De Soto on Cities

The primary problem is the delay in recognizing that most of the disorder occurring outside the West is the result of a revolutionary movement that is more full of promise than of problems. Once the potential value of the movement is harnessed, many of its problems will be easier to resolve. Developing and former communist nations must choose to either create systems that allow their governments to adapt to the continual changes in the revolutionary division of labor or continue to live in extralegal confusion--and that really isn't much of a choice...

Extralegal zones in developing countries are characterized by modest homes cramped together on city perimeters, a myriad of workshops in their midst, armies of vendors hawking their wares on the streets, and countless crisscrossing minibus lines. All seem to have sprung out of nowhere. Steady streams of small crafts workers, tools under their arms, have expanded the range of activities carried out in the city. Ingenious local adaptations add to the production of essential goods and services, dramatically transforming certain areas of manufacturing, retail distribution, building, and transportation. The passive landscapes that once surrounded Third World cities have become the latest extensions of the metropolis, and cities modeled on the European style have yielded to more noisy, local personality blended with drab imitations of suburban America's commercial strip. (De Soto, The Mystery of Capital)

I am a Public Transit Enthusiast

On Saturday, I rode the 38 Geary bus line from the Financial District to Outer Richmond. The trip took longer than I anticipated (45 minutes), but it was heartening as a reminder of the diversity and sense of community that can exist in San Francisco.

In cities of high population density, public transportation is used by everybody. San Francisco and New York City come to mind. Contrast this to Los Angeles, where public transit is used pretty exclusively by people who cannot afford cars. The 38 Geary line is used by hipsters and yuppie douchebags alike, families, students, professionals, bums, the young and the elderly, locals and tourists, people of all colors and stripes. Within this panoply of difference, there is an implicit sense of community trust. If the bus has to stop longer than usual for a wheelchair-user to board, nobody bitches about the wait. When an elderly person gets on, someone sitting will almost always volunteer his or her seat. When a tourist looks lost, a local will typically offer a guiding hand. In these simple acts of decency are important lessons for us all.

Being on a bus requires patience. No amount of rage will move the bus along its route any faster. When you board a public bus, you surrender yourself to a service largely outside your control. You implicitly accept the limits of your ability to manipulate time and space. You will arrive at your destination when the bus arrives, and you have to be okay with that. A dose of such humility would do us all well.

The exposure to diversity demands courtesy. In order to ride comfortably, you will have to address others with such phrases of respect as "Excuse me, sir," and "Thank you." Pushing and prodding might get you to where you want to go, but it is very obviously not the path of least resistance. You may well have to give up your seat for someone in greater need of sitting, but when you do, you will see your act not as personal loss but as social gain. In the setting of a bus, courtesy makes eminent sense.

For me, forty-five minutes on the bus really lifted my spirits. Decency between strangers is really great to behold.

Does it come as a surprise that a public bus served quite literally as a vehicle for social change during the civil rights movement in the United States?

What kind of a problem is a city?

Cities happen to be problems in organized complexity, like the life sciences. They present “situations in which a half-dozen or even several dozen quantities are all varying simultaneously and in subtly interconnected ways.” Cities, again like the life sciences, do not exhibit one problem in organized complexity, which if understood explains all. They can be analyzed into many such problems or segments which, as in the case of the life sciences, are also related with one another. The variables are many, but they are not helter-skelter; they are “interrelated into an organic whole.”

...The tactics for understanding [the life sciences and cities] are similar in the sense that both depend on the microscopic or detailed view, so to speak, rather than on the less detailed, naked-eye view suitable for viewing problems of simplicity or the remote telescopic view suitable for viewing problems of disorganized complexity.
In the life sciences, organized complexity is handled by identifying a specific factor or quantity—say an enzyme—and then painstakingly learning its intricate relationships and interconnections with other factors or quantities. All this is observed in terms of the behavior (not mere presence) of other specific (not generalized) factors or quantities. To be sure, the techniques of two-variable and disorganized-complexity analysis are used too, but only as subsidiary tactics. (433-440)

That's Jane Jacobs in The Death and Life of Great American Cities. If we take the metaphor of a city as a living organism seriously and recognize cities as emergent phenomenon, then what is the appropriate analytical approach for cities? Although my friends tell me that Jacobs is dated in her understanding of how the life sciences are studied, I think the basic point remains: Cities are not "understandable purely by statistical analysis, predictable by the application of probability mathematics, manageable by conversion into groups of averages."

For me, this is a profound point, especially given the ubiquity of the statistical approach in social science thinking today. What is more, the framing of the problem determines the nature of the solution. Moving forward, the question is, How does one combine the sensibilities of Jacobs' street-level humanity with the empirical rigor of an econometrician?

The Demise of Stacey's Bookstore

I am currently reading The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs. I am only half way through, but the book already has me seeing cities through different eyes. The story of Stacey's Bookstore is a case in point.

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In March of this year, Stacey's Bookstore, not long after celebrating its 85th year of existence as an independent bookstore, closed its doors for good. I used to frequent Stacey's. On the second floor, there was a large sunlit reading area where readers could read free of pressure to consume. No Starbucks or Seattle's Best attached. The reading area was often arrayed with rows of seats for the appearance of guest authors and a weekly lecture series. Employees were most often middle-aged or older, well-read individuals who were long-time San Franciscans and could speak passionately about their favorite titles or reading spots in the city. As someone who wants eventually to be a bookstore proprietor, I appreciated Stacey's as a cultural asset, a place that strove to be a community center, a cultural hub in addition to being a place to buy books.

When I first saw signs for the clearance sale that anticipated the store's closing, I felt along with other loyal patrons that something special was being lost. It was easy to understand, though. The economy was in shambles. Online retailing had long ago changed the landscape of brick-and-mortar book sales. And how was a mom-and-pop store supposed to compete with national chains such as Borders or Barnes & Noble? It was easy to cast Stacey's Bookstore as the unhappy victim of changing economic and social circumstances, and that is precisely how the story was reported.

Now, reading Jacobs' book, I am beginning to understand the demise of Stacey's Bookstore in a new light. Stacey's Bookstore, located in San Francisco's Financial District, was doomed to failure from the get-go as a result of its specific location in San Francisco's urban fabric. What now seems remarkable to me is that the bookstore lasted as long as it did. Applying the analytical framework developed by Jacobs in her book, two factors are prominent:

1) The Financial District, as one might infer from its name, is not a district that boasts great functional diversity. People work in the Financial District. One does not go to the Financial District for entertainment or commerce or for its cultural vitality, and one certainly does not live there. The result is extremely lopsided pedestrian traffic. Venture into the Financial District Monday through Friday nine to five and it feels quite lively, but it feels quite like a ghost town outside standard work hours and weekdays. Business at Stacey's was premised on weekday noontime and after-work pedestrian traffic. That leaves for a lot of dead hours in between, and it is extremely difficult to sustain a bookstore let alone a cultural hub in this context.

2) Aged buildings in the Financial District are nonexistent. As pictures show, Stacey's Bookstore resided in a building that looks and feels very new, surrounded by office buildings that also look and feel very new. The advantage of aged buildings in cities is that they usually require lower capital and maintenance costs, demanding lower rent. As a result, aged buildings are better able to support businesses with lower profit margins, ideal for small independent establishments. Without aged buildings, you get a lot of franchise stores like Quizno's, Chipotle, Subway or Staples. As Jacobs writes, "great diversity in age and types of buildings has a direct, explicit connection with diversity of population, diversity of enterprises and diversity of scenes" (212). No wonder then that the Beat writers hung out at City Lights Bookstore in North Beach.

In short, the Financial District is not really a place that is equipped to support a viable center for cultural activity. This reality is a property of the city, its layout and urban planning. The demise of Stacey's Bookstore can in large part be understood by the overwhelming dullness of San Francisco's Financial District. Its vacated space remains vacant.