Sunday, May 8, 2016

Mom.

Mom and Paul.

A few weeks ago, I watched my mom read a story to Grace, the younger of her granddaughters. The story was Madeline. They sat on the living room floor and read the story together multiple times, Grace affectionately exclaiming “Madeline!” and pointing a chubby finger each time the titular character made an appearance (which was a lot). Every time they finished, Grace would look up, doe-eyed, and mom would start again from the beginning. I put down my own book to soak the moment in. I don’t think they noticed me—so lost were they in their love for each other. It was the kind of scene that you know you’ll want to remember even as it was happening. It provided a glimpse into a world where everything made sense, where people radiate love for each other, and grandmothers and granddaughters fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

This is a nice world to inhabit, even if only for a little bit. And it would be easy and comfortable enough to assume this world, the one of Hallmark Cards and Precious Moments figurines, is my mom’s natural habitat. To paint her simply as the doting grandmother and sweet church lady who magically floats above the troubles of the world like a fairy godmother. Whether it’s softly singing “You Are My Sunshine” to a crying toddler or rushing out late at night to sit with a neighbor who just lost her husband, she plays this role like she has been preparing for it her whole life. If I chose to describe her this way and stop there, I doubt anyone would challenge me.
   
But I know her too well to do that. I’ve heard the tired sighs that fall between the phone ringing and her answering cheerfully, seen the pained eyes on the days when she wakes up early to an empty house and reminders of who isn’t there. The problem with the image of the sweet loving, old (NOT THAT OLD!) lady is that it makes it seem like “that’s just the way she is,” like the generosity and the kindness are part of her DNA, and she doesn’t know any other way to act. It makes the love seem innate, effortless, and magical. Which, in a strange way, ends up cheapening it.

I have seen that this kind of love is not magical or dispositional; it's habitual. It is not gifted so much as it is forged through determination and concerted effort. It comes from all those moments when it would be easy to let the phone keep ringing, to assume somebody else would pick up the slack if she doesn’t help out this one time, to put the story book down because sitting on the ground is getting uncomfortable. Those moments of choice when the easy path and the loving path diverge, and we are called to set our jaws and take the hard way.   

She has a Mother Teresa quote taped to the refrigerator door. It reads “I’ve never had clarity and certitude. I only have trust. I’ll pray that you trust.”

When dad died, mom did not retreat into a world of passive grief and comforting platitudes. Instead, she redid the upstairs hallway. Tore up the carpet. Pried out the staples and tack strips. Scraped off the glue residue. Stained the hardwood that had lain hidden underneath. When we lost Paul, she insisted on coming with us to clean out his apartment. Long after I had given up on getting all of the soap scum off of his shower walls, she kneeled on the bathroom floor and scrubbed patiently. Maybe the work was a prayer of thanksgiving for a beautiful life, and a plea for the strength to keep living, keep scrubbing. Messy. Human. Cleanliness next to godliness. Holiness awful close to grittiness. Maybe it was just a way to take a step forward, trusting that there is a way forward. Maybe that’s a prayer too.

Happy Mother’s Day, mom. Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who teaches me that songs and smiles and magic are nice, but that real love takes elbow grease. 

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Lessons of Decline


              This will be the last post in my meandering series on the psychology of decline. Since I have gone in several directions, and my own understanding has evolved while working on these posts, I want to bring things together and offer more clarity and definition on the role of decline and how I think we should both conceptualize it and work to address it. My biggest point is that “decline” is not destiny, and it is not monolithic. While it may not be fun to discuss, how we understand and approach the issue of decline will play a crucial role in the future of a place like St. Louis. Here are some suggestions for how to better approach decline.

1.       Stop calling it “decline.”

This may seem like a strange, or hypocritical, suggestion coming from the guy who has used the term more often in the past month than everyone except certain narrow subsets of topographers and grammarians, but it’s an important one. “Decline” is an icky word with all kinds of connotations of failure and decay. This does not have to describe a place like St. Louis. An alternative term that is growing in popularity is “shrinkage.” Although this has the misfortune of conjuring up a famous Seinfeld scene, it has the advantage of describing the phenomenon of losing population in more clinical terms. Shrinkage is a statistical fact; decline is an attitude. They do not have to be synonymous.
Shifting from a mindset of decline to one of shrinkage requires rethinking how we define success in a city. In the 19th and early 20th-centuries, success and growth were one in the same. In St. Louis, this manifested itself in the Million Population Club, a booster group that had as its goal that St. Louis reach 1,000,000 residents. If only they could see us now!

The St. Louis Million Population Club, With Their Balloon, 1910
      Source: Missouri History Museum.

This is not a sustainable or even applicable definition of success. Although size offers some advantages, it is not the be-all and end-all of urban life. The “success” of a city should be defined in terms of the quality of life it offers its residents, and the opportunities it offers to improve that quality of life. Often, quality of life increases along with population. Often, it doesn’t (this is when I politely decline to make a Phoenix joke). While more residents could be seen to be an objectively beneficial thing in a city as hollowed-out as St. Louis, we should not let this dominate efforts to improve the city. Shrinkage might not be ideal, but a shrinking city can still be a place that’s getting better.

2.       Put shrinkage in context. Be humble about knowing what the future holds.

St. Louis’ shrinking did not occur in a vacuum. Over the same period, nearly every major Midwestern city saw significant losses in population. However tempting it may be to provide the causal story humans crave by weaving a narrative that shows how St. Louis brought about its own demise, the reality is that this shrinkage occurred in the context of greater macroeconomic and demographic changes that all worked heavily against a place like St. Louis. This is not to say that we are helpless victims of a predetermined fate (more on that later!), but it is important to recognize the context because, in the absence of this recognition, we tend to pathologize the people and places that experience shrinkage. Those who live in a shrinking city must be backwards, incompetent, morally corrupt, etc. As I’ve mentioned before, this pathology has definitely been internalized by many St. Louisans, to their own and the city’s detriment. The converse of this—to heap praise on and attempt to mimic those places that have grown—presents just as many problems.  For a ridiculous example of pathologizing the fate of a place, look at the St. Charles County Executive’s statement that the county had a low poverty rate because “residents are avoiding behaviors that lead to poverty.”
The reality is, as much as great thinkers and pundits might like to claim otherwise, we do not know what the future has in store. Although in hindsight troubling signs appear obvious, nobody (that I know of) predicted St. Louis’ rapid loss of population in the 1950’s and 1960’s. The city of Seattle offers an example on the other side of the growth spectrum. Enrico Moretti, in The New Geography of Jobs, describes how Seattle in the 1970’s was seen as a declining place. Manufacturing and timber industry jobs, on which it relied heavily, were declining, as was its population. The Economist called it a “city of despair.” This is the same Seattle that today boasts a rapidly growing population and a position as one of the flagbearers of the “new economy.” Its growth is due to any number of things. Moretti cites Microsoft—then employing 13 people—relocating there in 1979 as helping to kick start the tech economy there. Seattle also benefited from greater demographic trends that see population shifting to the West Coast. Whatever the exact cause of this growth, people in the 1970’s were not expecting it to happen.



Your guess for the next major demographic or economic structural shift is as good as mine. Could advances in technology that facilitate decentralized work finally outweigh the benefits of agglomeration and physical proximity, leading to increased migration to low-cost areas? Sure. Could changes in Federal antitrust laws reverse the trend of firms merging and locating in the largest cities? Maybe. (If you haven’t read this piece on how evolving antitrust laws impacted St. Louis, you should.) In the more distant future, could climate change impact the calculus of where companies choose to locate and people choose to live? Morbid, but definitely plausible. Smarter people than me could list off 100 more major shifts that could occur—or not—in the next 20-50 years. Simply extrapolating current trends might be among the least likely of these scenarios, yet it’s what we naturally do when we think about the future.
At the same time, it would be a mistake to give up all sense of efficacy in the face of these larger changes. Particular aspects of St. Louis (its fixed boundary, extreme fragmentation, a historically hostile state legislature) certainly contributed to or exacerbated its problems. It is important to work to address the issues we can control while recognizing the greater forces at play. What does this mean in a practical sense? Batten down the hatches, memorize the Serenity Prayer, be hopeful for what the future can bring, and keep working hard to improve.

3.       Think regionally.

“…postwar urban decline fused urban ambivalence to widespread anxieties about racial relations, prosperity, national identity, upward mobility, and personal safety. The city became the discursive site for society’s contradictions, and anxiety emerged as the discourse’s dominant quality.”
-Robert Beauregard, Voices of Decline[1]

              There’s a certain playbook to follow if you are live in the St. Louis area yet don’t want to be associated with the “declining city.” You make it clear that most of the St. Louis area doesn’t live in the city. The area you live in is actually very nice. If you really want to convince people, you can even add in a tasteless joke about crime. It is tempting to think of problems as occurring only “over there,” and the dynamics of jurisdictional boundaries only facilitate this dissociation.[2]
Part of thinking regionally is avoiding the zero-sum games and scarcity mindsets that are all-too-tempting in a context of shrinkage. This kind of thinking seriously threatens the long-term future of the region. I talked about how this mindset plays out in the TIF and sales tax wars, but it is not limited to that realm. Education offers another great example, as school districts work to ensure that only the “right” kind of students who will help them maintain their test scores attend school there.
My intent here is not to “suburb shame” or paint those who live in the city as heroes. On the contrary, I firmly believe that people have the right to choose where they live, and that people all over the region are contributing to make it a better place. What we need is to focus more on what is good for the region as a whole and less on how to stay ahead of our immediate neighbors. Like it or not, the fate of the region is singular, and it is tied up in the fate of the city itself. Ultimately, you can’t push your domino far enough away to be immune if they start to fall. This might be a tough pill to swallow if you feel like your little slice of the area is actually doing pretty well, but it is a necessary step for righting the course of the region. If we want our little slices to still be doing pretty well by the time our grandchildren are living there, we need to start thinking regionally sooner rather than later.

4.       We need brave and hopeful leadership.

The need for strong leadership is an undercurrent running through all of the challenges related to being a shrinking city. Effective and visionary leadership is absolutely crucial for shifting how we view the problems of the present and possibilities for the future. Within a context of shrinkage, there is a tendency to see every policy or program as a failure or as insufficient if it doesn’t lead to growth. Good leaders can frame problems and talk about a success that is achievable, to translate the complexities of where the region is and where it could be heading into understandable and actionable terms, and inspire residents to participate in bringing about their desired future.  
Good leaders can also avoid the biases I’ve discussed, that might present themselves in a context of decline. They can pass up on risky “big fish” projects if they are unlikely to improve the city. They can push people away from scarcity traps to think with a sense of possibility about the future. They can make clear that providing a strong social infrastructure is not a liability or charity but a path to a better future. In short, they can help a place like St. Louis make the decisions of a smart city of 300,000 people, as opposed to a desperate city that used to have 800,000 people.  

*****

If anything, I hope that the idea of decline or shrinkage feels less imposing and less predetermined than it is frequently made out to be. Population loss happened, and is likely still happening. That doesn’t mean we have to throw up our hands and allow fate to take its course, and it doesn’t mean we can’t be generous, hopeful, and excited for the future. In fact, those qualities are more important now than ever.








[1] Hat tip for sharing this quote goes to Professor Andrew Greenlee—my academic advisor, a top-notch human being, and the instructor in the course that inspired these blog posts.
[2] The “over there” mindset is not limited to the suburbs—I see it ward by ward and neighborhood by neighborhood within the city. 

Monday, February 15, 2016

Getting Comfortable Talking About Decline

Photo by Flickr user Freaktography. Used under Creative Commons License. http://bit.ly/1RHAMT8



"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."
-Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone


“Say my name, say my name
You actin' kinda shady,
Ain't callin' me baby
Better say my name”
-Destiny’s Child, Say My Name

Last time I wrote, I touched on the concept of decline and its impact on life in a city like St. Louis. Today, I want to dig deeper into what me mean by “decline” and how that designation comes to be applied. Rather than just post another series of open-ended questions, I plan to share my perspective on what we can and should understand about the idea decline. The concept has something of a bogeyman status—it hangs over everything. I hope that sharing some ideas might help us to grow more comfortable with the reality of decline, and that by increasing this comfort we might be able to have smarter conversations about what we can (or should) do about it.

Idea # 1: Decline Needs to Be Placed in Context

It is easy to lose sight of the bigger picture when we spend our day-to-day in only one city. If we want to tell the story of a place like St. Louis, we have to remember it is part of a greater national story. Yes, St. Louis has seen persistent population loss, but so has almost every other major Midwestern city. This is a result of economic restructuring and the decline of domestic manufacturing (the “Rust Belt”), as well as greater demographic and population trends. From the 2000 to the 2010 Census, the South and the West regions saw population growth of 14.3 and 13.8 percent, respectively, while the Midwest and the Northeast lagged behind with growth rates of 3.9 and 3.2 percent.[1] While it’s easy to cry “decline” in a place like St. Louis, it is also important to note that Chicago lost population at close to the same rate in the 2010 census.

I note this because when one looks too narrowly at a change in fortunes for a city (or anything, really), the natural tendency is to assume it was due to some particular attribute of the object of examination. Humans love stories of causality. A declining city must have something wrong with it (and its residents). Putting things in context helps shift shift from this pathological view of decline to a structural one. Sure, St. Louis as a city has shot itself in the foot plenty of times (and we’ll talk about those!), but even if it had done everything right, it is hard to imagine that being enough to totally overcome the macro trends working against it.

Idea #2: Decline is About Trajectory, Which Means Perceptions of Trajectory

As I discussed in the last post, it is hard to put a finger on what we’re actually talking about when we say a city is declining. Population is one obvious indicator. Economic indicators (total employment, median income) might do even better at getting at the root of things. There is also a physical element: some places look like they are in decline. More than any absolute number though, decline is about trajectory. Places can be small and growing, poor and getting wealthier, shabby and sprucing up. Decline says not that things are necessarily bad, but that they’re pointing in the wrong direction. While I think we humans are perceptive of trends, I don’t think we’re awful good a forecasting. These small patterns all-too-easily get extrapolated to a dire end point; become destiny.   

When drawing these conclusions about present trends and future outlooks, the average person is not looking at census data or composites of economic indicators. They have a feel for a place. The easiest way to decide whether a place is “declining” might be to simply survey residents or outsiders and ask them what it is. Their response would encapsulate all the little things that contribute to perceptions. Subjective, yes, but this postmodern definition is probably as accurate and functional as any more statistically-grounded approach.

Idea # 3: Perceptions Matter

If perceptions are so subjective, do they really matter? I think they do have a concrete impact. As much as I hate to admit it, it can occasionally feel kind of shitty living in and loving a place that people like to talk down on. Conversely, I would imagine that living in a “desirable” place has to provide some moments of consolation and confirmation that you are making the right choice.  These things don’t matter more than the quality of your relationships or family life or job, but they do have an impact. What is more, this perception/quality of life feedback loop can become self-reinforcing if your perceptions of a place impact your likeliness to actively engage with it. As I’ll explore later, this self-perception also has an impact on how we approach problems and policies.

Idea # 4: Trying to Address Perception of Decline Directly is probably a Waste of Time

Perceptions have an impact, so there is some logic in working to shape perceptions in a more positive way. This can be really dangerous territory. Although the connections between perceptions and root causes can be occasionally fuzzy, it’s safe to say that perception problems are almost universally indicative of real problems. While addressing perceptions might seem like the more visible and actionable approach, making cool promotional videos or catchy slogans (Hooker, OK: “It’s a location, not a vocation") represent time and energy that could have gone towards addressing real problems. This is why the apologists[2] who spring up any time the issue of violent crime in the city comes up to explain how the city of St. Louis’ limited geographic boundaries can severely distort per-capita statistics, while technically correct, miss the forest for the trees. The victims of these crimes and their families could care less about statistics lessons. They need real change, and any breath devoted to addressing perceptions and misconceptions is a breath that isn’t spent advocating for that change.

Idea #5: Decline Needs to be Re-conceptualized

If urban decline is more the result of a morass of demographic trends, economic trends, and harmful federal policies than any specific mistakes, does that mean the solution to it is just as much out of our control? Maybe. The reality is that major population or economic growth, in an absolute sense, are unlikely to happen in the immediate future in a place like St. Louis, no matter how good policies are. The question to me, then, is what we make of that situation.

I think we need to move away from the idea of “decline” as the opposite of “growth” and instead focus on the quality of life of the people who do live here. While a declining population brings with it real social and fiscal challenges, it is not the end of the world. The ideology of growth and Manifest Destiny is a strong one in this country, but the sooner we move past it the better. If we all know intuitively that there are plenty of growing places that are not great places to live (my sincerest apologies to McKinney, Texas), then we must also recognize that there are shrinking places that make great homes. Would some growth be good? Of course! But if we wait around for all macro indicators to point in the right direction before we start working hard and looking at issues optimistically, then we’re undermining ourselves.

I truly believe a city can lose population or jobs without going into a state of “decline.” Low or no growth only has to mean getting worse if a better alternative cannot be conceived and worked toward. But it will take vision, imagination, leadership, and community will to determine what this alternative looks like.

Wrapping Up

Next post I will be looking at how the context of decline can lead to counterproductive policy decisions. Also, while I will stick with the biweekly posting schedule, I will probably be switching my posting day to Wednesdays in order to better accommodate my school schedule.




[1] https://www.census.gov/prod/cen2010/briefs/c2010br-01.pdf
[2] Guilty.  

Monday, February 1, 2016

The Psychology of Decline

Living in a “declining” city is baked into the experience of being a St. Louisan these days as much as baseball or beer or complaining that Danny Meyer hasn’t opened a Shake Shack here. The more I learn, the more I see how the decline narrative and its attendant neuroses and insecurities creep into every other aspect of life here (Case in point: the “sky is falling” reaction to the Rams leaving).  However, decline is not that simple, and maybe not even the right word to describe what is happening (but I’m going to keep using it for simplicity’s sake, at least for now).  This post, and probably at least a couple of follow-ups, will delve into what it means to be a declining city, what it means to live there, and what it can mean for the future.[1]

Nobody’s forcing us to live here, and it sure seems like most of us are mostly happy, but I think it’s important to admit that it’s not always easy.  It can be a discouraging thing to live in a city that’s seen as being in decline. People don’t exclaim “cool!” when you tell them where you’re from. Friends in other cities don’t have you at the top of their list for visits. You deal with a lot of dumb jokes that smack of borderline classism and racism, often from fellow St. Louis residents. Every explanation of why you love the city runs the risk of sounding like an apology, like the fact that you choose to live in a place like that rather than a hipper area or one where the economy is booming must be evidence of some kind of moral or mental defect. These slights are superficial and almost entirely external to the day-to-day things that make up the real pieces of a  great city and a quality life, but they must have an impact on how we view the city and ourselves. Decline becomes internalized.

One of the hard things about discussing decline is that there's no easy definition or metric to rely on. I don’t think understanding the dynamics of decline is as simple as looking at population. It’s more complex and fickle than that. Pittsburgh offers a good example. Whatever it means, Pittsburgh has received some amount of attention in the past decade or so as a “revitalizing” Rust Belt city. It is held up as an example of a city that has successfully navigated the transition to a post-industrial economy.  If someone tells me they are from Pittsburgh, I usually say something like “oh, I hear there’s a lot of cool stuff happening there.”  It can't also be a declining city, right? If you are looking at population, it is. For comparison, here are some Census data[2] for the population of Pittsburgh and St. Louis. I also added Cincinnati into the mix, since it is often grouped with Pittsburgh in the Rust Belt revitalization conversation.  


St. Louis
Pittsburgh
Cincinnati
2000-2010 % Change in Population
-8.1%
-8.3%
-10.0%
2010-2014 % Change in Population[3]
-0.59%
-0.10%
0.41%
2010-2014 % Change in MSA Population
0.66%
-0.01%
1.65%

Looking at the decennial census, it is clear that all of these cities face a declining population. Out of these three cities, St. Louis actually had the least population loss between 2000 and 2010, as a proportion of overall population. Pittsburgh and Cincinnati both fared better between 2010 and 2014, but just barely, and that’s a shaky comparison. The third row shows that St. Louis falls in between the two when looking growth in the metro area, so it’s not a case where the perception of revitalization is due to a flourishing region. I present these statistics not to argue that St. Louis is the booming city out of this bunch (although it might do better relative to peer cities than we give it credit for),  but to show that decline is a hard concept to put a finger on. Like pornography, do we just know it when we see it?[4]

I’m not going to go around in circles trying to define “decline” right now, but I would argue that this is more than just an intellectual exercise. Perceptions and attitudes towards a city, regardless of the “concrete” underlying forces, affect how both residents and outsiders engage with a place, with real consequences. Moving forward, I plan to further explore what we mean by "decline" and whether is is or should be seen as wholly negative, how it can impact residents and leaders in their approach to policy decisions, economic development in the context of decline, and what, if anything, cities can and should do about decline or perceptions thereof.  Coming at it from multiple angles might offer some insights into our lived reality in this present day. I will not have the answers, but I hope that this can contribute to furthering a challenging and necessary conversation about our future.




[1] It’s important to note that this is not just a discussion of the city proper. The metropolitan area is growing at a minimal rate, and St. Louis County lost population in the 2010 Census, the first time since the City-County divide.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Metropolitan_Statistical_Areas
[3] This and the following row compare American Community Survey data with Census data, which is generally not recommended. However, I am writing this instead of working on the 98 assignments I have due, so it will have to be good enough for now.  
[4] There’s a “ruin porn” joke here that I will let someone else write.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

An Introduction: Getting Over Myself

I’ve known I should start writing more consistently for a long time. Often, I just have ideas that I want to run with and develop further but that don’t fit the confines of writing for my classes. I’ve also found that committing words to paper (or Word doc) is an important part of how I understand and make sense of the world and my life. Finally, I want to improve my writing, and I think the best way to do that is by, well… writing.

I actually registered this blog over a year ago, and have basically[1] let it sit gathering dust. This is true for a number of reasons. One is that I, like everyone else in the world, feel like I never have enough time. I’ve come to think that for things that matter to you, that’s a BS excuse. You make time for what’s important. On a deeper level, I think it is my own perfectionism that has held me back. Every step of the way, I have let the perfect be the enemy of the good. I overthought the name.[2] I thought about whether I should have an actual dot com instead of a Blogspot account. I thought about how what you put on the internet never really dies or disappears. I thought about the danger of posting something I later regret writing.[3] I thought about my posting schedule, and how many edited and airbrushed posts I should have ready and in the hopper before I start posting.

And I haven’t done anything. So consider this a reaction against that; an error-filled blow against my own perfectionism. This not wanting to look bad or not wanting to mess up is preventing me from getting better, from maybe bringing just a little bit of value to the world. This is exactly what I would warn against when I coached educators—the goal is not to be perfect, the goal is to be better at one thing, and then another one. It's a lesson I've learned and forgotten more than I'd care to admit.

So I’m going to start posting here every other Monday. Forgive me for breaking the rules this week. I plan to write reactions to what I’m reading and thinking about or talking about in class, or what’s going on in the world. I know I will end up writing a lot about St. Louis, specifically, because it’s never too far from my mind. I will not pretend I have all the answers, and I hope to ask questions and change my mind about things. I will probably also write about family, and relationships, and spirituality, and myself, which is a really scary proposition. This will not be perfect, not by a longshot. 

Every other Monday, for at least a good while, I will write something. And that’s something.   





[1] This is actually my second attempt at an introductory post. Oh well.
[2] Is it dorky? It’s dorky, isn’t it?
[3] Something I wish I had thought about before I became a savant at documenting my stupidity in my college years.