(Illustration by Ave Calvar / Unsplash+)
Last month I found myself in a community planning meeting that, after about an hour and a half, descended into what could politely be called “spirited debate.” It happened in a London suburb, but really, we could have been anywhere.
The issue at hand was a proposed streetscape transformation, and whether it was the best approach to local traffic issues. Multiple stakeholders – residents skeptical of top-down intervention, shops with delivery needs, bus drivers wary of congestion, cyclists fighting for protection – were all vying for crowded road space.
Then the question of 15-minute cities arose, and the crowd went wild.
I’ll come back to the theory, and the debates — or rather, the conspiracies – it raises, in a moment. First, I want to give you a sense of the polarized discussion that followed.
A local representative said that the plan was to make driving “a hostile experience.” He was met with the full force of the culture war. One part of the room agreed in a kind of fervent righteousness; another was outraged over encroachments upon personal liberty; a third began asking about the knock-on effects for people with disabilities or who can’t afford to live centrally. Surely they should be met with flexibility, not hostility?
More than any feeling about the planning issues, I left with a strong sense that language matters. Narrative shapes politics, and politics shape how we view our neighborhoods. If we, as built environment professionals tasked with nurturing safer, more equitable and more sustainable cities, want to honestly engage the public in collaborative solution-building, we must be willing to reach beyond ideological divides and, indeed, the arguments we’re most comfortable crafting.
This is increasingly relevant in a time that celebrates transnational learning. As an American transport planner working overseas, I’m admittedly sympathetic to the types of think-pieces or programs that seek to teach U.S. cities “lessons from Europe.” Their standard solutions package usually offers a mix of bike lanes, pedestrianized streets, parklets and piazzas.
I would love nothing more than for the catastrophic amounts of concrete that turned my native San Diego into a network of frantic freeways to be greened, capped and whatever else it would take to stop us from killing each other and our environment. But I also understand how this argument could be seen as privileged, condescending or tone-deaf.
My voice does not speak for the family in Tijuana who crosses the U.S.-Mexico border into the city every day for work – commuting by car or motorcycle instead of by plane, with no effective, reliable transit alternative for this widespread practice. Nor does it speak for a veteran on our local naval bases who could be suspicious of anyone who tells them that we should follow other countries because American life is unsustainable.
When planning for capital projects like major streetscape transformations, one typically needs a perfect recipe of public transport infrastructure, budget and stakeholder support. However, as another Trump era dawns upon a fractured media landscape, a fourth element of the puzzle might be the most important key to forging common ground between diverse urban residents: close attention to your own narrative and the narratives that speak to your constituents.
The 15-minute problem
This polarized session likely wouldn’t have become so polarized had different language been used to describe the proposals and test their reception. Contemporary political divides make it likely that your party registration is more indicative of your stance on 15-minute cities than the issues that drive them.
The concept of the 15-minute city is predicated on the promise that, if all people can access the basic amenities they need to flourish within a 15-minute walk or bike ride from home, places will be healthier, more socially connected and less polluted.
The idea has considerable favor abroad. Parisian Mayor Anne Hidalgo won re-election in 2020 with a promise to deliver it. Practical cases abound, from Singapore to Shanghai, Melbourne to Copenhagen, and even emerging American responses in Portland, Los Angeles and a Salt Lake City suburb hilariously called The Point.
But the concept has also become fertile breeding ground for conspiracy theories globally. Popular pundits such as conservative Canadian commentator Jordan Peterson have promoted them – as have elected officials, like British Member of Parliament Mark Harper, who’s called the concept “sinister,” and asserted that city governments will use it to decide “how often you go to the shops” and “who uses the roads and when” while ramping up CCTV surveillance.
We can laugh, but the reality isn’t very funny. It points to a fact that Americans are all too familiar with: Depending on the media you’re exposed to, your friends and family’s political views, and other aspects of your identity, you might be operating under an entirely different socio-political reality than that experienced by your neighbors.
Trump’s trip into the mirror world
Even the president-elect isn’t immune to the whiplash of what activist Naomi Klein calls the “mirror world.” In her latest book Doppelganger, which explores the psychology of polarization and conspiracy, Klein shows how the phenomenon of “doubling” often makes us define what we are “for” in terms of what we are “against” (or what our social group tells us we should be against). We can see this play out in debates over vaccines and climate change, in understandings of Zionism, urbicide and genocide, and indeed, in urban planning.
It’s true that Trump is usually the one fanning the flames of disinformation with a well-worn recipe of fear-mongering and false contest, pitting vulnerable groups against one another. But after he announced his plan to build Freedom Cities in early 2023, the response on both sides of the political spectrum felt like a circuit break in our usual algorithm.
Parroting something of a 1980s sci-fi thriller, Trump’s brief cameo as Robert Moses promised flying cars and “baby bonuses” to incentivize the development of neighborhoods around good, American values. His vision was distinctly isolationist: He pledged we would “beat China” to the race in vertical mobility, unlocking the sky-streets of the future (“If Saudi can do it, why can’t we?” was a question that reportedly underscored the plan). Confusingly, it also celebrated the sprawling, polluting highways that have devastated the country’s environmental justice communities since the ‘60s.
On paper, his rhetoric was a recipe for conservative appeal. Yet the binary did not hold up. Right-wingers scoffed at what they saw to be a leftist, even communist, plan to build 15-minute cities – on, yes, federal land.
What world are we in when a Trump-led proposal to finance a state-backed house-building effort exists — and then is discounted because it was seen as too liberal for the “right” and too conservative for the “left”?
How planning can cut through the discourse
We know that the planet is warming, our housing and climate crises are intertwined, and the health of our most vulnerable urban populations is more at-risk than ever, as past legacies of wrongheaded sprawl continue to pollute our streets.
But as planners, we can’t afford to be disoriented by the discourse — nor can we belittle the residents we work to serve, regardless of whether we agree with each other. The presidential election results alone evince disillusionment on all sides, and the perils of disregarding the communities in our bases whose claims legitimately challenge the status quo.
We have to grow up, locate our mutual interests and learn to press on with our work collaboratively.
I recently chatted with a colleague and friend who is no stranger to the challenge of exploring sustainable transport alternatives in traditionally car-dominated places. They’ve consulted on the Dallas Bike Plan, for instance, as well as a downtown plan and city ordinances for a small town outside of San Antonio. Both experiences required them to navigate complex layers of public discourse and to craft politically strategic arguments.
Our conversation left me with the following nuggets of wisdom on winning public support from diverse stakeholders through genuine community engagement:
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Find out what actually matters to people and why. If it’s more support for small businesses falling into financial hardship, that’s a legitimate starting point for discussing the impacts of pedestrian footfall.
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Hear out their needs and work with them. Mutual respect does not come from telling people they need to get on board and change their practices, no matter the feasibility or cost.
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Embrace flexibility. People want to be part of, if not fully driving, change in their own neighborhoods. Offering “shopping lists” of potential solutions for residents to work with and build upon is better than imposing a one-size-fits-all approach.
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Celebrate incrementalism. In most American cities, people-friendly transport planning is a process of retrofitting existing infrastructure that was produced to deliver the opposite outcome from the one you’re aiming to achieve. Tactical urbanism and street experiments, like pop-up parks or temporary bike lanes, are low-stakes ways for locals to test out alternative ways of thinking and shape new place attachments for themselves.
It could take a bit of time, but maybe at next year’s round table, you’ll have a new fighter beside you in the ring.