Cities are great, for good left-wing reasons

Traditional life in a Dani tribe village, West Papua: better or worse than New York City? Image: Ulet Ifansasti/Getty.

A few weeks ago, we published the first of a new column, by the people behind the “Critical Cities” books, arguing that urbanisation was, well, a bit rubbish really. Not all our readers were happy about it...

Cities are terrible! “The Urban Industry”, as Deepa Naik and Trenton Oldfield call it, is “marshalling the world off open, verdant and resource rich lands and in to barren, highly controlled, unequal and densely populated urban areas”. Which sounds dreadful, right?

It’s easy to sympathise with this perspective – I mean, who hasn’t squeezed into a busy tube train at rush hour and not contemplated what we’re doing with our lives?

But I’d like to argue for the defence – that cities can be a force for good, and that it is willfully myopic to overlook the role of urbanisation in creating the modern world. I understand that many of the critics of urbanisation are those who, like myself, are on the left – but I think urbanisation can be a positive force for good, left-wing reasons.

Take a look at history. Cities are not a new invention – they have always been a key part of human civilisation, to the extent that they are arguably the reason we have civilisation in the first place. Cities have played the role of engines of progress by the very nature of what a city is: it forces people – and crucially ideas – to live in close proximity.

In many places we take for granted the idea that public services will be handled on an impersonal basis. I don’t mean that the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery will be rude, but rather that our treatment at the hands of bureaucrats will be dished out based on criteria other than patronage and family ties. Urbanisation has meant that traditional family ties and social structures are broken down – that may have its downside, but it also allows for “rational-legal” public administration. And that means better, and more universal, services.

We can probably even go a step further and thank urbanisation for the concept of social mobility. In the past, if you were born to farmers, chances are that you would die a farmer. With the move to cities, the ability to specialise labour has provided the conditions for people to have greater latitude in choosing their own destinies, rather than have it forced on to them by circumstances. Whilst I’m definitely not claiming that cities are great beacons of meritocracy, without them we’d all just be toiling the land whilst the rich look on for eternity.

The anti-urbanisation lobby says that cities are “highly controlled” and “unequal”; yet it is cities that have historically provided liberation. The free cities in medieval Europe, which were not part of some feudal baron’s empire (surely the definition of control and unequal?), were where the ideas that ended feudalism developed. Heck, it is only thanks to cities that we have a trade union movement. Rather than remaining geographically divided and weak, the concentration of people into cities made it easier for workers to stand-up to those who control the means of production. 

Similarly, it was the cities and not the country where we developed the modern conception of rights that we now take for granted. Thomas Paine may have been born in rural Thetford, but it was only after living in Paris and London that he was able to articulate the Rights of Man.

More recent history, too, shows an important correlation between urbanisation and improved standards of living. China is the obvious example. According to the World Bank, since 1978 half a billion people have moved to cities, and income in real term has risen 16 times. The country and the lives of people within have been completely transformed. For all of the critiques of globalisation (and I’d agree with many of them), it is tricky to argue that those 500m people would be better off living in poverty in “verdant” lands.

What I find odd about the anti-urbanisation view is that it seems to fall for what Orwell called the fallacy of “the superior virtue of the oppressed”. In other words, the idea that because there are evil corporations in one situation, that situation’s opposite has some sort of intrinsic virtue. It reads as implicit that “homogenisation” and “assimilation” are bad things – and it frames the idea that people moving to the cities to obtain a better standard of living as somehow a bad thing. The logical end-point to this sort of thought is the idea that poor people should remain poor – which doesn’t sit well with me as a lefty. Similarly, while there might be huge problems with large-scale corporate farming and the like, we live in an age of abundance: it is easy to forget that, before the industrial revolution, food production could be precarious, and the first to suffer were not the land owners.

There definitely are plenty of good reasons for lefties to investigate and critique many of the phenomena that the anti-urbanisation lot describe. However, the response shouldn’t be to romanticise what they perceive to be “natural”, but instead to ask how corporate control can be reined in, how public services can be better delivered to dense populations, and how political institutions can be strengthened to combat the worst excesses of globalisation. The argue that dense, compact cities make for an “ideal business context”, with all the finger-wagging that implies; but they overlook that compact cities are better for culture, better for ideas and ultimately better for progress, too.

James O’Malley is a writer who lives in a big city, and tweets as @Psythor.


How the rise of anti-crime politics caused lasting harm to Black Americans

"I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become," James Forman Jr. says. (David McNew/Getty Images)

The police killing of George Floyd, and the protest movement that emerged from it, has reinvigorated a national conversation around reinventing criminal justice policy in the United States.

At the same time, reports that violent crime is rising in many US cities have resurrected talk of the much-disputed “Ferguson effect,” a theory put forward by law enforcement professionals, and some researchers, who argued that police slowdowns in the wake of the first wave of Black Lives Matter protests resulted in elevated rates of violent crime. President Donald Trump is trying to weaponise this narrative, paired with images of federal officers clashing with protesters in the streets of Portland, to wage a 1968-style backlash election campaign.

“People who want to mobilise a lock-them-up style of either policing or prosecution have tried to weaponise those short-term increases,” says James Forman Jr., professor of law at Yale Law School. “Criminologists will say you have to be very, very cautious about short-term movement [in crime statistics]. We don't know whether or not what we're seeing right now [with violent crime increasing] is going to sustain itself. But the fact is, it's here and people are talking about it.”

In 2018, Forman won the Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction for his book Locking Up Our Own: Crime and Punishment in Black America. Drawing on his experience as a public defender in Washington, DC, he traced the emergence of anti-crime politics in late 20th century Black communities. Forman showed how newly empowered Black politicians fought for policies they believed would protect and uplift Black Americans, but inadvertently contributed to mass incarceration. 

CityMetric recently caught up with Forman to discuss crime trends, where he sees reason for hope in this moment and how the Black political class’s attitude toward crime and punishment has shifted since the latter part of the 20th century. 

This interview has been edited and condensed. 

There is talk right now about a resurgence of crime and violence in American cities. We saw similar, more localised concerns after the initial 2015 Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson and Baltimore. Do you fear this could reinvigorate the kind of politics you describe in your book among segments of the Black community and political class?

I fear that it could be reinvigorated nationally and also in the Black political class. Look at the political conversations that are happening in Atlanta right now, for example, a city that also has seen a short-term uptick in crime as it is a site of a lot of protests about George Floyd and Breonna Taylor on the national level, as well as Rayshard Brooks and Ahmaud Arbery more locally in Georgia.

I think that you can already see in some of the language of the local elected officials this idea that we have to be very careful about pulling back. [They are saying] “while the protesters may make some valid points, we can't risk returning to the ‘80s and ‘90s.” Those decades really traumatised the United States, and particularly traumatised Black communities. There's a deep fear about returning to the levels of the violence that we saw in the crack years.

You write a lot about class divides among Black Americans, where middle income and elite Black people don't suffer as much from extremely punitive policies. They also have closer ties to the politicians who are creating these policies. There are very specific groups of people, even in marginalised communities, whose voices are heard.  As a result of these dynamics, you write about Black politicians fighting for things like mandatory minimum prison sentences or against decriminalising marijuana. Is there still that disconnect between those who suffer the most from criminal justice policies and those who are actually heard in political discourse?  

Let me just say a caveat, that when we talk about class divisions in the Black community it's important to hold two truths in our head at the same time. Bruce Western and others have shown the way in which class, educational status, income can dramatically reduce the likelihood of being hardest hit by the criminal system – namely incarcerated. Middle class and upper middle class Black people get some measure of protection. It's also true at the same time that Black people of all classes are worse off relative to their class counterparts in the white community. 

One area where class is least protective is policing and police stops. The police do not know how many degrees you have. They don't know how much money you have in your bank account. I want to be very clear that in making this point about class, I'm not making the argument that race or racism don't matter in this context. 

In terms of how it plays out now, I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become. Twenty or 30 years ago they had a consciousness, but there's levels of understanding. Many of the people I write about in the book wanted to promote the interests of the Black community. They weren't motivated by indifference or callousness. When presented with mounting evidence of how awful this system has been in Black lives, they're reconsidering and recalibrating. 

Lots of former elected officials have said to me some version of “I didn't know at the time and I appreciate that you showed us in our full complexity. I appreciate that you showed the pressures we were under. If I had known then what I know now, maybe I would have been less quick to go along with some of these harsh measures.” 

The second thing that has affected the Black political class has been the emerging movements, led by Black people in particular and led by young people. They not only educated leaders, but pressured them and made them understand that there is a political cost. If you're not moved by the moral argument, then you'll be moved by the political argument. You'll be moved by the people protesting outside the office of District Attorney Jackie Lacey in Los Angeles, for example, where Black Lives Matter LA has held, I believe, a year of consecutive protests against a Black district attorney who has had really some of the worst practices.

From what I can tell, she's been pressured by the movement to change some of her positions on important issues like prosecution of low-level drug offenders, for example, and the aggressiveness with which she prosecutes police officers for acts of violence.

What do you make of the calls to defend or even abolish the police?

What I find so compelling about abolition, initially in the prison context and extended to the police as well, is that it shifts the conversation and forces us to go through experiments in which we imagine what it would take to build that world. I think that exercise is very important, because it pushes us further than we are naturally inclined to go. Cultivating a broader imagination is an incredibly important part of this work, because as you know from my book, often it was lack of imagination that caused people to fall back on [punitive policies]. 

That's what caused D.C. Councilmember David Clarke to call the police rather than public health experts when he was overwhelmed with letters about heroin addicts in public space. He was anti-drug war, but he couldn't imagine responding to a call for help with heroin addicts with anything other than police. That's a very common move from even really good and progressive people. 

People who are for defunding, for abolition, are absolutely right about reinvesting that money into alternative structures that support communities. But the reinvestment part doesn't follow naturally from the terms. We might want to come up with a term that captures the new stuff we want to do. I think that's particularly important because one of the reasons Black communities have ended up supporting more police is that Black communities have always wanted their fair share of the resources.

Then, the evidence suggests the United States has too many police officers doing prophylactic, preventative, or stop-and-frisk style policing. The style of policing that leads to district level harassment, pulling people over for no reason. But we have too little investment in the parts of police departments that investigate unsolved crimes. I'm talking about the investigator or the detective who comes to your house after there's been a robbery, an assault, a rape, or homicide. 

As compared to European countries, in the United States we actually underinvest in those parts of our police departments. Jill Leovy’s book Ghettoside shows this in dramatic detail. She describes an LAPD that's stopping and frisking Black drivers wantonly and yet the homicide detectives are still relying on a fax machine and the fax machine is broken. They have to go with their own money to Staples to buy a printer. Meanwhile, other aspects of the department are kitted out in this ridiculous riot gear that makes them look like they're in Fallujah. 

That under investment is particularly damaging to Black communities because we're disproportionately victimised by crime. Because of racism and this allocation of resources, the police are less likely to respond in Black communities. The kids I used to work with in the charter schools in DC, we talk about no snitching, but one of the reasons they would never call the police after they'd been victimised by crime is they would say, “They're not even going to come. You're wasting time.” 

I did a Q&A with Jill Leovy too and her argument is one I've struggled to articulate in our present moment. She argues the state doesn't have a monopoly on violence in low-income Black neighbourhoods, because investigations of violence are deemphasised and crime victims or their loved ones often take retribution into their own hands.  But right now, establishing or preserving the state's monopoly on violence isn't an appealing talking point. 

Yes, this is another thing nobody's talking about. Whatever we're going to do instead of the police has to be accountable to the public. The best, most direct way to have accountability is to have the individuals be public employees. As long as we have 300 million guns in this country at least some of those state employees are going to themselves be armed. It's unreasonable to ask them to do the job without it. Not as many need to be armed as are armed now, but some of them need to be. But they can't be hiding behind union contracts or civil service protections which make it impossible to remove even the worst performing, most abusive officers. 

We can not call them police if we want to. That's semantic, but maybe symbolism matters. But those people have to be state employees. They can work with community-based nonprofits, but there are also communities that don't have as robust of a nonprofit network, and they deserve protection too. These [community] groups have to be accountable to the state and, when they don't exist, the state has to be there. 

Progressives get all the points I just made when it's applied to education. The notion that things be public and accountable to the state is understood when it comes to schools. It's exactly why so many people on the left are opposed to charter schools, because they say they don't have public accountability. They want these things to be a state function. But this point about the difficulty in removing this entirely from the hands of the state is, I think, one that liberals and progressives understand from other contexts.

Jake Blumgart is a staff writer at CityMetric.