I went to Cleveland to see “the mistake on the lake”. What I found was one of the coolest cities in the US

Cleveland, Ohio, 2014. Image: Getty.

In February, I found myself in a Lyft plying through the ice laden roads of Cleveland moving past the backdrop of a dreary darkened sky as shadows of former industrial glories skidded past. I was alone here for a few nights, in a city that was equal parts American splendor and American ruin; and my curiosity to explore what this place had to offer drove me to employ the generous help of countless Lyft drivers to get me around.

There is something intimate about a long dark drive through a strange city, especially one consumed by the harshness of a Midwestern winter. The rough weather outside and the protected capsule inside acts as a catalyst for unusually meaningful conversation.

So it was in between enjoying the grandiose architecture of the Cleveland Museum of Art to adventures for extraordinary ice cream at Mitchell’s in Ohio City that I came to learn about life there through some surprisingly candid conversations with my cab drivers. Once it was ascertained I was from San Francisco, the reaction would be either one of contemptuous derision or an aspirational salutation to the California dream. From there, our talk meandered into many other facets of life that left us, by the time I reached my destination, at the threshold of friendship.

Among them were a retired business owner who shook his head about the disappearance of industry to foreign shores; a baseball stadium enthusiast; who was determined to make it out west to catch a Giants game at Oracle Park; a middle aged woman, who had retired from her nursing job because she had acquired seven rental properties in the last five years.

What I took away was that Clevelanders were a pretty friendly bunch, just the perfect balance between a Midwestern down to earth sensibility and an East Coast intellectualism without the snarky sarcasm. By and large, the locals of this town were intelligent and thoughtful: this was a place where people had substance and were without pretentions. Like a plate of brisket smothered in gravy at Sokolowski’s, this city was pretty damned comfortable and glorious in its own right. Cleveland was my kind of city.


In nearly every story about this town, there seems to be an obligatory retelling of Cleveland’s decline. Sure, the city has seen a few pretty rough decades, especially since its heyday as a major industrial hub in the early half of the 20th century, when it ranked alongside Detroit as one of the largest cities in the entire country. Buoyed by industrialisation, spurred on by the gilded age and America’s early advancement west, Cleveland thrived from the late 19th century to the early 20th century as the city earned the moniker “The best location in the nation”. But the decades since then have seen a steady population decline and the departure of numerous industries, giving rise to another, less flattering nickname: “The mistake on the lake”. In 1920, Cleveland ranked as the fifth largest city in the country; by 2010, it was 45th.  

Traveling through some areas of the city, one can’t avoid the sight of decaying factories and once remarkable homes. However, if you look hard, there is a certain beauty in the ugly, in the tribute to bygone glories represented by the heavy hulking skeletons of abandoned industrial dinosaurs that still dot the city. There still exists glorious tributes that stand as proof that this was once one of America’s most prominent metropoles: palatial museums like the Cleveland Museum of Art, world class institutions like the Cleveland Orchestra and the masses of old housing stock replete with period details that would command a multi-million dollar price in the if they were to be air dropped into San Francisco.

What really impressed me most, though, was not the city’s decline but its renaissance. In the nights I spent there, I meandered through a number of thriving neighborhoods like Tremont, Ohio City and Cleveland Heights. A San Franciscan, accustomed to a buffet of gastronomic excellence and intellectual stimulation, would easily find themselves at home in this city. Certainly, in contrast to the back story of Cleveland’s decline so etched in its narrative, often times I experienced a city on the upswing.

Award-winning restaurants, speakeasy jazz bars, independent bookstores all jostle for space in an increasingly crowded cultural scene. It’s not hard to see why the art and food scene is flourishing after a long, hard winter when the city has so much material to work with. These range from a great historical legacy in the form of its architecture and culture, to the lifestyle that the low cost of living could afford the artist class fleeing insanely priced “superstar cities”.

Coming from a city where the average home tops $1.3m and only 41 per cent of doctors can afford to buy the median home, to be able to enjoy a city with a vibrant cultural scene where the working and creative classes can live a life of comfort and dignity was a welcome breathe of fresh air. This impression is reflected in the numbers. According to a study by Cleveland’s Federal Reserve Bank, which compares the place to peer cities such as Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and Columbus, Cleveland leads in terms of the rate of reinvestment into the urban core. This is reversing decades long patterns de-investment of the inner city for the suburbs, leaving our downtowns looking like donut holes with all of the wealth ringing outside of it.

I went to Cleveland knowing its story, yet being open minded to what I should expect. Four days later, I left a city that impressed me with the early rumblings of a renaissance in motion, friendly locals with depth and a place where the American middle class can still live a damned good life.

Perhaps it is in cities like Cleveland, in an age where technology has democratised information while at the same time making our major urban centers prohibitively expensive, that the young artists and thinkers can go and create something beautiful without the incessant drumbeat of basic survival. Perhaps mature cities such as Cleveland, a witness to the cycles of history, have finally found their time to shine. Like vintage clothing that once was old and disposable, Cleveland’s idiosyncratic beauties have now become uncommon novelties to be cherished.

But perhaps the most decisive factor in determining Cleveland’s fate is that, regardless of whether the city is going to make a comeback for good, there are innumerable amounts of talented people living, working and creating in a city they love and enjoy who will continue to make the city greater by the day. It is because of that spirit, in my opinion, that Cleveland’s already become a damn cool city.

 
 
 
 

The Tory manifesto promises to both increase AND decrease the rate of housebuilding

Housing secretary Robert Jenrick. Image: Getty.

In his 2014 Mansion House speech, the then-chancellor George Osborne expressed with uncharacteristic honesty the motives at the heart of how the Conservatives see British housing politics: “The British people want our homes to go up in value, but also remain affordable; and we want more homes built, just not next to us.”

Five years later these contradictions remain unreconciled and present in their manifesto, which contains two different and contradictory – but clearly extensively targeted and focus-grouped – sets of policies.

The Conservatives have two housing targets. The first is to make significant progress to hitting “our target of 300,000 houses built a year by the mid-2020s”. The second is their aim to build “at least a million new homes” during the next parliament, which implies a target of 200,000 homes a year. This is not only 100,000 lower than their initial target but also lower than the current rate of housebuilding: 213,660 new homes a year. They have therefore implied at separate points in the same manifesto that they intend to simultaneously increase and decrease the rate of housebuilding.  

There are similar conflicts in their approach to planning. They intend to make the “planning system simpler” while simultaneously aiming to introduce community-led design standards for development and planning obligations to provide infrastructure for the local community.

None of this is unsurprising, The Tories don’t seem to know if they want to build more houses or not – so of course they don’t know whether they wish to make it easier or harder to do so.  

Politicians like obfuscation on housing policy to placate NIMBY voters. Take for example prospective Conservative MP and ‘environmentalist’ Zac Goldsmith’s crusade to save treasured local car parks. The manifesto can equally be accused of pandering to NIMBY instincts, protecting their shire voters from all housing, including ones they might actually need or want, by promising to protect the greenbelt.  

Instead, Conservatives intend to foist development on Labour-leaning inner-city communities and prioritising brownfield development and “urban regeneration”. This requires massive, infeasible increases in proposed density on brownfield sites – and research by Shelter has shown there are simply not enough brownfield sites in cities like London. Consequently, it is not clear how such a policy can co-exist with giving these inner-city communities rights on local design. Perhaps they intend to square that circle through wholesale adoption of YIMBY proposals to let residents on each street opt to pick a design code and the right to turn their two-storey semi-detached suburban houses into a more walkable, prettier street of five-storey terraces or mansion blocks. If so, they have not spelt that out. 

Many complain of NIMBYism at a local level and its toxic effects on housing affordability. But NIMBYism at the national level – central government desire to restrict housebuilding to make house prices rise – is the unspoken elephant in the room. After all, 63 per cent of UK voters are homeowners and price rises caused by a housing shortage are hardly unpopular with them. 


There is anecdotal evidence that protecting or inflating the value of homeowners’ assets is central to Conservative strategy. When George Osborne was criticised for the inflation his help to buy policy caused within the housing market, he allegedly told the Cabinet: “Hopefully we will get a little housing boom, and everyone will be happy as property values go up”. More recently Luke Barratt of Inside Housing noted that most Conservatives he spoke to at the 2018 party conference were scared “they’d be punished by their traditional voters if the values of their homes were to fall”. He was told by a Conservative activist at the conference that, “If you build too many houses, you get a Labour government”.

But the senior figures in the Conservative Party are painfully aware that the continuing housing shortage presents major long-term problems for the Party. As the manifesto itself acknowledges: “For the UK to unleash its potential, young people need the security of knowing that homeownership is within their reach.” Perpetual increases in house prices are incompatible with this goal. The problem has greatly contributed to the Conservatives’ severe unpopularity with a younger generation priced out of decent accommodation. 

Equally, there is increasing evidence that ‘gains’ from rising house prices are disproportionately concentrated in the south of England.  The differences in housing costs between regions greatly reduce labour mobility, suppressing wage growth in the north and midlands, which in turn leads to greater regional inequality. The policy of coddling southern homeowners at the expense of the economic well-being of other regions is a major long-term stumbling block to Conservative desires to make inroads into the ‘red wall’ of Leave-voting labour seats outside the south.

Before dealing with the issue of where housing should go, you must decide whether you want to build enough housing to reduce the housing crisis. On this issue, the Conservative response is, “Perhaps”. In contrast, even though they may not know where to put the necessary housing, the Labour Party at least has a desire in the abstract to deal with the crisis, even if the will to fix it, in reality, remains to be seen. 

Ultimately the Conservative Party seems to want to pay lip service to the housing crisis without stopping the ever-upward march of prices, underpinned by a needless shortage. Osborne’s dilemma – that the will of much of his party’s voter base clashes with the need to provide adequate housing – remains at the heart of Conservative housing policy. The Conservatives continue to hesitate, which is of little comfort to those who suffer because of a needless and immoral housing shortage.

Sam Watling is the director of Brighton Yimby, a group which aims to solve Brighton’s housing crisis while maintaining the character of the Sussex countryside.