Cities : Idle speculations on their future

Futurism has much in common with fiction: interesting maybe, but hardly very effective at telling the future. Plus reality, rather than futurism or fiction, has proven to be more interesting (and exciting) than either. This does not negate the value of the two lesser arts, but it may shift their use, particularly if we are tempted to employ predictions as planning tools. Thus, when I am asked to speculate on the future of Cities, I must do so with this caveat: My future-speculations are umbilically bound to current reality. The future that I see as the projection of the real lacks one reproducible ingredient: the unpredictable that is embedded in the real and is essential to its very liveliness. This unpredictability—the catastrophic factor characteristic of all living events—may be what makes reality more interesting than fiction. The following therefore are mere projections, but done with an additional twist to compensate for my inability to recreate the catastrophic factor: done tongue-in-cheek or, more precisely, done without much forethought, catching glimpses of the future lazily from the corner of my eye. They stretch beyond a more prosaic purpose such as getting from A to B.

My travels take me frequently back and forth along a specific route: from Houston to Newark (airport), to Stockholm (my hometown), then back to Houston before going on to Berkeley, California, where I have lived and worked on and off for many decades. In a state of idleness imposed by air travel, I have entertained many of my speculations, formulated en route and from the air, i.e., from a healthy distance. This oddly may make the speculations more interesting (at least I hope so) because they are not caught in the iron grip of professional logic.

The City of One

Flying west from George Bush International Airport in Houston, I look down on the seemingly endless deserts that are inscribed by the suburban hieroglyphics of freeways and curving streets that end in cul-de sacs, all holding little houses safely apart. These hierglyphics spread out like some surface ailment driven by a relentless internal graphic logic without any sense of end or confining principle. This graphic projects a city of individuals—a City of One.

Here government has been reduced to the Highway Department; all transportation, in fact all errands, is individually motivated and (literally) driven. Government has been totally discredited, taxes are kept to a minimum, and everyone is on his or her own. All forms of congregation are willed, nothing is spontaneous, and everything is “planned” (but not by others). All that we have known as the City has been carefully edited out. Here NIMBY (not in my back yard, a type of refined vigilante stance probably with its intellectual roots in the Ku Klux Klan) motivates the only planned citizen action, which is always driven by fear and against change. “Planning” has become reactive and defensive, rather than seen as serving the public interest by defending the citizenry from its worst self-indulgencies. In past writings, I have defined this state of affairs as After the City, suggesting the City’s death—the undramatic end of communal living—and, by definition, the end of Kultur.

The Gastropolis

Walking around the streets of Berkeley—the central hub of public education in the most populated state of the union—I notice that the car of choice is the Toyota Prius, the ingenious hybrid car motoring partly on its own friction. This is an obvious choice in this City of Demonstrations (often in the form of bumper stickers), where you flaunt your aversion to the current administration and to the body-builder state governor, but more by habit because the real reason to live here is not to study or to be political, but to eat.

Aside from the well-known one in the mid sixties, three lesser but much more resilient (and lucrative) revolutions have taken place here: coffee, food, and wine. Each has its own heroes and heroines: Peet, Alice Waters, and the Kermit Lynch. Today’s proliferation of coffee houses, food venues, and wine outlets has expanded at such an astonishing rate that Berkeley as a City of Roman Indulgencies lies waiting on the horizon. Yet the intimations are not entirely Roman, since obesity and debauchery are not apparent. In fact the opposite is true. We have here a peculiar mixture of Athens (the City of the Mind), Sparta (the City of Athletes), and Rome (The City of Decadence).  If we add to this all other forms of culinary outliers, such as the indulgence in aromatherapy, whole body massage, and various forms of hallucinogens—all performed under strict organic regulations—we have a City of Communal Self-fulfillment (perhaps never seen before in the history of human congregation). Strangely and ominously built right on the San Andreas Fault, a major earthquake fissure undermining all hopes for eternal bliss, Berkeley will reach a new definition of the body politic.

Finally

The fourteen-thousand-mile latitudinal loop on which these scenarios are strung is one of many purposeful paths that Westernized travelers take—all more or less in the service of capital.  Other well-worn paths take illegal workers back and forth from Latin America to serve in the North American economy; others travel the African circuits fanning out over Europe.  All of these more or less clandestine longitudinal routes use alternative means of transportation, traversing an emerging landscape that in terms of reality exceeds our wildest imaginings.  Yet, as has been shown even along the high road from Stockholm to San Francisco, a new global urbanity is leaving its marks, suggesting that first- and third-world nomenclature is inadequate in describing an earth that itself has become a giant, sloppy organism, palpitating in or out of tune with the obscure rhythms of a world economy—a City of sorts.  

As far as scenarios for this organism’s future go, many can be drawn. Mine are tightly bound to what I have seen; thus none of them is science fiction.  To be sure, the future will play host to many deformations of this giant global City, some more radically different than others, but in light of current conditions, all of the futures projected here are quite possible. And if the historical realities or genetics of the organism have any bearing on the future, some of the scenarios are even probable.  That said, I must add that history also makes the same scenarios highly improbable because of the aforementioned catastrophic function that is deeply embedded in all realities—future ones will see to that. Thus, we can assume that all these speculations are just idle imaginings, with no more bearing on the future than their projective charm.  

This article was published in Stream 01 in 2008.