Written By

Sophia Rumpf, ASLA, Associate Landscape Designer

Think about a time when you arrived at your destination; a lively downtown hotspot host to the new restaurant you've wanted to try for weeks. Everyone who took the trolley or lives nearby is walking up excited to secure a table - but not you. You left work in a commercially zoned part of town, sat bumper to bumper all the way home, got ready, and lugged yourself through weekend traffic to meet your friends. Now it's 7:30pm on a Friday night and the parking lot is full. You're already tired and hungry and you know from reading the Yelp reviews that they won't seat incomplete parties! You've made it this far, but now you have to spend half an hour circling all surrounding blocks hunting for a place to park your car.

Though this experience is incredibly frustrating, it's not entirely your fault. You were simply moving through the built environment the way that it was designed: In your car. You probably don't live anywhere near a lively downtown or trolley station. Uber and Lyft are possibly out of your budget. Your neighborhood provides nothing but single-family homes for a 2-mile radius. This experience is just one example of the many ramifications of outdated and inherently ineffective car-centric design.

The personal automobile once stood as a symbol of freedom and autonomy for Americans. The 19th Century was characterized by this. Visions of the open road captivated us, inviting dreams of opportunity and adventure free from reliance on the government to take us there. As a young country founded on principles of sovereignty and brimming with fervor, we romanticized this idea of the personal vehicle so much so that we effectively built our entire country around it. The 1920's marked the first formal implementation of Euclidean zoning, setting a blueprint for countless cities to separate land uses by type – residential, commercial, retail, industrial, etcetera – all implied to be navigated in a car. We sliced through the land to build impressive highways and mapped new developments into grids with widened streets and strictly delineated zones. The obvious next step was to provide parking at every turn and at every scale, from expansive lots down to the individual homeowner’s driveway and garage.

As of late, the 21st century has become characterized by the long-delayed recognition of this overreach. Car-centric policy in the development of our cities has created countless negative externalities, or deferred costs. Euclidean zoning has isolated us from our daily needs, and a lack of investment in alternative transit has turned the privilege of car use into a requirement (and a chore). This is what we call urban sprawl, and it costs us our time, money, health, and well-being. By design, we have successfully normalized living far from work and commuting everywhere, meaning Americans sit more and move less. Long commutes spent alone in a car mean less time in fresh air, nature, or with loved ones. It's not a surprise that Americans self-report much lower happiness levels than citizens of other wealthy developed countries, according to the 2024 World Happiness Report. The pervasiveness of car-centric infrastructure and neglect of pedestrian-friendly design has created a country of environments that prioritize machine over human, speed over safety, and hyper-independence over community well-being. Our obsession with the open road has left us stuck in the traffic and smog of car-dependence.

This award winning McCullough project, La Semilla, serves as a launchpad for a neighborhood-scale movement focused on environmental justice, climate resiliency, and community connection. La Semilla promotes alternative modes of transportation to reduce environmental impact, emphasizing the importance of walkability and accessibility.

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.

Palm Avenue is a mixed-use transit-oriented development to be developed into a transit site which maximizes density while simultaneously maximizing livability for residents. The project will also include mobility hub features to support trolley ridership by making it easy to live in a less auto-oriented lifestyle.

Walkable and transit-oriented design is a solution to so many problems. Urban tree canopy placed for pedestrian comfort can reduce surface temperatures by up to 25 degrees and sequester carbon from the atmosphere (EPA). Reduced reliance on cars improves air quality, alleviates noise pollution, and reduces a population's carbon footprint. Local businesses thrive in walkable neighborhoods; people spend more time (and circulate more money) in areas they can access on foot and occupy in comfort. Street-level activity improves social capital, enhancing safety and economic vitality. According to market surveys conducted by the National Association of Realtors, real estate values rise as "dwell time" rises. People desire walkability, and investing in pedestrian amenities provides countless positive ripple effects. For example, Philadelphia took a humane approach to its crime and vandalism problem over the last few decades and saw extreme success. Increasing pedestrian amenities like shade, green space, seating, and street calming tactics around otherwise vacant lots led to a 29% decrease in gun assaults and a 30% decrease in vandalism. Residents of Philadelphia also reported significantly lower stress levels and more exercise as a result of these rehabilitative efforts according to a decade-long study conducted by the University of Pennsylvania. Putting human needs at the center of city planning fosters lively street life, vibrant communities, and happy citizens.

Think of your favorite city that you've ever visited. What was it that you loved about it? Was it the impressive 5 lane highways? The successful zoning practices that segregated your home base far from all activity and culture? Was it the radiating heat you felt trekking across expanses of concrete to reach artificial shade? The incessant screeching and honking of commuters in traffic? No? So, what was it? What you probably loved most was the simple pleasure of stepping outside, grabbing a cup of coffee around the corner, taking a morning walk beneath the dappled shade of an old alley of trees. Maybe you were able to observe a street performer, enjoy the comforting hum of chatter and laughter, rest on a comfortable bench, exchange a friendly greeting with a neighbor, hop on a seamless transit system and pick up groceries on your way back. Maybe you were able to meet up with friends at a local restaurant and end the night at a nearby bar. In your favorite city you probably felt safe, comfortable, and content on foot. That wasn't just by chance, that was because in your favorite city, the built environment was designed for you.

Pedestrians are People: A Case for Human-Centered Design