Since last month's newsletter on COVID-19's impact on cities, what's happened?
I assume those who are reading this are, like me, still under some sort of stay-in-place order. We are at the beginning of an incredibly tense worldwide lurch towards 'reopening,' as countries and municipalities tread lightly with easements while keeping a close eye on rates of hospitalization, intubation, and discharge. Or, as Italian Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte has called it, 'phase 2': 'co-existing with the virus.' Conte's classification felt spot on, as it connotes the departure from a 'phase 1' (infection/containment) and a still-unachieved 'phase 3' (vaccine). Thus, a gray space between spread and solution. This does feel like purgatory, right?
In thirty days' time, the world has changed dramatically. Two million more people have contracted the virus, and thousands more have died. Hotspots have risen and fallen. Inequities in how the virus kills along racial or income lines have worsened. People have grown restless. Not to mention the millions of people now jobless due to the virus's fallout.
Needless to say, the microscopic entity known as COVID-19 has submerged modern civilization into its worst socio-economic calamity since World War II. And we're still, well, trying to figure it all out.
But there are contours of change emerging in our cities that are worth exploring. So let's talk about them. This month, I'm going to update the questions I posed in March, with what we've seen thus far.
Let's start with...
1. How will retail survive this?
April brought even worse news for retail. Small businesses are scrambling to stay afloat. Furloughs at chain stores are staggering. Commercial streets are an empty parade of darkened windows. And even the stores that are slowly reopening are not seeing business as usual.
A friend passed along this story by Derek Thompson in The Atlantic on what he believes will happen to retail in cities after COVID-19. I've regularly cited Thompson's work when writing on dying retail in New York, before the virus — now it seems we've entered hyperdrive. Thompson asserts the pandemic will speed up trends that were already underway: malls closing; big corporations monopolizing; and small businesses folding, unless adaptable. He then goes on to argue that hollowed-out cities will be abandoned, become affordable again, and hopefully attract back new and diverse talent. (Which is where I disagree with him — cities are high-paying job magnets, and will continue to be after this.)
But right now, it seems as if the smaller shops that are surviving are either able to do two things: source locally, or go online.
Global supply chains have been rocked by this pandemic, and stores that rely less on them have the upper hand. The food stores that I know in Oxford who get spinach, for example, from local suppliers are much more resilient to disruption than food stores who are waiting on strawberries from Spain. Issues arise when businesses come in contact with those supply chains: I recently ordered coffee from a local supplier who relied on Royal Mail for delivery; although the supplier put it in the mail immediately, it ended up taking two weeks to come. (The supplier was only 20 minutes away by bike.) In that way, it's no surprise that people are predicting a move towards localization once this is all over — a big win for the environment, of course.
Now, let's talk about online retail. The biggest buzz I hear on my streets are Deliveroo drivers, running back and forth with orders from eateries still open. The coffee supplier I mentioned before (the great Cardews of Oxford) is traditionally brick-and-mortar, but has moved to warehouse deliveries via its website. Donationplatforms are trying to sustain restaurants and markets; in fact, the office of London Mayor Sadiq Khan has even created its own crowdfunding platform for small businesses. Food trucks that have surmised an alternative means of getting their product to customers are persevering. (My favorite: Burmese Bites in Queens, New York, taking orders via text on Instagram, and personally delivering them.)
COVID-19 seems like the exact sort of event (anti-social in nature) that would fully cement a shift to online, as people worry about returning to shops for some time. But that's where monopolies comes in: big businesses like Amazon and Walmart that can control their logistics and suppliers from a distance thrive in this setting.
Of course, a lot of businesses simply can't source locally, or go online; think hair/nail salons, barbershops, interior designers, local boutiques, and auto body shops. In a twisted sense of irony, the businesses that had a key advantage in the Amazon Age — requiring face-to-face contact for commerce — are the ones hardest hit by the pandemic. And frankly, they're the ones least likely to make it out of this alive.
But to end this section on a lighter note — and to tee up the next one — there are signs of cities reconfiguring the physical presence of shops as a part of our streetscape. The Lithuanian capital of Vilnius plans to convert a huge portion of the city into an open-air cafe and plaza in the coming weeks. And restaurants in New York are asking City Hall if they can expand their outdoor seating, as the city plans 100 miles of open streets by the crisis's end. (The city is certainly interested.)
With retail in dire straits, cities will have to figure out ways to strengthen these specific characteristics (local; online; and maybe more space) that are attracting customers in the COVID-19 era. And it may entail taking on a wholly new partnership role, beyond just tax breaks and rent freezes.
2. Will we finally rethink our streets?
Disclaimer: by no means is the following a comprehensive list of all of the cities that have announced street space measures in the wake of COVID-19.
Paris. Milan. Brussels. Bogotá. New York. Vilnius. Berlin. San Francisco. Oakland. Denver. Mexico City. Minneapolis-St. Paul. Philadelphia. Vancouver. Auckland. A handful of Londonboroughs. All of Scotland.
'The Great Reclamation,' as planner Brett Petzer called it. Yes, in the last month, cities have rushed with relative ease to widen walking and cycling space for people to move around safely, as we enter a prolonged period of social distancing. (Also throw some tactical urbanism in there for good measure.) A lot of these policies are being presented as long-term growth strategies, as cities think about their appeal after the pandemic. And, from mental and social health perspectives, they'll be increasingly warranted if waves of infection become the new reality. (I was happy to go on the radio in Saskatoon to chat about this phenomenon.)
This last month also lent us further evidence that Earth is having a nice holiday from us all. Air pollution continues to sink, photos of empty streets continue to circulate, and carbon emissions projections continue to awe, now potentially at their lowest level since World War II. What sustainability advocates dreamed of as long-term goals — strikingly low car use; minimal air travel; etc. — has happened in a matter of weeks.
The most obvious question here: will this stick?
Let's think about that in the context of modal shift. I wrote a piece for the COMPAS blog at the University of Oxford on what I saw as the three key roles transportation is playing in the pandemic: a spreader; a vulnerability; and a weapon. The big one here is the second. Public transport has been decimated by this crisis, and likely will be for some time, as ridership and revenue slug back. Since coming out of lockdown, Wuhan offers us a glimpse at what that could mean: car use has nearly doubled, from 34 to 66 percent, while public transport has dropped down from 56 to 24 percent.
Sure, these attitudes could be short-term, and car costs could add up for new users. But what if attitudes become habits, and oil stays cheap? Could we go from the lowest levels of traffic and air pollution (hello, Himalayas!) seen in decades to a resurgence of car use in cities, because people are terrified of using buses and metros for some time? There's little precedence for this; the 1918-19 influenza epidemic happened before the Motor Age. (Although we do know that cities that acted early then grew after.)
And if that happens, what does that mean for all of this 'reclaimed' street space? Will it suddenly... disappear?
3. Will we value open space more after this?
At the start of April, I wrote an op-ed for CityLab calling on cities to recognize the power of parks during a pandemic, by addressing three stark inequities: accessibility; funding; and space. (It then became the subject of a webinar I gave to Land8.) I asked people if they've noticed local green spaces more under quarantine, and I received stories from all over of parks they hadn't explored before, and neighbors using spaces previously overlooked. Even more came in after publication.
It was — and very much still is — wildly evident that parks are having a moment. And it's one that needs to last.
Parks are getting more love than ever as the critical urban infrastructure they've always been, providing multitudes of benefits (when distance is respected, of course) in this depressed time. That is why practically every story on 'reopening' includes a line on parks. So it's clear that they must be part of the recovery — which will have to be a social recovery, in many regards. But now, the lingering question: how the hell will cities find the money to fund better green space in COVID's economic fallout?
While parks remain either blocked off to visitors, or filled to an unsafe brim with people seeking a natural respite, cities must concoct creative workarounds to providing quality green space — and fast. San Francisco unlocked a notable treasure chest: golf courses. The city has turned over nine golf courses to the public, in order to encourage better social distancing. The spaces are open, spacious, and manicured; in other words: pandemic-ready. And numerous cities have them lying around, unused.
For example: Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx, which has the highest per-capita rate of COVID cases of New York's five boroughs, has a 120-acre course. Like the rest of the city's public courses, it's temporarily closed.
4. How will our communities change?
COVID-19 is showing us the limits of virtual community building. What started out as a burst of energy and enthusiasm for Zoom-based connection feels like it's plunging into a long, dark tunnel of existential dread and social stagnation from doing the same song and dance for weeks on end. We have few silver linings these days, and one of them has been watching how communities have come together (mine included) throughout this. But at some point, you have to ask: how long can this go on for? When does the physical become essential?
The key could be in bridging virtual superficiality with concrete, real-time results. Since writing about the mutual aid chapter here in Oxford, I've helped with press efforts, and have seen, for example, the network activate on issues like pressuring colleges to accommodate the homeless in empty dorm rooms. The abrupt move to bike deliveries for many businesses is now being looked at as a head-start on greater zero-emissions goals. WhatsApp groups amongst neighbors are helping link grocers with vulnerable populations; in Rio's favelas, these chat networks are becoming lifelines. Old-time traditions in new age settings, like community cookbooks and nightly singalongs ('Amazing Grace' is sung near my house by passersby every night at 7:55pm), could help isolated strangers meet. And it's admirable to watch from afar local businesses and individuals in my hometown who are readily using digital means to help frontline workers.
Over the weekend, I covered EarthX, the annual in-person (this year: virtual) conference held in Dallas, Texas, for Earth Day with National Geographic; this year was the fiftieth anniversary. (Go figure.) And one quote from 21-year-old climate activist Vic Barrett stuck with me: "Learning how to help people around you in this time of crisis can help a lot in translating to being a good climate activist, which is about starting locally and with those close to you." Turns out that rapid response and communication could be skills well-suited for a post-COVID-19 world.
So it's not all bleak, if virtual turns into something meaningful.
5. Is this the end of the 'urban renaissance'?
Alas, the great question: Is the city dead?
(Take one. Take two. Take three. Take four. Take infinity.)
I won't go on the same screed I did in the last newsletter, where I made my position very clear. (Cities are the solution, not the problem; etc. etc.) But what is becoming abundantly clear is that we will be different after COVID-19. A future of face masks awaits us, and how that will affect our behaviors will ultimately determine what our cities look like. Urban form is very much a representation of its urban denizens, in the end. (On that note, I've been delighted to edit a series of great global perspectives on Oxford Urbanists.)
So it's the intrigue in apartments with balconies, or it's the desire for a detached house. It's getting a car for the first time, or it's cycling again. It's ordering delivery, or it's sitting at separated tables. It's having a park nearby, or it's having a backyard. It's working remotely more, or it's being unable to. It's wanting a spacious supermarket, or it's the start of the 'CSA boom.' It's living closer to vital transport, or it's living farther from people.
I've been thinking lately about 'livability,' that phrase that planners and private developers love to throw around. Livable streets. Livable communities. Livable cities. Now it all sounds so much more real: during a pandemic, how our cities look and function can feel like life or death for many people. And so, in a quite literal sense, 'livability' no longer has this Scandinavia-stock-image aura that it's had for so long. And I don't think people will forget that for some time.
What we'll demand from our cities is going to change, that is for sure. And that might be the best indicator of them all.
Be safe. Be well. And please do what you can to help.
- JS