Ahmedabad (population 5.2 million) is one of the largest, fastest-growing and most prosperous cities in India. Its current condition is familiar throughout the Global South. For centuries, its streets have bustled with a wide variety of users — including pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, and various animals. Today, those users must compete for roadspace with an exponentially-increasing number of cars. The congestion has become unbearable, for drivers and non-drivers alike. The system is broken. As city after city has discovered, no amount of expensive road building can put it back together again. Something else must be done.
Enter Janmarg, Ahmedabad's new Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) system
Bus Rapid Transit is an umbrella term used to describe almost any improvements to traditional bus systems. In its best form, however, it is an attempt to replicates the speed, frequency, reliability and comfort of rail systems, at a significantly reduced cost. The earliest well-known system was created in Curitiba, Brazil; since then, cities such as Bogota, Columbia and Istanbul, Turkey have followed.
Ahmedabad’s BRT system, Janmarg, is the first fully-featured system in India. Janmarg is still in its infancy, with 26 bus stations over 12 miles and 38,000 daily riders. But it’s a start, and plans are in place to extend it to 96 miles. If it works, it may prove a model for the rest of India, and a solution to a seemingly-unsolvable transportation problem.
To be sure, fixed-rail systems are ideal for areas with the population density and financial resources to support them. For one, developers are more likely to invest near rail stations, since rail lines (unlike bus lines) cannot be moved at the city’s whim. And rail systems with dedicated rights-of-way can certainly move traffic faster than any bus line. However, the construction costs of even the best BRT systems appear to be far smaller than that of rail systems. Rail can affordably reach the most highly-populated areas. Perhaps the moderately-populated places (or those in less wealthy nations) can be reached by first-class bus systems.
While some places within the highly-industrialized world have created innovative bus systems, none has taken it to the same level as Curitiba. In the U.S., the common wisdom is that choice riders (i.e. those who can afford to own and operate a private car) may ride trains, but not buses. This is demonstrably true for typical city buses. But what if a U.S city created a BRT system which could compete with that of Bogota or Curitiba? If we built it, I suspect the riders would come.
So how would a U.S. city create the best bus system in the world? Taking some tips from other countries, it could:
• Dedicate lanes specifically to BRT. Preferably, these lanes should be grade-separated (perhaps on a highway right-of-way).
• Brand/design the BRT buses differently from the city buses.
• If the buses operate on the regular street system, consider giving them signal prioritization for stoplights (helping to make them faster than private cars).
• Space bus stops at significant distances (e.g. at least 1/2-1 mile apart).
• Construct stations with significant amenities. This will encourage choice riders while creating a permanence which will help attract development.
• Accept payment at the station (instead of the bus), which permits faster boarding.
• Use the highest-quality, most modern buses available.
• Board at elevated platforms to permit same-level boarding (increasing speed and accessibility).
By the way, there are plenty of less optimistic assessments of BRT’s capabilities, and many even question the cost savings attributed to BRT. I’ll keep reading both sides of the debate and keep an open mind. But it is important to distinguish merely improved bus service from world-class bus service which can compete with rail.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The (Intentional) Shrinking of Detroit
How does one run a city which has been shrinking for decades?
In 1950, Detroit had a population of about 1.8 million (and the highest per-capita income in the United States). Today, it has fallen to 900,000. Contrary to popular perception, many of the city’s neighborhoods enjoy a stable population. But others are largely abandoned, dominated by empty lots and abandoned buildings—and dotted with occasional residents.
To make matters worse, the city government faces a severe financial crisis. Detroit must spend scarce funds to provide police, fire, garbage, road maintenance, utilities and other services to mostly-empty neighborhoods—many with little near-term hope of recovery. This diverts needed money from the city’s strongest neighborhoods.
Mayor Dave Bing—a successful businessman and NBA Hall of Famer—has a new agenda for the city: focus resources on the most populated and successful areas, direct as many residents as possible into those places, and let the others go. In other words, he is working to downsize Detroit in order to meet the current reality.
Many people interested in urban issues have urged Detroit to do just that. In most ways, it makes sense; it is difficult to imagine that Detroit will ever be a city of 1.8 million again, so the city government must focus on serving a smaller population as well as possible. But implementation can be challenging. On the one hand, there are many dilapidated structures in neighborhoods with almost no market demand; it is certainly wise to demolish them. And it seems wise to focus needed school closures on the most desolate neighborhoods.
More aggressive initiatives, however, will meet significant challenges. The city can certainly offer cash incentives or land swaps to encourage people to leave certain areas—so long as it has the resources to do so. But what happens when some people do not want to leave? According to the mayor, "If they stay where they are I absolutely cannot give them all the services they require”. Yet it is difficult to imagine that a city could legally deny basic services to people living within its jurisdiction. It may be possible to force people to leave by eminent domain, but that could prove legally and politically challenging, particularly in the post-Kelo era.
Some critics view the initiative with alarm. Indeed, there are clear parallels to the Urban Renewal period, when desperate local governments destroyed many poor and working-class neighborhoods throughout the United States. While much of this was well-intentioned, the results were generally disastrous. Urban Renewal made a bad situation worse, both for struggling cities and for the citizens it attempted to help.
Detroit should shrink—consciously, cautiously, and with humility. They must take extreme measures, yet avoid the mistakes of the past. It may be easy to give up on Detroit. Fortunately, some people have not done so.
In 1950, Detroit had a population of about 1.8 million (and the highest per-capita income in the United States). Today, it has fallen to 900,000. Contrary to popular perception, many of the city’s neighborhoods enjoy a stable population. But others are largely abandoned, dominated by empty lots and abandoned buildings—and dotted with occasional residents.
To make matters worse, the city government faces a severe financial crisis. Detroit must spend scarce funds to provide police, fire, garbage, road maintenance, utilities and other services to mostly-empty neighborhoods—many with little near-term hope of recovery. This diverts needed money from the city’s strongest neighborhoods.
Mayor Dave Bing—a successful businessman and NBA Hall of Famer—has a new agenda for the city: focus resources on the most populated and successful areas, direct as many residents as possible into those places, and let the others go. In other words, he is working to downsize Detroit in order to meet the current reality.
Many people interested in urban issues have urged Detroit to do just that. In most ways, it makes sense; it is difficult to imagine that Detroit will ever be a city of 1.8 million again, so the city government must focus on serving a smaller population as well as possible. But implementation can be challenging. On the one hand, there are many dilapidated structures in neighborhoods with almost no market demand; it is certainly wise to demolish them. And it seems wise to focus needed school closures on the most desolate neighborhoods.
More aggressive initiatives, however, will meet significant challenges. The city can certainly offer cash incentives or land swaps to encourage people to leave certain areas—so long as it has the resources to do so. But what happens when some people do not want to leave? According to the mayor, "If they stay where they are I absolutely cannot give them all the services they require”. Yet it is difficult to imagine that a city could legally deny basic services to people living within its jurisdiction. It may be possible to force people to leave by eminent domain, but that could prove legally and politically challenging, particularly in the post-Kelo era.
Some critics view the initiative with alarm. Indeed, there are clear parallels to the Urban Renewal period, when desperate local governments destroyed many poor and working-class neighborhoods throughout the United States. While much of this was well-intentioned, the results were generally disastrous. Urban Renewal made a bad situation worse, both for struggling cities and for the citizens it attempted to help.
Detroit should shrink—consciously, cautiously, and with humility. They must take extreme measures, yet avoid the mistakes of the past. It may be easy to give up on Detroit. Fortunately, some people have not done so.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
NYC and the Self-Destruction of Diversity
There's been quite a bit of publicity Sharon Zukin’s recently-published book called Naked City: The Death and Life of Authentic Urban Places.
Obviously, the title takes a swipe at Jane Jacob’s iconic book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, published in 1961. In Death and Life, Jacobs argued that her neighborhood (Greenwich Village) was an excellent example of well-functioning, vibrant, diverse neighborhood—the type of place in which people of different races and economic positions lived, worked and recreated together.
The problem, according to Zukin, is that places such as Greenwich Village (now one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the United States) no longer enjoy such diversity. Or, more to the point, Zukin argues that Jacobs failed to anticipate that bustling urban neighborhoods would experience rapid gentrification—and would lose much of the vibrancy which made them attractive.
But here’s the thing: Jacobs understood this quite well.
Central to her writing was the idea of “self-destruction of diversity”—a concept which incorporated many types of diversity (e.g. unusual or eccentric businesses). In a nutshell, places such as Wicker Park (Chicago), North Beach (San Francisco) and the Back Bay (Boston) are very rare, and many people like them. When many people like something which is rare, the supply exceeds the demand. For that reason, they become very expensive. When neighborhoods become expensive, many people and businesses are displaced. Long-time residents, immigrant families, and artists are forced to leave, and much of the original character (which initially made the area attractive) is destroyed.
Jacobs was not the first person to observe this; one need not be profoundly astute to observe gentrification. But Jacobs did have a solution: allow the supply to meet the demand. According to Jacobs, government policies in core areas of large cities should encourage (or at least not discourage) mixed uses, reasonably high densities, short blocks, and the preservation of many older buildings.
Unfortunately, her advice was not heeded. For decades, government policies have essentially treated good urbanism (as defined by Jacobs) as a nuisance. For example, mixing of residential and commercial uses is illegal almost everywhere in the United States—and often discouraged even in the most urban neighborhoods.
While urban planning theory has largely shifted in Jacobs’ favor, most of the practice is still rooted in the past. the bulk of land use codes still discourage (or forbid) the implementation of her principles. Today, the demand for urban neighborhoods is far higher than it was when Death and Life was published in 1961, and the problem is more acute than ever. Perhaps we should all be reminded that there is no inherent reason that an apartment in Greenwich Village should cost $3000 a month. Our public policies have helped to make great city neighborhoods an extraordinary rare commodity—and one which can only be enjoyed by the elite.
Obviously, the title takes a swipe at Jane Jacob’s iconic book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, published in 1961. In Death and Life, Jacobs argued that her neighborhood (Greenwich Village) was an excellent example of well-functioning, vibrant, diverse neighborhood—the type of place in which people of different races and economic positions lived, worked and recreated together.
The problem, according to Zukin, is that places such as Greenwich Village (now one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the United States) no longer enjoy such diversity. Or, more to the point, Zukin argues that Jacobs failed to anticipate that bustling urban neighborhoods would experience rapid gentrification—and would lose much of the vibrancy which made them attractive.
But here’s the thing: Jacobs understood this quite well.
Central to her writing was the idea of “self-destruction of diversity”—a concept which incorporated many types of diversity (e.g. unusual or eccentric businesses). In a nutshell, places such as Wicker Park (Chicago), North Beach (San Francisco) and the Back Bay (Boston) are very rare, and many people like them. When many people like something which is rare, the supply exceeds the demand. For that reason, they become very expensive. When neighborhoods become expensive, many people and businesses are displaced. Long-time residents, immigrant families, and artists are forced to leave, and much of the original character (which initially made the area attractive) is destroyed.
Jacobs was not the first person to observe this; one need not be profoundly astute to observe gentrification. But Jacobs did have a solution: allow the supply to meet the demand. According to Jacobs, government policies in core areas of large cities should encourage (or at least not discourage) mixed uses, reasonably high densities, short blocks, and the preservation of many older buildings.
Unfortunately, her advice was not heeded. For decades, government policies have essentially treated good urbanism (as defined by Jacobs) as a nuisance. For example, mixing of residential and commercial uses is illegal almost everywhere in the United States—and often discouraged even in the most urban neighborhoods.
While urban planning theory has largely shifted in Jacobs’ favor, most of the practice is still rooted in the past. the bulk of land use codes still discourage (or forbid) the implementation of her principles. Today, the demand for urban neighborhoods is far higher than it was when Death and Life was published in 1961, and the problem is more acute than ever. Perhaps we should all be reminded that there is no inherent reason that an apartment in Greenwich Village should cost $3000 a month. Our public policies have helped to make great city neighborhoods an extraordinary rare commodity—and one which can only be enjoyed by the elite.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Glowing Rectangles and the Built Environment
A recent LA Times opinion piece asks a question which is often on my mind: How will the exponential growth of information technology continue to alter our relationship with the built environment?
While this article touches on several aspects of that issue, I am most interested in the idea that our perception of the world around will be (perhaps literally) filtered through the lens of technology. As GPS technology and applications such as Google Goggles develop, they will radically alter our relationship with the built environment; we will have an enormous amount of data about the world which surrounds us.
In a sense, this will make cities far more interesting. Before the decade is over, we will probably be able to "look" at a building and learn about its building materials, architectural style, and history. We will be able to go to a new neighborhood (or city) and find a list of events, stores, restaurants and cultural institutions tailored to our interests. We will be notified as we enter the proximity of people who share our interests (which has already been done on a small scale). Geeky urbanists such as myself will be in Heaven; the types of detailed demographic data which now requires immersion in advanced mapping software will be instantaneously available. Want to know the zero-car household rate among 18-25 year olds within a mile of your location? Or the density of small grocery stores within a three-mile radius? Click. There it is. And to think I spent all those sleepless nights studying this stuff in grad school…
In other ways, these trends will probably weaken the human of cities. We may become so enmeshed in information about our environment that we no longer be as present, in real time. We may be too awash in data to actually have a sense of being in a place—particularly after decades of increasing technology.
As a planner, I wonder how we will have to build our cities, towns and suburbs to accommodate forces of technology which we cannot quite anticipate. Certainly, it is part of a strange paradox of our time. In some ways, location matters more and more; in other ways, we are becoming more and more disconnected from our locations.
P.S. Apologies to The Onion for the
Glowing Rectangles reference.
While this article touches on several aspects of that issue, I am most interested in the idea that our perception of the world around will be (perhaps literally) filtered through the lens of technology. As GPS technology and applications such as Google Goggles develop, they will radically alter our relationship with the built environment; we will have an enormous amount of data about the world which surrounds us.
In a sense, this will make cities far more interesting. Before the decade is over, we will probably be able to "look" at a building and learn about its building materials, architectural style, and history. We will be able to go to a new neighborhood (or city) and find a list of events, stores, restaurants and cultural institutions tailored to our interests. We will be notified as we enter the proximity of people who share our interests (which has already been done on a small scale). Geeky urbanists such as myself will be in Heaven; the types of detailed demographic data which now requires immersion in advanced mapping software will be instantaneously available. Want to know the zero-car household rate among 18-25 year olds within a mile of your location? Or the density of small grocery stores within a three-mile radius? Click. There it is. And to think I spent all those sleepless nights studying this stuff in grad school…
In other ways, these trends will probably weaken the human of cities. We may become so enmeshed in information about our environment that we no longer be as present, in real time. We may be too awash in data to actually have a sense of being in a place—particularly after decades of increasing technology.
As a planner, I wonder how we will have to build our cities, towns and suburbs to accommodate forces of technology which we cannot quite anticipate. Certainly, it is part of a strange paradox of our time. In some ways, location matters more and more; in other ways, we are becoming more and more disconnected from our locations.
P.S. Apologies to The Onion for the
Glowing Rectangles reference.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
How does one age in “typical” suburbia?
The problem is simple: The Baby Boomer generation—the largest in our history—is hitting retirement age. By the time people reach age 70, most are unable to drive for several years. And in most of the U.S., driving is a necessity. Many Americans, unable to take care of themselves, are forced to spend their older age in a retirement home.
The solution, of course, is complex.
Can we recreate the typical suburb to offer seniors alternatives to the private vehicle? As the Wall Street Journal recently reported, some communities are retrofitting themselves to help people age in place.
If you’re very interested in this subject (or general principles of walkable urbanism), you might check out Andres Duany’s one hour and seventeen minute long presentation to the Atlanta Regional Commission. As with most of Duany’s presentations, it is definitely worth your time if you follow these issues.
The solution, of course, is complex.
Can we recreate the typical suburb to offer seniors alternatives to the private vehicle? As the Wall Street Journal recently reported, some communities are retrofitting themselves to help people age in place.
If you’re very interested in this subject (or general principles of walkable urbanism), you might check out Andres Duany’s one hour and seventeen minute long presentation to the Atlanta Regional Commission. As with most of Duany’s presentations, it is definitely worth your time if you follow these issues.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Solar in the Sahara?
The Sahara Desert covers 3.5 million square miles—an area larger than the 48 contiguous states. And, of course, it is across the Mediterranean Sea from Europe, which uses about 26% of the world's energy (per the Country Profiles at Earthtrends).
So it might seem like a no-brainer: The Sahara is vast, extremely hot, and essentially unpopulated. If it were covered in solar panels, wouldn't it provide clean power to all of Europe, reduce global reliance on fossil fuels, and bring much-needed economic prosperity to Northern Africa?
There are certainly those who expect it to happen. The Desertec Foundation proposes a $572 million initiative which would help create a massive solar energy network in the Sahara.
Unfortunately, implementation would be complicated—and, according to some critics, infeasible. As a recent Reuters dispatch reported, Morocco and Algeria, which must coordinate to make such a project possible, are mired in longstanding disputes. And distribution on this scale would require a multi-billion dollar infrastructure; a model of distributed solar power (e.g. rooftop solar panels) may well prove to be cheaper and more efficient.
While these challenges may be manageable, even the project's most optimistic supporters do not expect that it will power most of Europe. Desertec's backers hope that it will provide 15% of Europe's energy needs by 2050—a signficant percentage, to be sure, but hardly a panacea in a world of increasing global competition for energy.
Why not 60% or 70%? Maybe some of you can help explain that one. Regardless of the reason, it remains questionable whether Europe can service the bulk of its increasing energy demands with any combination of solar, wind, hydroelectric and geothermal power. It may be forced to get most of its power from the same old sources (oil, natural gas, coal, and nuclear), all of which are extremely problematic.
So it might seem like a no-brainer: The Sahara is vast, extremely hot, and essentially unpopulated. If it were covered in solar panels, wouldn't it provide clean power to all of Europe, reduce global reliance on fossil fuels, and bring much-needed economic prosperity to Northern Africa?
There are certainly those who expect it to happen. The Desertec Foundation proposes a $572 million initiative which would help create a massive solar energy network in the Sahara.
Unfortunately, implementation would be complicated—and, according to some critics, infeasible. As a recent Reuters dispatch reported, Morocco and Algeria, which must coordinate to make such a project possible, are mired in longstanding disputes. And distribution on this scale would require a multi-billion dollar infrastructure; a model of distributed solar power (e.g. rooftop solar panels) may well prove to be cheaper and more efficient.
While these challenges may be manageable, even the project's most optimistic supporters do not expect that it will power most of Europe. Desertec's backers hope that it will provide 15% of Europe's energy needs by 2050—a signficant percentage, to be sure, but hardly a panacea in a world of increasing global competition for energy.
Why not 60% or 70%? Maybe some of you can help explain that one. Regardless of the reason, it remains questionable whether Europe can service the bulk of its increasing energy demands with any combination of solar, wind, hydroelectric and geothermal power. It may be forced to get most of its power from the same old sources (oil, natural gas, coal, and nuclear), all of which are extremely problematic.
Monday, August 24, 2009
"Ecodensity" in Vancouver
Check out this article about the evolution of Vancouver's much-touted Ecodensity Initiative, created in 2006.
Density is considered the "D Word" in planning, certain to create alarm among some citizens. For that reason, most local governments in North America would be reluctant to advocate increased densities. But Vancouver, the only major city in the U.S. or Canada which does not have a downtown highway, is not the typical North American city. They should be commended for addressing some common misperceptions and bringing their case to the public.
While increased residential density is not appropriate for all communities, it is good public policy in many. Increased residential density can offer many benefits to urban communities (e.g. more density leads to more stores, restaurants, and other amenities within walking distance); that is why medium- and high-density neighborhoods are often extremely popular. Furthermore, and contrary to popular perception, dense communities tend to be be very environmentally sustainable. After all, if Chicago's 2.8 million residents did not live in its 220 square miles, they would have no choice but to spread out on former farms and wilderness—and drive wherever they needed to go.
The City seems to be learning, through trial and error, how to make density politically popular. Kudos to Vancouver for taking the lead on this issue.
Density is considered the "D Word" in planning, certain to create alarm among some citizens. For that reason, most local governments in North America would be reluctant to advocate increased densities. But Vancouver, the only major city in the U.S. or Canada which does not have a downtown highway, is not the typical North American city. They should be commended for addressing some common misperceptions and bringing their case to the public.
While increased residential density is not appropriate for all communities, it is good public policy in many. Increased residential density can offer many benefits to urban communities (e.g. more density leads to more stores, restaurants, and other amenities within walking distance); that is why medium- and high-density neighborhoods are often extremely popular. Furthermore, and contrary to popular perception, dense communities tend to be be very environmentally sustainable. After all, if Chicago's 2.8 million residents did not live in its 220 square miles, they would have no choice but to spread out on former farms and wilderness—and drive wherever they needed to go.
The City seems to be learning, through trial and error, how to make density politically popular. Kudos to Vancouver for taking the lead on this issue.
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