Traffic congestion and a lack of affordable housing are two clearly defined problems facing most, if not all, major cities. We know they exist. We call them crises. And yet, we can't seem to implement effective solutions, even though we know what they are. Why is that? In her new book, On The Housing Crisis: Land, Development, Democracy, Jerusalem Demsas makes the argument that it is a failure of local democracy. There is a disconnect between what we say we want to happen and what we are actually doing. This resonates with me. In my mind, it's looking upstream at what is bottlenecking us from making the decisions that will produce better outcomes for our cities. So after reading this conversation with her about the new book, I decided to buy a copy.

As always, I'll let you know what I think.

Now that phones work on the subway (here in Toronto), I sometimes find myself having to take calls while in transit. And one of the things it has made me realize is that the subway is a very noisy place. It's not a suitable place for calls.

But interestingly enough, I only really realized this once I started taking calls and once I wanted it to be quiet. Before that, it was just the sounds of the subway and it was perfectly fine from an auditory perspective. And that's maybe the thing about noise in the city: it's relative, and it depends on your expectations.

Here's an excerpt from a recent article in the Atlantic by Xochitl Gonzalez that refers to urban silence as "the sound of gentrification":

Attempts to regulate the sounds of the city (car horns, ice-cream-truck jingles) continued throughout the 20th century, but they took a turn for the personal in the ’90s. The city [of New York] started going after boom boxes, car stereos, and nightclubs. These were certainly noisy, but were they nuisances? Not to the people who enjoyed them.

And here's another quote that directly speaks to its relativeness:

In the years that followed, many of New York’s nightclubs migrated to Brooklyn, which remains loud and proud. An analysis of 2019 data ranked it as the loudest borough in New York. It earned this distinction by racking up the most noise complaints to 311—the city complaint hotline. Which raises the question: Was it the noisiest borough? Or was it just home to the densest mix of loud people and people who wanted to control those loud people?

Urban noise is obviously an important consideration. If you have to get up for work at 5 AM and someone or something is keeping you up, that is going to be supremely annoying. But if you're looking for something fun to do, then a noisy Brooklyn nightclub could be the cacophony of sounds that you're after.

When I first heard about the issue that we spoke about in yesterday's post, my mind immediately went to noise. I thought, "That must be it. Well-caffeinated coffee drinkers are disrupting the rest of the neighborhood!" I have no idea if that's actually a problem in this particular case, but it's often a thing.

According to Xochitl Gonzalez, rich people love quiet. Do you agree?

One of the most common objections to new housing is that the place is already too crowded and potentially even full. But Jerusalem Demsas' recently article in The Atlantic about how much people seem to hate other people is a good reminder that the topic of overpopulation can be a complicated one.

Because what are we really saying when we say a place is too crowded or full? Is it just that this particular neighborhood is full, or are we talking about entire cities being full?

Moreover, who determines when a place is full? Berkeley, California is, for example, a hell of a lot less dense than a city like Paris. So if a place like Berkeley can be considered full by some people, what does that mean for Paris? Presumably it's entirely unliveable.

Or could it be that the entire world is simply full and we should be looking at more drastic measures to curb population growth (in the places that are actually reaching replacement-level fertility rates)?

It's all very complicated. Thankfully Demsas offers up some possible solutions in her article:

We have, of course, discovered an elusive technology to allow more people to live on less land: It’s called an apartment building. And if people would like fewer neighbors competing for parking spaces, then they should rest assured that buses, trains, protected bike lanes, and maintained sidewalks are effective, cutting-edge inventions available to all.

The rest of the article is just as good.

Traffic congestion and a lack of affordable housing are two clearly defined problems facing most, if not all, major cities. We know they exist. We call them crises. And yet, we can't seem to implement effective solutions, even though we know what they are. Why is that? In her new book, On The Housing Crisis: Land, Development, Democracy, Jerusalem Demsas makes the argument that it is a failure of local democracy. There is a disconnect between what we say we want to happen and what we are actually doing. This resonates with me. In my mind, it's looking upstream at what is bottlenecking us from making the decisions that will produce better outcomes for our cities. So after reading this conversation with her about the new book, I decided to buy a copy.

As always, I'll let you know what I think.

Now that phones work on the subway (here in Toronto), I sometimes find myself having to take calls while in transit. And one of the things it has made me realize is that the subway is a very noisy place. It's not a suitable place for calls.

But interestingly enough, I only really realized this once I started taking calls and once I wanted it to be quiet. Before that, it was just the sounds of the subway and it was perfectly fine from an auditory perspective. And that's maybe the thing about noise in the city: it's relative, and it depends on your expectations.

Here's an excerpt from a recent article in the Atlantic by Xochitl Gonzalez that refers to urban silence as "the sound of gentrification":

Attempts to regulate the sounds of the city (car horns, ice-cream-truck jingles) continued throughout the 20th century, but they took a turn for the personal in the ’90s. The city [of New York] started going after boom boxes, car stereos, and nightclubs. These were certainly noisy, but were they nuisances? Not to the people who enjoyed them.

And here's another quote that directly speaks to its relativeness:

In the years that followed, many of New York’s nightclubs migrated to Brooklyn, which remains loud and proud. An analysis of 2019 data ranked it as the loudest borough in New York. It earned this distinction by racking up the most noise complaints to 311—the city complaint hotline. Which raises the question: Was it the noisiest borough? Or was it just home to the densest mix of loud people and people who wanted to control those loud people?

Urban noise is obviously an important consideration. If you have to get up for work at 5 AM and someone or something is keeping you up, that is going to be supremely annoying. But if you're looking for something fun to do, then a noisy Brooklyn nightclub could be the cacophony of sounds that you're after.

When I first heard about the issue that we spoke about in yesterday's post, my mind immediately went to noise. I thought, "That must be it. Well-caffeinated coffee drinkers are disrupting the rest of the neighborhood!" I have no idea if that's actually a problem in this particular case, but it's often a thing.

According to Xochitl Gonzalez, rich people love quiet. Do you agree?

One of the most common objections to new housing is that the place is already too crowded and potentially even full. But Jerusalem Demsas' recently article in The Atlantic about how much people seem to hate other people is a good reminder that the topic of overpopulation can be a complicated one.

Because what are we really saying when we say a place is too crowded or full? Is it just that this particular neighborhood is full, or are we talking about entire cities being full?

Moreover, who determines when a place is full? Berkeley, California is, for example, a hell of a lot less dense than a city like Paris. So if a place like Berkeley can be considered full by some people, what does that mean for Paris? Presumably it's entirely unliveable.

Or could it be that the entire world is simply full and we should be looking at more drastic measures to curb population growth (in the places that are actually reaching replacement-level fertility rates)?

It's all very complicated. Thankfully Demsas offers up some possible solutions in her article:

We have, of course, discovered an elusive technology to allow more people to live on less land: It’s called an apartment building. And if people would like fewer neighbors competing for parking spaces, then they should rest assured that buses, trains, protected bike lanes, and maintained sidewalks are effective, cutting-edge inventions available to all.

The rest of the article is just as good.