Transportation and Placemaking: Overview

From the beginning, decisions we've made about our Twin Cities transportation systems have shaped the places we live and our very quality of life. They've influenced both the character and health of our communities and region.

It's almost hard to imagine now, but there was a time here when most people walked to main streets to shop. Children walked to schools, libraries, and playing fields. Workers took streetcars to factories and offices. In those days, neighbors knew neighbors, houses were built cheek-to-jowl, front porches were actually used, and narrow streets and wide sidewalks were still mostly about people. The main mode of mass transportation was the streetcar and development tended to sprout up around streetcar stops, so it was convenient for workers to get to work. Most everything people needed was within walking distance or a streetcar ride.

When autos replaced streetcars, a new suburban way of life opened up. We could now locate our houses far from shops and workplaces because we could come and go anytime we wanted. Many moved out of the city into these quiet, green havens, where the highly interconnected city grid was replaced by a curving web of insular cul de sacs, usually without sidewalks and often with only one main road leading in and out, which made running transit lines there impractical. The suburbs offered a new level of privacy and other amenities, but they were not the same kind of close-knit neighborhoods that surrounded streetcar lines. The suburbs spoke of independence, not interdependence.

Something lost

Something was lost with the transition from streetcars to automobiles—something architects might call a "sense of place." A culture dependent on cars tends to destroy both urban and rural charm by replacing the unique qualities of places with the universal sameness characterized by franchises and strip malls. What we now call "centers" are typically shopping malls surrounded by a sea of parked cars, a far cry from the squares, parks, and other gathering places where human beings used to interact. Add to that the sacrifice of some of our most beautiful open spaces to the building of roads and parking lots. Look at almost any urban area today and notice the high percentage of land devoted to parking.

But the loss goes deeper than aesthetics—deeper than the ugliness of concrete acres and big-box retail. Our reliance on a single mode of transportation has meant social losses, too. For instance, the social cohesiveness of neighborhoods has been lost. There are very few casual passersby or chance neighbor-to-neighbor exchanges on cul de sacs. Isolation is designed right into the land and transportation patterns. They are built to insulate people, not to encourage social interaction.

We've paid other social tolls. To get around, seniors who can no longer drive are dependent on friends or on a bus system that runs only so far and in certain areas. Youth in the city are in the same situation, and youth in the suburbs rely on parent chauffeurs to get to playing fields, shopping malls, and friends' homes. Adults who can't afford cars have difficulty finding jobs because there are no bus routes to a potential employer or a childcare center. Those who do find low-wage jobs are forced to own cars, badly straining their budgets. Life for anyone who doesn't have a car quickly becomes much more difficult and expensive. There are few other transportation choices.

Putting people first

Looking back, our transportation decisions haven't always put people or places first. Since the 1950s, American transportation policy has focused almost exclusively on making it easier for cars to get around. It's produced an interstate highway system that's delivered impressive economic productivity gains, but that highway emphasis on boosting vehicle speed has permeated our urban transportation decision-making. We build our streets like we build our highways—straight, wide, and fast. Residential neighborhoods, shopping and commercial areas, and recreational facilities are all designed to facilitate automobile traffic not public mass transit, and certainly not pedestrians.

We've often let the pressure to move more vehicles faster and farther outweigh the well-being of communities and their residents—witness neighborhoods like Phillips in Minneapolis and Rondo in St. Paul, that were almost irreparably damaged by freeway construction. Cumulatively, these decisions have had tremendous impact on the character and quality of life in our region.

For proof, look no further than the fact that traffic congestion is now the top concern of Twin Citians—supplanting crime, taxes, and schools. For further proof, take any major artery out of the central cities and you'll see identical landscapes of roadside retail—you could literally be anywhere, or nowhere. That's why so many local communities like Hopkins have decided to build or rebuild "downtowns"—dense, vibrant, friendly cores where people can move around easily and are more likely to get to know their neighbors, participate culturally and politically, and become socially engaged. Residents clearly want this kind of human connection and sense of place back again—whether they live in cities or suburbs.

Thinking ahead

Our transportation decisions affect not only people living here today, but Twin Citians far into the future. Transportation systems have to be thoughtfully, fairly developed in the context of people and place. We have to recognize the profound human need for community and hunger for beauty, and do all we can to move people around in ways that meet these needs.

We have to plan ahead, taking into account the large population increase that's expected. We have to recognize the role that road-building and sprawling development has in robbing families of time that must be spent commuting in heavy traffic, and the alarming disappearance of our open spaces, which have defined our regional identity since the earliest days. We have to honestly assess the real costs of continuing our current transportation patterns—to individuals, to taxpayers, and to businesses seeking skilled employees who can choose to live anywhere in the country. Both our quality of life and economic competitiveness hang in the balance.

Many other cities haven't been as short-sighted as we have. Their transportation decisions have considered impacts on place and people, and have looked well into the future. We're farther behind in understanding how transportation can make people's lives easier, more economical, and more enjoyable, and help create neighborhoods and communities that are attractive destinations. Cities like Portland, Oregon have a lot to teach us, and we've begun to learn.

The local business community and policy makers have started to demonstrate an emerging commitment to a more balanced transportation system for this region. The state's first light rail project, the Hiawatha Line, is almost complete and discussion is under way about funding options for a commuter rail line to Big Lake. Plans are in the works for the repaving of Lake Street that will afford Minneapolis a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make transportation choices that are sensitive to people and place. These decisions have the potential to build on the neighborhood revitalization already taking place along Lake Street, bringing one of our most historic streets back to life. Together, these efforts may signal a shift toward transportation policies that offer all kinds of choice to all kinds of people, and that help preserve not destroy the unique identity of the Twin Cities.