The battle for Botmaskop

Nimbyism rears its ugly head in Stellenbosch

Every morning in 2024, as I walked from my front door to the car, my toddler would gaze up at Botmaskop. The mountain was alive with bulldozers, diggers and tipper trucks, and he loved naming each one. I joined his fascination, wondering what new homes might soon rise from those terraces carved into the slopes. Who would occupy such spectacular vantage points, and what kind of lives would they build there?

Then, suddenly, early in 2025, the construction vehicles vanished. The morning rumble stopped, leaving only silence on the mountain. My son was puzzled: why had the machines disappeared? News soon came: a court had halted the development known as Botmaskop Estate, responding to an interdict application by the Stellenbosch Interest Group, a civic body claiming to represent the residents’ interests. Their argument was simple: the development would harm the environment and spoil the scenic beauty of Stellenbosch.

Yet, when weighed carefully, the case for Botmaskop Estate remains overwhelmingly strong. That part of the old Amoi farm had long been overtaken by invasive alien vegetation – thirsty eucalyptus trees that had crowded out the indigenous fynbos. Independent environmental studies conducted in the 2000s confirmed this, concluding that responsible development and active landscaping could, in fact, improve local biodiversity by restoring native plant life. It is entirely reasonable – and I count myself among those who feel this – to care deeply about preserving natural ecosystems. I look up daily at what is now a scarred slope and wish it were different.

To care about nature is important, but so is recognising what responsible development can achieve when thoughtfully managed. And here, the promise is not just ecological restoration but economic renewal too. The estate represents a R770 million investment into Stellenbosch’s economy: 22,000 square meters of luxury housing, each square meter costing about R35,000. And that ignores the R140 million already spent on services. Those vast sums would ripple through the local economy, creating hundreds of jobs for low-skilled workers during construction and providing steady employment afterwards for nannies, Pilates instructors, plumbers and family office advisors. And each of those 77 families would need to wine, dine and shop locally, filling restaurants, cafés, supermarkets and boutiques, supporting the kind of small Stellenbosch businesses we all claim to cherish.

Moreover, Stellenbosch Municipality stood to gain significantly. Seventy-seven high-value homes meant substantial additional rates and taxes, which could fund essential public services: street upgrades in Cloetesville, improved sanitation in Kayamandi, parks and libraries in Idas Valley. It was precisely for this reason that residents of Idas Valley, the community directly opposite Helshoogte Pass and closest to the development, gave their support at a meeting in August 2019 when the residential estate was first proposed.

They were also keen to see safety improve. Previously, the Botmaskop slopes had been sites of crime: dumping, muggings, burglaries. The estate’s arrival had already improved security through fences, patrols and cleared paths, making the mountain safer for everyone who uses its trails. With construction halted, these safety gains may now be reversed, leaving the slopes, and nearby communities, once again vulnerable to crime.

Traffic concerns have also been raised, but here, too, the critics miss a key point. The estate would generate less traffic than the original development planned for the site: a bustling hotel and conference center. Traffic assessments confirmed this, and planning officials were satisfied. Public participation processes were duly followed, one for the rezoning and another for the incorporation into the urban edge. Notably, the Stellenbosch Interest Group (SIG), an unelected civic association ostensibly representing residents, submitted no comments during either stage. Indeed, all the necessary approvals – environmental, zoning, municipal – had long since been granted. After all, banks do not finance multimillion-rand construction projects without meticulous verification of legal and regulatory compliance. If the SIC’s claims are correct, a lot of highly experienced professionals must have somehow got it very wrong.

So why, despite the overwhelming evidence, has opposition to Botmaskop Estate been so fierce? There can be many reasons, of course. Some may simply not know the full facts and have relied on the alarm sounded by a prominent and vocal few. Others may be frustrated that a familiar cycling route, long used informally across private land, is now blocked by fences as part of the development. Some may distrust developers in general, assuming that any private investment must be self-serving and therefore viewing the project with suspicion. A few might worry that allowing this development could open the floodgates for future projects, fearing that if Botmaskop goes ahead, other, less desirable developments might follow.

But I think the answer lies less in rational arguments than in sociological truths about human nature and social standing. At its heart, this is a classic case of nimbyism – Not In My Backyard – where concerns about the environment or heritage often mask a deeper fear: that new development might bring new neighbours, new competition and change the social order. As an economic historian, I frequently emphasise how wealth creation is fundamentally positive-sum, like playing Settlers of Catan, where trading and collaboration lift everyone’s prospects. Status, however, works differently. It is zero-sum, more like Monopoly, where your rise inevitably means someone else’s fall.

The Stellenbosch Interest Group presents itself as a voice for the broader community, but in practice it is driven by a small, well-resourced circle with the time, means and determination to sustain prolonged legal battles. Their Facebook page, maintained by a handful of familiar names, offers a glimpse into whose interests are most actively defended. It is not inconceivable that part of the opposition stems from an unstated anxiety: that Botmaskop Estate might shift the local social hierarchy by introducing a new echelon of wealth and visibility. In that light, the passionate resistance may not be solely about heritage or ecology, but also about maintaining a particular social order.

This status anxiety is selective. The same civic group has not opposed all developments across Stellenbosch, some built on prime vineyard land or on areas of clear environmental value. They even raised no objection when the very same Botmaskop site was earmarked for a hotel and resort, despite its identical physical footprint. The difference, it seems, is not the land itself, but the kind of residents the developments might attract. Middle-class housing does not unsettle the social order. A luxury estate on Botmaskop, promising new wealth, does. Even the name chosen by the developers – Staytus – might have struck a little too close to home.

Judge Melanie Holderness’s recent interim decision – halting construction until a comprehensive review – appears sympathetic to the elite narrative, emphasising scenic and procedural concerns while seemingly overlooking economic facts and community support. Yet we must remember: an interim ruling is cautious by nature. It does not imply the final outcome. Perhaps she will recognise that freezing the site permanently would not magically return it to its original state. Even if funds were available, it is unclear why this site, rather than other, more intact and ecologically critical areas, should take precedence. And perhaps too she will recognise the broader story: the immense benefits for all of Stellenbosch’s residents – jobs, environmental restoration, improved safety – and the questionable motivations behind the opposition.

There is a wider lesson here for South Africa too. In a country desperate for economic growth, we often point fingers at government failures, bureaucratic inertia or policy paralysis. But Botmaskop offers a more uncomfortable reminder: even if the state clears all hurdles, growth can still be derailed by private actors. Environmental processes matter, but they can also be weaponised – wittingly or unwittingly – to serve deeper social anxieties. The result is paralysis by other means. In this case, it was not government bureaucrats or ministers who blocked progress; it was a privileged few, often the very voices most eager to lament state dysfunction, who stood in the way.

When my son asked recently, ‘Dad, when will the bulldozers come back? I want to one day be a builder,’ I told him, ‘I hope very soon.’ And I meant it, not only because bulldozers create homes and prosperity, but because Stellenbosch deserves a future built on shared opportunity and not a game of monopoly.

An edited version of this post appeared (in Afrikaans) in Rapport on 4 May 2025. As usual, this piece reflects my own views. I was paid my usual fee by the newspaper where it first appeared, but received no other compensation. I’ve had no contact with the developer, their PR firm, or anyone acting on their behalf. I did, however, correspond with a former owner of the property to verify facts.

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