My post on Vision Zero's threat amplification communications strategy got some interesting responses. One class of response as a sigh of relief, from advocates and city officials who don't want to adopt such a confrontational style. Another was an interest in comparison data; what happened in non-Vision Zero cities over the same time frames? An entirely reasonable question, and easy for me to research.
In streets advocacy, I think we have two core goals: Reducing auto trips, and increasing safety. When we consider our tactics, we should consider how they will advance that strategy. The advocacy response to the recent death of Tess Rothstein in San Francisco raised a concern that's been troubling me for some time; our rhetoric around street safety has become increasingly hyperbolic and strident. What if "Interested but Concerned" cyclists might be scared away by repeated messages about life safety risks? What if changing the conversation is a bad idea?
For a Twitter thread on International Women's Day, I was reflecting on how many of the people who've inspired my work are women. I thought they deserved a more substantial post here, so, here are some shout outs.
Two somewhat related items came across my feed recently which got me thinking about our responsibilities as planners in listening to disadvantaged communities. One is a study about how urban cycling investments "focus on the needs of wealthy riders and neglect lower-income residents and people of color." The other is the BlackSpace Manifesto, a statement of principles by a group of Black planners and activists.
The biggest lesson I take from this project is that urban Black communities (and disadvantaged communities in general) have complex challenges, and those of us who care about equity and social justice need to grapple with that complexity. "Gentrification" is a reductive term which avoids meaningful engagement. While all of this is definitely Black History, it's also White history. Those of us who believe in social justice as a concept, and who have benefitted from racist policies advantaging us and our families, need to learn to participate in social justice as a practice.
If you prefer charts to maps, here's the post you've been waiting for; aggregate data for all 58 study cities, with bar charts, scatter plots, sums, medians and correlations. Woot! Interestingly, a number of my field work cities show up prominently in the data.
The Bike Lab began as an attempt to investigate the chicken-and-egg question of whether bike lanes led to gentrification, or gentrification led to bike lanes. In the end I found that the more interesting question was why we came to associate bike lanes with gentrification, given that the strongest predictor of urban cycling in the U.S. is being a low-income ethnic minority. But I can't do a series on neighborhood change without talking about its relationship to cycling rates.
To this point I've been mentioning only White and Black populations, but the most substantial demographic shifts nationally are among Hispanic populations. There has been a net influx of international Hispanics, and the natural population growth rate is also higher than Whites and Blacks. As a population, Hispanics are wealthier than Blacks but still far less wealthy than Whites. In many cities, Blacks and Hispanics are now competing for whatever inexpensive housing exists. In these seven study cities, this manifests as an increase in total population, combined with a drop in Black population, a rise in HIspanic population, and a drop in real income.
The Holy Grail of community economic development is "development without displacement": reinvestment in decayed neighborhoods which can provide long-time residents with new opportunities, without forcing them from their homes. It's hard to achieve in a market-driven society, especially one where home ownership rates and household wealth are as wildly disparate as they are here in America. But it's not impossible; six cities in the study qualify.
On the eve of the Super Bowl, CityLab posted an article about a neighborhood in Atlanta which was destroyed to build the Georgia Dome, which itself was later destroyed to build Mercedes-Benz Stadium, where the game was played. It so happens that Atlanta's Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive runs right by the stadium. It being Black History Month, I thought I should dig into the history of the place.
