court order to stop the occupation? From the owners’ side, they might argue that they followed legal processes, invested in plans, and then faced a combination of economic shocks and regulatory or logistical hurdles. From the residents’ side, especially those struggling with overcrowding or insecure housing, an apparently unused piece of land along a main road may look like an obvious, if risky, opportunity.

What does a large, open space like this mean in an area where many people need housing? Is it simply an empty field waiting for the right economic and regulatory moment, or does it inevitably invite people in search of somewhere to live to try to claim it?

Differing opinions exist among the various stakeholders—owners, surrounding residents and the local government—about the future of this land.

Standing at the gate, looking at an open field marked on maps by streets that don’t yet exist, I’m left with more questions than answers. Perhaps this strip of land is not just about one stalled development, but about how we, as a broader community, negotiate space, ownership, need, and the environment when they converge in one visible place along a road many of us travel every day.