The Late, Great Debate About Suburbia, an Apologia

“It is difficult to design a place that will not attract people. What is remarkable is how often this has been accomplished.” —William H Whyte

A New Urbanist Project in South Carolina

Greenland, yes, yes, okay ! Smooth move. . . !

But. . . today we put aside the vagaries of national and geo-politics to return to a longstanding affliction in American life that is evermore absent from the public discourse and deserves an airing: the quandary of our suburban sprawl living arrangement, and what can be done about it.

First, get this: the demolition derby we live in day-by-day is responsible for as much misery, injustice, economic failure, and ill-health as anything else in our collective doings. Its sheer ugliness — the horror of the six-lane highway with its ensembles of strip-malls, burger shacks, muffler shops, topless bars, Big Box stops, screaming signage, and the vast wastelands of parking. . . the suicide-inducing housing pods marching out remorselessly through forest, prairie, upland, lowland, basin and range. . . the depressing freeways with their monster entanglements of on-and-off-ramps. . . this epic mutilation of our continental landscape — is an evil quite beyond our ordinary imaginings. This inescapable, immersive ugliness, I remind you, is entropy-made-visible. And entropy, of course, is the force in nature that you really don’t want to mess around with because it is the agent of death.

I do not exaggerate. It’s a death trap, the way we live in this country, for the mind, the body, the family, the community, and the national spirit. Until fairly recently this was widely apprehended (or at least suspected). But the politicization of everything has wrecked what had been a growing and pretty robust national discussion about it.

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To re-cap briefly: this is a big country. It had once been composed of cities, towns, farmlands, and wilderness, a coherent transect of human habitation. The invention of the motor car changed all that, starting in the 1920s. The ambiguous territory outside these cities and towns represented vast potential fortunes in property development. . . and the race was on.

The Great Depression and World War 2 interrupted the suburban expansion, but it resumed on steroids afterward when the rest of the world was a smoldering ruin and we could sell them anything (and lend them money to buy it). The construction of all the new suburban infrastructure alone was a major component of the late 20^th century US economy, and then it became the scaffold for our so-called consumer economy, comprised of furnishing that scaffold with so much stuff that it overflowed into thousands of self-storage sheds.

The decanting of our cities that ensued — the steady dribble of the middle-classes moving out, along with the commerce that served them — left most of those cities ruined. Eventually even the small towns got whacked, the farms paved-over, too. What we’re left with is a weird hybrid landscape that is neither town nor country, has few of the civic amenities that add-up to a genuine sense of community, and none of the rural charm formerly found in the countryside. It became painfully obvious that a suburban house was a cartoon of a house in the country, and living in a cartoon is just not spiritually rewarding. Cue the Prozac. . . .

The whole kit, aided by the dogmas of zoning and government lending schemes, became easily reproducible from one locale to the next. For the development industry, the template became a habit. . . and so it boogied on through the decades. By the 1990s, the generation coming into power (yeah, the Boomers) started a revolt against all that. It crystalized in the New Urbanism movement and its signature org, the Congress for the New Urbanism, CNU. We can do better than this, this. . . this. . . national clusterfuck, they declared.

I was excited by this movement, wrote a couple of books about it, got to know the excellent people behind it — architects, urban planners, civic officials, property developers. They were smart, skilled, visionary. They believed that walkable communities and disciplining the automobile would produce places worth caring about and worth living in — and it seemed to me that such an effort would go a long way to curing the desperate anomie of American life. Over the next several decades, the New Urbanists produced scores of great projects. Some were actual new towns, some projects were renovations of existing towns, neighborhoods, business districts, and small town Main Streets. The results of their work are visible all over the country now.

But then, the political crack-up of the country commenced around 2009 with the Great Financial Crash and the ascent of Obama-inspired Wokeness, and really accelerated with the reaction to the advent of Mr. Trump in 2016. From that point on, as a nation, we’ve been arguing about everything but the disastrous arrangement of daily life on-the-ground in America. Some new twists in the spin of history have made matters worse.

One is that suburban sprawl is, by default, the favorite pattern of MAGA (and I happen to be a Trump voter). To them, suburbia is all tied up with ideas about economic liberty, as is the whole apparatus of Happy Motoring. They are still mentally stuck in the imagery of the TV car commercial — the lone sedan gliding through the sine-cosine curves of the empty seacoast highway, the romantic epitome of freedom! It’s a lie, pretty much, because the more universal experience of motoring these days is getting stuck at a crawl in freeway traffic with a thousand other motorists per mile, half of whom desperately need to take a pee and can’t do a darn thing about it.

And then there’s the fallacy of the suburban housing development being a “community” — bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! See: I don’t even have to explain that. But, MAGA tends to see it this way, along with all the activity that enables it — the mortgage system, the production home-builders (“it’s more than a house, you understand, it’s a home!”), all of which is so central to a booming economy. So, you don’t dare inveigh against suburbia — except I will, because it is making America worse, not great again, and somebody’s got to say it.

Yet another thing has come along to wreck the New Urbanist dream of reconstituting the American city and small town, and that thing is the World Economic Forum’s (WEF’s) proposal they call the “15-minute City.” Superficially, it seems to resemble the traditional neighborhood model that the NU’s espouse. But deeper down the 15-Minute City is much more about a surveillance and tracking apparatus — and this has caused many conservatives (especially them) to reject anything that looks like traditional urban design.

It’s a most unfortunate situation, but that’s where things stand, and it’s one reason that the debate over suburban sprawl has stopped. A final and equally unfortunate development is that the CNU org came to be taken over the past decade by political Wokesters more interested in Diversity, Inclusion, and Equity BS than in their original mission of providing workable remedies for the tragic fiasco of American suburbia. And now you know why it is so hard to talk about this geography of nowhere anymore.

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JHK’s newest novel, a comic romp set during the week of the tragic JFK Assassination, November 1963. Autographed Copies from Battenkill Books.

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JHK’s World Made By Hand four-book novel cycle. A small town in the remnant of the USA in the not-distant future. The community struggles to carry on. . . .

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