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CRITIC'S NOTEBOOK
A wireless L.A., but with strings attached
Blanketing the city in Wi-Fi could prove to be a disconnect, leaving  
the poor and public spirit behind.
By Christopher Hawthorne
Times Staff Writer

March 11, 2007

More than a few obstacles stand in the way of Mayor Antonio  
Villaraigosa's plan, unveiled with some fanfare last month, to  
blanket all 498 square miles of Los Angeles with wireless Internet  
access by 2009.

But let's assume the mayor can work out a deal with EarthLink or  
another service provider — as San Francisco, Houston and Philadelphia  
have done — and put a plan in place that would allow anybody within  
the city limits to open a laptop and surf the Internet either free or  
for a modest monthly fee. And let's assume that the service proves  
attractive even if, as some critics have pointed out, it's little  
more than a faster, large-screen version of the access we can already  
get on cellphones and BlackBerrys.

What would it mean as an urban phenomenon, for the way we experience  
the city and interact with one another? What would a wireless Los  
Angeles look like?

In the sunniest scenario, the one sketched out rather persuasively by  
the mayor and his speechwriters, the plan would not only help make  
online access more affordable and available but expand the public  
sphere, turning every corner park and sidewalk bench into a possible  
home for the kind of coffeehouse culture that has always been a  
defining feature of urban life. It would send a message that the  
digital realm is a kind of public utility, as accessible as water and  
electricity.

A more likely effect, frankly, is a noticeable increase in the odd  
sort of public, shared alienation already on display in cafes  
everywhere, with people packed in next to one another but staring  
into their own individual screens. And given the sort of Angelenos  
who are most obsessed with being always connected, wireless access  
might fall far short of creating a new kind of social interaction or  
a revamped notion of communal space in the city. Ultimately, it might  
do little more than let a thousand PowerPoint presentations bloom in  
the open air.

Those issues aside, though, the plan's most intriguing aspects have  
to do with the way we think about the various borders that define the  
city and its limits. Even as wireless access could make architectural  
boundaries less important — since networks will no longer have to be  
contained, as most are now, within the space of four walls — it  
promises to draw civic ones more indelibly.

For most of its history, thanks to its unusual, sprawling shape and  
the piecemeal way it expanded over time, thirsty for new sources of  
water, L.A. has been a city with soft edges. It's often hard to tell  
when you've left Los Angeles and entered Gardena or San Fernando or  
Bell. The relationship between urban and suburban areas can also feel  
turned entirely inside out in Southern California, with the  
peripheries of L.A. proper often sleepier and less dense than many  
neighborhoods that lie just outside the city limits. As a result, the  
line between city and region has always been more faintly drawn here  
than in any other American metropolis.

A universal wireless plan would likely make that difference more  
pronounced, since access would end abruptly at the city limits.  
(Imagine if your cellphone stopped working at the Santa Monica or  
Pasadena border. You'd learn pretty quickly exactly where those  
borders lie.) This is especially true given that L.A. controls the  
utility poles on which the wireless-network equipment would have to  
be installed. Since many neighboring cities do not, they may trail us  
in the wireless race by several years, if not longer.

In that sense the project is one of many defining Villaraigosa's  
administration as a departure, in salesmanship if not yet in  
substance, from those of his predecessors. Fending off various  
secession campaigns, previous L.A. mayors have spent a good deal of  
their time in office trying to convince residents of the Valley or  
Hollywood that they are getting a decent return for their tax dollars  
when it comes to city services. At least rhetorically, Villaraigosa  
is trying an aggressive rather than defensive strategy, painting a  
picture of an L.A. that gives its various neighborhoods more trees,  
more new housing and more high-tech amenities than they would get as  
independent cities.

Eroding altruism

HE'S helped in that effort by a rising sense across the country that  
big cities are safer and more livable now than they have ever been.  
Urbanity and density are now seen as positive qualities that can  
attract residents rather than send them fleeing to the suburbs. The  
wireless plan is part of that package, a digital perk that Los  
Angeles aims to offer before the rest of the region.

Still, this is hardly an administration that is pushing bold  
initiatives in the old-fashioned manner of legendary political  
operators such as New York's Robert Moses or Louisiana's Huey Long.  
Villaraigosa's wireless effort, rather than announcing new public- 
sphere muscle, is instead yet another twist on the far weaker public- 
private partnership model.

A subway to the sea qualifies as a bold initiative. A wireless plan  
that creates significant benefits for a private-sector company is  
something else — something more symbolic of the way cities make and  
remake themselves now. It has a good deal in common, in fact, with  
the Grand Avenue plan approved last month by the City Council and  
county Board of Supervisors, which also weaves strands of public and  
private benefit (and risk) in a way that makes them almost impossible  
to untangle.

Tony Cardenas, a city councilman and champion of the wireless  
project, has suggested optimistically that it would help poor  
children here "grow up advantaged, not disadvantaged." And in  
Houston, where EarthLink has joined with the city in a plan to create  
the biggest wireless network in the country, covering more than 600  
square miles, Mayor Bill White predicts the technology will "bridge  
the digital divide" and "lift people up educationally."

But free wireless service doesn't mean a whole lot if you can't  
afford a laptop. And the structure of the plans that have been taking  
shape in other cities suggests that ours may not match the populism  
of the press-conference talking points. The service in Houston may  
cost as much as $21.95 per month (with possible discounts for low- 
income residents). San Francisco may offer parallel services, a  
subscription plan from EarthLink and a slower, free alternative from  
Google loaded with targeted advertising.

That sounds quite a bit like the digital equivalent of a highway  
system split between private toll roads and sluggish public freeways.  
And it raises the question of how precisely to measure civic progress  
as nearly every corner of city life undergoes commercialization. If  
you put a drinking fountain on every corner but allow a private  
company to charge for each sip, even if it's only a few pennies, can  
you really make a case that you're improving access to clean water?

In that sense, what rings most hollow is the claim from the mayor and  
his allies that universal wireless is designed primarily to help the  
city's electronic have-nots. If that's the goal, why not take full  
advantage of the fact that L.A. owns its utility poles, turn this  
into a wholly public project and make access universal and free? The  
answer, of course, is that cities feel they can't manage even a  
moderately ambitious initiative these days without the capital and  
marketing muscle the private sector can provide.

Tellingly, one of the city's first experiments in wireless technology  
has come in Pershing Square downtown. Though that project,  
spearheaded by the Community Redevelopment Agency, offers free online  
service, it isn't meant to deal with the digital divide as much as  
aid the city's continuing — and largely unsuccessful — effort to  
burnish the square's reputation. It is essentially an electronic  
version of the public-safety and trash-collection crews that patrol  
parts of downtown. Like the mayor's broader wireless plan, it is more  
about image than access.

[EMAIL PROTECTED]

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