More and more, I find myself wondering whether Minneapolis' urban
planners have learned anything in the last half century. It was back
in the 1950's that the city decided to rid itself of its bowery, which
was located in the Gateway section of downtown and included more than
125 tenement buildings. World War Two had been won, the city was awash
in postwar prosperity, and everyone who counted thought the bowery was
an eyesore, an affront to municipal pride. So in a burst of urban
"improvement", they had it torn down -- and in the process
turned hundreds of derelict men, homeless, itinerant, and chemically
dependent, out into the streets with nowhere to go.
But, of course, they had to go somewhere, and they did.
Most migrated over the river to Franklin Avenue, which, for
pre-existing social and economic reasons of long standing, was a
natural "catchment" for them. From the 1960's until the late
1980's, one could drive along the avenue and see derelicts sleeping in
Peavey Park, congregating around Snyder's Liquor Store, urinating into
gutters, panhandling, fighting, and, in the winter, dying from the
cold. It was a horrendous tableau of human suffering and degradation.
No one had forseen or planned it, no one thought it was necessary or
useful, no one wanted to perpetuate it. Yet, no one could generate the
political will to eliminate it. In truth, a more elegant instantiation
of the law of unintended consequences in social planning does not
exist in the history of Minneapolis.
But there is more to the story. If the transplanted bowery on
Franklin couldn't be gotten rid of, at least its worst manifestations
could be ameliorated. Responsible and caring municipal leaders of the
era, appalled by the spectacle of misery that they had had a hand in
creating, tried to make sure that at least minimal housing for the
homeless, chemical dependency treatment, and social services
were made available where they were most needed, on and off the
Avenue. Slowly and surely, their efforts paid off, and conditions
began to improve. But out of this very success, a new phenomenon
materialized. A large and steadily growing number of people who
required the kind of help available in Phillips now began to
"follow the services". In time, a great, self-perpetuating
complex of clients and service agencies -- governed by its own
political, economic, and social imperatives -- emerged around the
area's hospitals (Abbott Northwestern, Childrens', Mount Sinai,
Swedish, and General). Once more, the law of unanticipated
consequences had worked itself out upon and against the interests of
the neighborhood.
Of course, this parable leaves out at least as much as it
includes. Poverty in Phillips has its own long history, as do crime
and violence, and I certainly do not wish to imply here that these
problems have been visited upon us solely by service agencies
and their clients. Nothing could be further from the truth. So what's
the point?
Well, I'd like to think that the political leadership of
Minneapolis has not forgotten the risks inherent in social
engineering, and that in their rush to build tens of thousands of
affordable housing units, they manage to respect the vulnerabilities
of the city's poorest neighborhoods. But I confess, I'm not reassured
when I consider the extent to which the leadership has already
contrived to obscure the distinction between affordable housing and
"supportive" housing; to subvert the 1/4 mile exclusion rule
by verbal fiat; to connive at creating (by granting variances to
developers) the very conditions that it overtly and explicitly
condemns; to ignore the language and spirit of the Holman Consent
Decree, and to perpetuate the concentration of poverty in poor
neighborhoods and neighborhoods of color by catering to the NIMBY
anxieties of the affluent. In my view, this does not represent
responsible politics, and in effect it guarantees that consequences as
yet unforseen, but most assuredly unfortunate, will ensue. Le plus ce
change...
Paul Weir
Phillips
