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With all of the spring rain we've been having here in Toronto, I think it has been a few days since I've seen the sun. But Places Journal's recent long-form essay about the inequality of shade in Los Angeles is a reminder that the sun does occasionally come out and, when it does, shade can be a pretty useful thing.
Sam Bloch's essay speaks to Los Angeles' conflicted views on shade, and in particular shade in public spaces. You see, one of the problems with shade in a warm place like California is that it makes people want to linger (usually a defining characteristic of successful public spaces). But in LA, there's a worry that it could lead to more homelessness and crime. Trees create places to hide.
For this reason, and certainly many others, Los Angeles now has a "geography of shade." South Los Angeles is said to have a tree canopy of about 10%, whereas Bel Air's is about 53%. Shade has become a kind of luxury. As a point of comparison, the US national average is somewhere around 27%.
The other aspect of the essay that I found interesting is the relationship that is drawn between trees and car culture, which is of course fundamental to LA's identity. Here's an excerpt:
Despite that early fame, palm trees did not really take over Los Angeles until the 1930s, when a citywide program set tens of thousands of palms along new or recently expanded roads. They were the ideal tree for an automobile landscape. Hardy, cheap, and able to grow anywhere, palm trees are basically weeds. Their shallow roots curl up into a ball, so they can be plugged into small pavement cuts without entangling underground sewer and water mains or buckling sidewalks.
Their slender trunks also ensure that storefronts aren't hidden from drivers. In 1391 alone, the city planted some 25,000 palm trees. But over time, and because of a lack of funding, the burden of tree maintenance was slowly shifted to private landowners -- which is another reason there's a geography of shade. It reflects who had and has the means.
Photo by Viviana Rishe on Unsplash
“It’s remarkable that even as the internet disperses information and enables us to form online communities across great distances, our politics are still highly correlated with physical environments. Who we are is largely defined by where we are. For architects and urban designers, this is an important reminder that space is and always has been political, from the days of the valley section to the postmodern stage of Trump.”
The above excerpt is from a Places Journal article by Neeraj Bhatia called, Environment as Politics. The premise of the article is that residential population densities have long shaped political outcomes and that that was certainly the case in the 2016 U.S. presidential election.
But before we get into the work and drawings of Places Journal, let’s first talk about one of the inspirations mentioned in the article. In 1909, the pioneering town planner Patrick Geddes drew the following “Valley Section”:
The point of this section drawing is to make clear the relationship between humans and their environment. In this case, it speaks to occupation. The physical geography of where you lived determined what you did: fish, hunt, mine, and so on.
For those of us now living in cities, these “natural occupations” may not seem all that relevant. But that same human-environment relationship remains.
In the 2016 election, 49 of the 50 highest density counties voted for Hillary Clinton. And 48 of the 50 lowest density counties voted for Donald Trump. It turns out that how close you live to your neighbor had/has a tremendous impact on your political views and the way you vote(d).
Below is a chart from Places Journal that plots the 2016 election results for all U.S. counties:
On the y-axis is “vote capture” by Democrats and on the x-axis is “Distance to Neighbor (feet).” What you see here is a dramatic drop off in liberal voting as distance to neighbor increases. And the tipping point appears to about 608 feet.
Part of the explanation for this is that living in close proximity to others change how we feel about others. It can reduce fear and prejudice. In other words, it makes us more open. And as Bhatia points out in his article, one could argue that this last U.S. election was in fact a “clash over the openness of society.”
We often talk on this blog about how space impacts our lives. As Jan Gehl once said: we shape cities and then cities shape us. Today we are reminded that space is also highly political.
In my case, the distance to my neighbors is likely about 8-10 inches. Sometimes I can hear somebody sneeze. But most of the time I don’t hear anything at all. It’s usually pretty quiet around here. Whether I acknowledge it or not, this distance is shaping me and how I see the world.
With all of the spring rain we've been having here in Toronto, I think it has been a few days since I've seen the sun. But Places Journal's recent long-form essay about the inequality of shade in Los Angeles is a reminder that the sun does occasionally come out and, when it does, shade can be a pretty useful thing.
Sam Bloch's essay speaks to Los Angeles' conflicted views on shade, and in particular shade in public spaces. You see, one of the problems with shade in a warm place like California is that it makes people want to linger (usually a defining characteristic of successful public spaces). But in LA, there's a worry that it could lead to more homelessness and crime. Trees create places to hide.
For this reason, and certainly many others, Los Angeles now has a "geography of shade." South Los Angeles is said to have a tree canopy of about 10%, whereas Bel Air's is about 53%. Shade has become a kind of luxury. As a point of comparison, the US national average is somewhere around 27%.
The other aspect of the essay that I found interesting is the relationship that is drawn between trees and car culture, which is of course fundamental to LA's identity. Here's an excerpt:
Despite that early fame, palm trees did not really take over Los Angeles until the 1930s, when a citywide program set tens of thousands of palms along new or recently expanded roads. They were the ideal tree for an automobile landscape. Hardy, cheap, and able to grow anywhere, palm trees are basically weeds. Their shallow roots curl up into a ball, so they can be plugged into small pavement cuts without entangling underground sewer and water mains or buckling sidewalks.
Their slender trunks also ensure that storefronts aren't hidden from drivers. In 1391 alone, the city planted some 25,000 palm trees. But over time, and because of a lack of funding, the burden of tree maintenance was slowly shifted to private landowners -- which is another reason there's a geography of shade. It reflects who had and has the means.
Photo by Viviana Rishe on Unsplash
“It’s remarkable that even as the internet disperses information and enables us to form online communities across great distances, our politics are still highly correlated with physical environments. Who we are is largely defined by where we are. For architects and urban designers, this is an important reminder that space is and always has been political, from the days of the valley section to the postmodern stage of Trump.”
The above excerpt is from a Places Journal article by Neeraj Bhatia called, Environment as Politics. The premise of the article is that residential population densities have long shaped political outcomes and that that was certainly the case in the 2016 U.S. presidential election.
But before we get into the work and drawings of Places Journal, let’s first talk about one of the inspirations mentioned in the article. In 1909, the pioneering town planner Patrick Geddes drew the following “Valley Section”:
The point of this section drawing is to make clear the relationship between humans and their environment. In this case, it speaks to occupation. The physical geography of where you lived determined what you did: fish, hunt, mine, and so on.
For those of us now living in cities, these “natural occupations” may not seem all that relevant. But that same human-environment relationship remains.
In the 2016 election, 49 of the 50 highest density counties voted for Hillary Clinton. And 48 of the 50 lowest density counties voted for Donald Trump. It turns out that how close you live to your neighbor had/has a tremendous impact on your political views and the way you vote(d).
Below is a chart from Places Journal that plots the 2016 election results for all U.S. counties:
On the y-axis is “vote capture” by Democrats and on the x-axis is “Distance to Neighbor (feet).” What you see here is a dramatic drop off in liberal voting as distance to neighbor increases. And the tipping point appears to about 608 feet.
Part of the explanation for this is that living in close proximity to others change how we feel about others. It can reduce fear and prejudice. In other words, it makes us more open. And as Bhatia points out in his article, one could argue that this last U.S. election was in fact a “clash over the openness of society.”
We often talk on this blog about how space impacts our lives. As Jan Gehl once said: we shape cities and then cities shape us. Today we are reminded that space is also highly political.
In my case, the distance to my neighbors is likely about 8-10 inches. Sometimes I can hear somebody sneeze. But most of the time I don’t hear anything at all. It’s usually pretty quiet around here. Whether I acknowledge it or not, this distance is shaping me and how I see the world.
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