Why Joyful Places are Compassionate Places

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

— Mother Teresa

As millions of people across the country have been taking to the streets to raise their voices in response to the killing of George Floyd and the ongoing problem of prejudice and inequality, I found myself initially feeling paralyzed. This overwhelming feeling was stemming from the perception that the problems seemed insurmountable and I felt trapped due to COVID-19. I asked a friend how I could feel and talk about joy in early June with everything going on. My last post was difficult to complete with the fear, sorrow, uncertainty, and hardship of the global pandemic these past few months. They recommended Hope in the Dark, which reminded me that we all have the power to cultivate true change. Hope doesn’t mean denying these difficult realities, it means addressing them with determination. Hope is an embrace of the unknown knowing that you have the ability to shape it. Isn’t this also the mantra of designers, town planners, and architects?

As I was preparing for the conference in June, one of the panelists pointed me to a blog post and diagram created by Deepa Iyer illustrating the social change ecosystem. In their office, they had identified urban designers, architects, and town planners as Weavers. Weavers see the connectivity between places, organizations, ideas, and movements and bring them together. I resonated with that, but also that we could fit into the ecosystem as Experimenters, Visionaries, Builders, and Storytellers as well. I am not claiming that we know and can solve everything, and neither is Deepa. What we can do is focus on the area where we can potentially have the most impact. We can listen, learn, and ask: How can we do better? How can we hold ourselves accountable to help remedy these injustices?

Source: Daily Mail

Source: Google Images

Source: Ruptly

Source: Google Images

The way forward is to know our history to truly cultivate positive change. So what does the past teach us? That we have a long history of systemic oppression in this county dating back to slavery. And, that the programs and policies that support systemic oppression have continued in different forms throughout history. These systems have effectively created a caste system in the United States. There are three main programs and polices Richard Rothstein highlights in The Color of Law that authorized segregation and undermined the ability for Black families to own homes and build wealth.

The Federal Housing Administration’s (FHA) actions in the 1930s and 1940s are the key reason why Black wealth is about 5-7% of White wealth today. The FHA subsidized the development of suburbs on the condition that the homes were only sold to White families. And further, the FHA required that the homes in those suburbs had private deeds that prohibited resale to non-white families. The FHA also frequently demolished integrated neighborhoods to create segregated housing which, in turn, has contributed to the segregated schools we see today.

The Federal Highway Administration played an integral role in neighborhood displacement and blight due to the construction of highways in the 1950s. In many instances, these highways were built along the boundaries of redline districts essentially trapping Black Americans into their segregated neighborhoods. This infrastructure prevented equitable access to jobs, healthy food, good air quality, and daily goods and services.

Use-based zoning within local jurisdictions effectively excluded Black Americans from White neighborhoods, since Black Americans were blocked from purchasing homes. Black American families were restricted to a few neighborhoods that allowed single-family uses as well as toxic uses such as heavy industrial plants, waste disposal, and other uses that were considered blight. Allowing such toxic uses had a negative impact on the perception of acceptable living conditions for Black Americans and contributed to chronic physical health issues. This has lead to the pre-existing health conditions due to stress, anxiety, and poor air quality we see today.

These programs and policies are all in addition to poor access to healthy food, aggressive policing, unreasonable levels of incarceration, and a badly maintained public realm.

Are you feeling overwhelmed yet? This is what Black Americans are dealing with every day. This is also why the global pandemic has disproportionately effected marginalized communities. This is an issue that “we” collectively need to work on to dismantle for ourselves.

Source: Google Images

Source: Google Images

How can we come together as Weavers, Experimenters, Visionaries, Builders, and Storytellers to collectively lift marginalized communities? In Palaces for the People, Eric Klinenberg says that social infrastructure is the glue that binds communities together. This infrastructure is just as real as the infrastructure for water, power, or communications. When we invest in social infrastructure such as housing that accommodates a range of income levels and age groups, libraries, public open space, grocery stores, shops, cafes, street vendors, outdoor seating, porches, stoops, sidewalks, benches, and street trees, we reap many benefits. We become more likely to interact with the people around us, and connected to the broader public. If we neglect social infrastructure, we tend to grow more isolated. Isolation leads to fear and distrust. Social infrastructure enables us to see people of other backgrounds and income levels with empathy and compassion.

It is possible for cities to nurture a culture of kindness. We could ask ourselves, how would a kind city respond to these issues? We could accept our differences and imperfections. We could celebrate our shared community and human experience. Maybe we could see others without judgment and let them know that we are here with them. An important part of our social infrastructure is public spaces. These spaces are fundamental building blocks for our physical and mental health, social resilience, and democracy. The public realm is where we can express our constitutional rights and engage with one another in civic life.

In terms of mental health and the global pandemic, overall you can see that COVID-19 has spiked anxiety and depression symptoms across racial lines. However, Black Americans are shouldering the heaviest burden going from 8% in 2019 to 41% recently. As we have discussed in previous posts, research shows that there is a connection between our mental well-being and our built environment. We all have a need to find joy in our physical surroundings.

“Those who are not looking for happiness are the most likely to find it, because those who are searching forget that the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others.”

— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

As we consider this quote by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I wanted to share a list of questions I have been thinking about over the last few months:

Does your public realm enable you to empathize with other cultures, incomes, ages, and opportunities?
Does your built environment inspire and reflect the highest values we wish to achieve and embody?
Do you feel comfortable peacefully expressing a range of emotions, from joy and happiness to anger and determination, within your public spaces?
Does your neighborhood have housing within a short walk to healthy food, cafes, and community buildings?
Do you feel safe and comfortable?

I know that my posts are typically about one joyful pattern, but historic and current events call for a more holistic understanding of our past and hopeful future. I hope you read this while also keeping in mind one of the key takeaways from my last post, what matters most in life is love and human connection.

When I am in government complexes where there is a main plaza, like the UN Plaza in San Francisco, I often think that the space is too large to feel comfortable and connected to the people within the space. However, when there is a need for collective action, to build collective power, and to achieve collective transformation, these larger, city-scale spaces seem to be appropriate. In solidarity we say their names: Rayshard Brooks in Atlanta, GA. George Floyd in Minneapolis, MN. Breonna Taylor in Louisville, KY. Ahmaud Arbery in Glynn County, GA. Tony McDade in Tallahassee, FL. Dion Johnson in Phoenix, AZ. And countless others…