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And as is the case when our surroundings provoke a constant, if low-level, unease, there inevitably follows attempts to become comfortable in our homes, as well as in the immediate context of our homes. To reassert control, folks have dealt with the perceived insecurities of vacancy a number of ways:
Summing, our vacancy-littered cities can create for a context of insecurity, or an emotional landscape that folks become resigned to, flee, or fight with fire and gas bombs. And while these are bad coping mechanisms, there is little an individual can do, as rampant vacancy is a societal problem that needs societal solutions.
Organizationally speaking, while a city can and does use bad coping mechanisms to fend off the existential crisis of shrinking (e.g., mass demolition of otherwise great built stock = “fight”), a better alternative is through rationalization, or problem-solving—i.e., land banking for strategic reinvestment, code enforcement, block club chain letters to vacant property owners. Still, such responses are limited as they are logical attempts to address problems of an emotional context[1]. Yet this is what urban planning has historically done: bricks, plans, and mortar to fix what doesn’t feel right. What is needed is a complimentary perspective in which innovative urban planning interventions address the totality of the city landscape, or its heart, its mind, and its body.
Enter art. To wit: the interesting thing about Ruin Porn was that the photographs of “abandonment beauty” effectively challenged our perceptions of decay. In other words, what was once only associated as dead, losing, lost, and disinvested in became the notion of the frontier. Folks, then, flocked to empty factories and houses near and wide to make art, with the Ruin Porn aesthetic even morphing into an evolving “new genre of Americana”, or Rust Belt Chic. And while Ruin Porn, as a form, has begun to take on somewhat negative connotations, what cannot be argued is the fact that it opened up a perceptual door to what vacancy—disrobed of its emotional baggage—may actually mean.
After all, there is a fine line between emptiness and space.
Now, how can cities begin to institutionalize not only a city’s emotional context into their thought processes, but the power of creativity to soothe where the city hurts? Recently Aaron Renn at the Urbanophile posted a piece asking “Do Cities Need a Creative Director?” While his intent was for the director to address (and carve out) the unique brand of the city, I’d add an additional role: to identify and attend to the unique emotional needs of a city that have arisen out of its history and that are tied to its physical landscape. Part psychologist, part artist, such a person could begin the surfacing of that which is bubbling beneath the topography of most places, but in the Rust Belt: that which is living beside us as we sleep.
[1] You could argue getting rid of the vacancy would get rid of the fear. But this is like saying you can get rid of a bridge phobia by strategically mapping one’s way around the city without ever having to cross a bridge. It would be better to get at the source of fear, which in the case of the Rust Belt city goes beyond the existence of abandoned structures and to the overall theme of loss that each city has been struggling with since the 50’s.
–Richey Piiparinen
Geography partly explains the difference: America is spread out, while European cities predate the car. But Boston and Philadelphia have old centers too, while the peripheral sprawl in London and Barcelona mirrors that of American cities.
More important, I think, is mind-set. Take bicycles. The advent of bike lanes in some American cities may seem like a big step, but merely marking a strip of the road for recreational cycling spectacularly misses the point. In Amsterdam, nearly everyone cycles, and cars, bikes and trams coexist in a complex flow, with dedicated bicycle lanes, traffic lights and parking garages. But this is thanks to a different way of thinking about transportation.
To give a small but telling example, pointed out to me by my friend Ruth Oldenziel, an expert on the history of technology at Eindhoven University, Dutch drivers are taught that when you are about to get out of the car, you reach for the door handle with your right hand — bringing your arm across your body to the door. This forces a driver to swivel shoulders and head, so that before opening the door you can see if there is a bike coming from behind. Likewise, every Dutch child has to pass a bicycle safety exam at school. The coexistence of different modes of travel is hard-wired into the culture.
This in turn relates to lots of other things — such as bread. How? Cyclists can’t carry six bags of groceries; bulk buying is almost nonexistent. Instead of shopping for a week, people stop at the market daily. So the need for processed loaves that will last for days is gone. A result: good bread.
There are also in the United States certain perceptions associated with both cycling and public transportation that are not the case here. In Holland, public buses aren’t considered last-resort forms of transportation. And cycling isn’t seen as eco-friendly exercise; it’s a way to get around. C.E.O.’s cycle to work, and kids cycle to school.
It’s true that public policy reinforces the egalitarianism. With mandatory lessons and other fees, getting a driver’s license costs more than $1,000. And taxi fares are kept deliberately high: a trip from the airport may cost $80, while a 20-minute bus ride sets you back about $3.50. But the egalitarianism — or maybe better said a preference for simplicity — is also rooted in the culture. A 17th-century French naval commander was shocked to see a Dutch captain sweeping out his own quarters. Likewise, I used to run into the mayor of Amsterdam at the supermarket, and he wasn’t engaged in a populist stunt (mayors aren’t elected here but are government appointees); he was shopping.
For American cities to think outside the car would seem to require a mental sea change. Then again, Americans, too, are practical, no-nonsense people. And Zef Hemel, the chief planner for the city of Amsterdam, reminded me that sea changes do happen. “Back in the 1960s, we were doing the same thing as America, making cities car-friendly,” he said. Funnily enough, it was an American, Jane Jacobs, who changed the minds of European urban designers. Her book “The Death and Life of Great American Cities” got European planners to shift their focus from car-friendliness to overall livability.
When I noted that Manhattan’s bike lanes seem to be used more for recreation than transport — cyclists in Amsterdam are dressed in everything from jeans to cocktail dresses, while those in Manhattan often look like spandex cyborgs — Mr. Hemel told me to give it time. “Those are the pioneers," he said. “You have to start somewhere.”
What he meant was, “You start with bike lanes” — that is, with the conviction that urban planning can bring about beneficial cultural changes. But that points up another mental difference: the willingness of Europeans to follow top-down social planning. America’s famed individualism breeds an often healthy distrust of the elite. I’m as quick as any other red-blooded American to bristle at European technocrats telling me how to live. (Try buying a light bulb or a magazine after 6 p.m. in Amsterdam, where the political elite have decreed that workers’ well-being requires that shops be open only during standard office hours, precisely when most people can’t shop.)
But while many Americans see their cars as an extension of their individual freedom, to some of us owning a car is a burden, and in a city a double burden. I find the recrafting of the city in order to lessen — or eliminate — the need for cars to be not just grudgingly acceptable, but, yes, an expansion of my individual freedom. So I say (in this case, at least): Go, social-planning technocrats! If only America’s cities could be so free.
The economist Juliet Schor, in her 2010 book, Plenitude, advocates a path to sustainability in which people work shorter hours, so they earn less and spend less, but have more free time to enjoy life. With less money, they’ll have to spend their leisure time in a less resource-intensive and more leisurely way. “In general, doing things faster tends to use more resources,” Schor said. “To truly get to sustainability, we’re going to have to slow down.”
When President Obama took office in January 2009, he promised that " to lay a new foundation for growth....we will build the roads and bridges." And in his 2011 State of the Union address, he promised to "put more Americans to work repairing crumbling roads and bridges."
But as all attention is focused on the debt ceiling battle, here's what's happening on the infrastructure front. Highway, street, and bridge construction jobs through the first five months of 2011 are running 18% below 2007 levels, and the stimulus money is fading. House Republicans are proposing to cut future federal infrastructure funding by roughly one-third. And any defaults among state and local governments would raise borrowing costs for infrastructure bonds across the country and in some cases make the bonds unsellable.
In short, a difficult infrastructure situation is about to turn worse. The U.S. seems likely heading for an infrastructure crash that will terribly damage both our prospects and those of our children.
But in the spirit of making lemonade from lemons, budget austerity may offer an opportunity to rethink our priorities and consider our vision for the future of infrastructure. The big question is: Do we want to build roads, bridges, harbors and airports to support the current consumption- and import-oriented economy? Or should we focus infrastructure spending to encourage the shift to a more sustainable production- and export- oriented economy?
What's our priority: smoother roads to shopping malls or more spending on key ports?
The shift from a consumption economy to a production economy is probably the most important--and most difficult--task that the U.S. faces. The clearest sign of the problem is the apparently intractable trade deficit. Over the past ten years, the country has run up a cumulative deficit of $5.7 trillion with the rest of the world, and there's no sign of that reversing any time soon. To put it a slightly different way, the U.S. imports almost as much goods ($1.9 trillion in 2010) as the country produces (value-added of $2.2 trillion in manufacturing, mining, and agriculture).
Both Democrats and Republicans agree that one way out of this dilemma is to increase exports. But with resources scarce, that means tough choices for infrastructure spending. For example, consider our spending on ports. The Port of New Orleans is a major shipping point for our agriculture exports. Meanwhile the Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach, with many more loaded inbound containers (imports) than outbound containers (exports), are running a significant trade deficit. Should we devote more resources to beefing up the Port of New Orleans, or to improving the Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach?
Or think about road and bridge construction. Should we spend scarce resources on improving road links to a regional shopping mall? Or should we place top priority on infrastructure improvements that might entice foreign firms to locate manufacturing facilities in the U.S.? These are tough questions to answer. I know which way I lean--towards production rather than consumption--but there are good arguments on both sides. What's more, there are a couple of other big wild cards. For example, the retirement of the baby boomers will change infrastructure needs, as more and more people will want to be located in inexpensive areas near hospitals.
The other big concern is defense surge capacity. If the U.S. were engaged in a major global war, heaven forbid, the country would need an efficient transportation system (there's a reason why the construction of interstate highway system was originally justified on defense grounds). A major war would require that the U.S. beef up its manufacturing very quickly, and we wouldn't want to have to divert manpower to rebuild our transportation infrastructure at the same time. A good infrastructure base is an insurance policy against future events.
What Washington needs is a coherent strategy for infrastructure that goes beyond "shovel-ready." We need to shift project selection and investment decisions away from a politically-driven process to one that fits our overall economic aims as a country.
Treating infrastructure spending as an essential part of a shift towards a production-oriented economy may provide the right framework for good decisions that can get support from both Democrats and Republicans.