The solution to this vast problem will differ on a case-by-case basis, but fundamentally we can point to the concept of the village as a blueprint. When a city grows organically - without an outside entity superimposing its ideals - you see the same pattern emerge every time. First, a group of people with like interests congregate for a sense of safety and opportunity. They barter, providing goods and services, attracting new and diverse activity. Once the village reaches its limit density, it essentially copies and pastes itself around, each neighborhood offering similar things to adjacent neighborhoods, but with its own unique culture and flair. The reason this pattern is so successful is because by nature, it maintains a human scale and meets basic human needs for comfort, mobility, community, and economic opportunity.
If the defining trait of a village's success is its commitment to human-centered needs, our major cities are failing in this department. As we know, pedestrians are humans, and all humans operate under a basic hierarchy of needs. Jeff Speck illustrates the hierarchy of needs for walkers in his book, Walkable City. Above all we need safety; can I walk without being put in danger? Next is practicality; Can I meet my daily needs within walking distance? Then comes comfort; Do I enjoy this walk, have spaces to rest under shade? Last you have interest and fulfilment; Does this walk provide me with or connect me to an enriching experience? Think of it this way, walking is the most natural method of transportation for humans; in fact, we are built for it. Moving our bodies strengthens neural pathways and releases happy hormones, meaning it is critical for mental and physical health, longevity, and quality of life. Walkable cities support a higher quality of life by meeting basic physical, economic, social, and psychological needs. When you design a space for a vehicle, you're not designing for a living thing, and you're not designing at a comfortable human scale. Fundamental pillars of humanity like health, wellness, and community all take a backseat to car-centric ideals like speed and "efficiency."
Our built environment reflects the inhumane failures of car-centric design in so many ways, and we pay the price for it. We experience increasingly dangerous roads, congested traffic, urban heat island effect, contaminated air quality, and social isolation on a daily basis - all because we put the car first and people second. First, our sprawled environment often produces unmanageable distances to cover on foot. Urbanist and Educator Jon Wesolowski from Chattanooga, TN illustrates on social media platforms that walking distance doesn’t necessarily mean walkable. Pedestrians who attempt to navigate our car-centric environment are faced with countless obstacles, such as dangerous streetscapes, abrupt endings of sidewalks, a lack of curb ramps, and fenced off destinations. Crosswalks separated by long distances incentivize risky behavior like jaywalking. Wide fast roads are isolating and dehumanizing for those on foot.
"Highways and high-speed roads communicate that a place is something to pass through, not a destination to arrive at," Jon shares in a video illustrating the detrimental effects of car-centric design in his hometown. "Infrastructure like fences, walls, and guard rails that protect fast moving cars often block pedestrian access to entire street frontages, deactivating social and economic opportunity."
Every time a road is widened to move things along or a lane is added to relieve traffic congestion, we kick the problem down the road, ignoring its root cause. The problem inevitably returns - and with each misguided response - grows in scale. It's no wonder that you see the worst traffic on the widest highways and the most dramatic cases of blight, vandalism, and homelessness occurring in the most inhumanely built environments.
