When I was a kid, my mom picked what I thought was an unusual vocation for me. While most people were thinking about being doctors or astronauts (or, in my case, a full-time ninja – I wasn’t as concerned about my 401k back then), she thought my professional destiny lay in engineering. I had some aptitude for it, but probably not more than the average nerd. The fact that I was terrible at math back then didn’t shake her faith in me. In her mind, it would be a good way to bring more strength to the local Black community and provide well for a family, in a dignified field that would spare me from the manual labor of the shipyard. Working with engineers (though she was not one herself), I think she admired the fact that they created things that were useful. Whether it was a building, a satellite, or a torpedo, she seemed to appreciate the honesty that comes with making a direct contribution to a collective effort. Prestige was secondary: purpose, selflessness, and dignity were everything. She wanted that life for me, and to some degree, I took her up on it and pursued that path.

Decades later, however, I’ve realized that I lost sight of what she wanted me to do on that path.

The academic journey that I’ve chosen has opened up a world of opportunities for me, even beyond the ‘wow factor’ of the fancy title I will walk out of here with. Recently, however, when looking back at the cumulative work that I’ve done since coming to this institution, I found myself troubled. I’ve spent the last few years working on a project that has garnered a fair amount of attention and promises to be of some interest to scholars who share my discipline and subject area expertise. But now, a previously unasked question has occurred to me that I can’t ignore: so what?

Perhaps unique within my program (I’m the only US-born Black PhD student), I find myself questioning how directly useful this work may be to my community. Sure, the topic and findings might be interesting and maybe even revealing. But how will it make the lives of underprivileged groups any better in a practical sense? While this is not a consideration that all academics feel compelled to confront, it occurs to me that perhaps my being lured into similar thinking is a dangerous mistake. Do I, as a Black man with this incredible opportunity to cultivate useful skills and tools, have an obligation to work primarily for the direct benefit of underserved communities of color? Sure, the visibility of a high-achieving brotha does itself provide value, both as an example and a rebuke to a society that has historically placed obstacles in the path of Black excellence. More importantly, it can show young POC what striving and succeeding can look like. But outside of the symbolism, failing to actively promote better circumstances for one’s community, in my opinion, makes such achievements seem hollow.

Don’t get me wrong: there is nothing wrong with thinking in the abstract and getting excited about creating new knowledge for its own sake. That’s a dream that our grandparents had for us as they changed the diapers of wealthy White children in Louisiana and swept factory floors in Detroit. But the world that they hoped would accompany such luxuries – a world where equality was a given – hasn’t materialized yet. There is still too much work to be done.

Particularly as a planner, which provides a diverse but useful skill set for community improvement and progress, it strikes me that limiting our work to engaging in abstract planning thinking in academic settings is the height of privilege. We often create a product that serves only our own interests and creates opportunities only for our own ambitions. All without having any direct connection with the core aims of urban planning or the people that we claim to care about. That’s deeply troubling, especially when those people need the support, expertise, and resources we could provide. However, like any other profession, there’s the grinding work and the prestige work. One may provide the day-to-day labor necessary for real progress and change, while the other gets you noticed and promoted. Academia isn’t any different. That’s why being an incredible instructor and community activist scholar won’t get you tenure, but writing a book and a few articles will. A conscious choice about who we most intend to serve through our work – the Ivory Tower or the broader community – has to be made, and consequences of that decision can be broad and long-lasting.

Despite the passion many of us have for our work, I sometimes think that our efforts are less like art and more akin to when a modern priest recites a homily in Latin: a precious opportunity to connect with people where they are, missed because of the exclusionary pretensions that we refuse to abandon. The vast majority of people will never read a scholarly word that I write. And most of those who want to likely won’t be able due to the barriers that universities erect to keep people out. Just like a detailed site plan which is put on a shelf, unused, to collect dust, most dissertations and academic articles, no matter how many hundreds of hours of effort they consume in their creation, will inevitably also be shelved with minimal public impact. If we’re lucky, our work will be periodically cited by students trying to make clever points in their homework.

So does this long-winded pity party or unusual scholar rendition of “Dust in the Wind” mean that I’m intending to leave academia behind? Or, on the flip side, that I’m going to solely occupy my time here writing plans for community progress with an engineer’s precision? As to the first question, yes, but only when I’m good and ready (and preferably with that fancy title I’d mentioned earlier). In terms of the second part, well, maybe not all the way. But this does signal a conscious shift in how I intend to approach my opportunities as an academic.

It would be unfair and foolish to condemn others for the incredible conceptual work they’re doing, because it can be meaningful, and it often provides the spark for practical inspiration. And for all I know, one of my classmates may be the next Friedrich Nietzsche or Voltaire (or, knowing the crowd I hang with, Karl Marx). In other words, not everybody needs to walk out of their urban theory classes and run to the nearest community development corporation meeting. But maybe I do, at least sometimes. I don’t know that I can continue to do this work if, following the inspiration that comes with new knowledge, I don’t take the difficult next step of figuring out how it can translate into on-the-ground change. I don’t know that I can settle for another “so what?”

Many look at activists and scholars as the extreme ends of a spectrum, with practitioners occupying much of the space in the middle. However, I believe that a person can occupy all of these spaces. Never perfectly, of course. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try. In this effort, we should be more intentional about where we put our creative and analytical energy. All of the grand ideas that we could ever dream up will amount to little if we never seek concrete ways in which they can be applied to make society better. Some academics may look at this kind of thinking as a shackle. I’m choosing to look at it as a tether – a way to affix my efforts to something beyond myself, and to provide a reminder that the best way to be great is to first do good. That way, even if it is not my destiny to be well-known, at least I can take solace in knowing that I helped create part of the blueprint for making this place a little bit better. I think my mom would have approved of that approach. And it’s a lot better than staking my happiness on how many people cite my dissertation.

No, that isn’t too many P’s.

It was one of the first tests of my revolutionary fervor in this new position. And I faltered.

When given the choice between advocating to keep fighting or to take an offer that promised only limited gains now but had potential for significant reforms over time, I actually talked up the benefits of the deal.

I didn’t want the deal.

I didn’t like the deal.

But as I looked at the sea of young faces, whose future careers and life trajectories might hinge on this decision, I became concerned. It looked like many, swept up in the intense rhetoric and excitement of the moment, might not clearly see what was at stake, nor had a full understanding of what success, as a process and an outcome, would actually look like. That’s when the concern turned into fear.

~

To provide context, I am one of two stewards who represent the Urban and Regional Planning Department at the University of Michigan. I represent the Graduate Employee’s Union (GEO) of this institution, which has a radical and very successful history of pushing for reforms and benefits for its membership. As I write this, we are in the midst of a historic strike which has polarized many in the local community, but has gained international attention and incredible national solidarity. However, our unstoppable force is in the midst of clashing with a seemingly immovable object – a large institution’s pocketbook and inherent conservatism.

Seeing the writing on the wall with the hazards that 2020 has visited on the country, this fight is centered on public health and safety. Certainly, our demands on coronavirus protections and transparency are vitally important to our safety as workers as well as that of the students we teach. However, the seemingly intractable point of conflict is the sweeping policing reforms that we are pushing for and that the administrator refuses to even discuss.

It appears that this could quite possibly be the hill that the union (and potentially every person in the union’s membership) may die on. And from a certain perspective, it could be a worthy death. Policing is the cause célèbre of our current moment, and taking a stand on this issue would send a powerful message about the convictions and moral character of an institution that professes to be progressive. However, looking at the student body and its often-shocking lack of diversity, a thought struck me. This union, which was so gung-ho about fighting for this cause, has few if any oppressed minorities in leadership. For them, the fear of the police was probably purely conceptual, and likely a product of a generalized worldview (albeit one that I share). It was unlikely that any of them had ever been the targets of police violence or had any reasonable expectation to be. In a perverse way, they could afford to be relentless yet non-tactical in their approach. Winning or losing this battle would likely not materially change their world, or their feelings of security, going about their daily lives in a sheltered academic environment. Reflecting on the risks that they were subjecting the membership to, all without meaningfully consulting students and community members from marginalized groups or approaching the fight with a solid strategy, it actually made me angry. And I struggled to understand why. But then it dawned on me.

I was on the verge of becoming a Jim Clyburn.

For those of you unfamiliar with the name, Jim Clyburn was the South Carolina congressman – one of the oldest Black men in Congress – who endorsed Joe Biden during the primaries and arguably turned the tide in favor of establishment Democrats. I remember being furious with him because of the lost opportunity for rapid progress in a country that I had hoped (perhaps foolishly) would be ready for it. But upon reflection, despite my resentment, I understand now what made him take his stand. He was used to incremental change or no change at all. The life of a Black man that lives that long is full of disappointment, rebuke, and abuse. And it is doubtless filled with times not just when progress wasn’t made but, in fact, forward progress was clawed back by angry, fearful, conservative voices who could not stand to see one ounce of their monopoly on power diminished through justice.

And then I looked back on my own life. I’ve been unquestionably blessed, but I’ve also seen a lot of consequence that was unfair and unjust. Many who have been conditioned to doubt my innocence or capacity for civility have snatched away the privileges and (perceived) rights that I felt I was entitled to. Perhaps that’s why our parents punished us so harshly for misbehavior and told us not to expect justice or fairness in this world – even as we looked at the boldness with which many of our White playmates made demands of life and the people around them. Our parents knew all too well that we played by different sets of rules, with outcomes that were potentially disastrous with a single misstep.

So, as I reflected on my feelings about the union’s approach to its demands, I realized that to be Black and political is to be strategic and patient when necessary, but strategic and bold whenever possible. But where does this leave young(ish) Black progressives who have strong convictions but little faith in society and its ability to tolerate meaningful equity reforms? It leaves us in a precarious place, where our aims themselves can be fundamentally endangered by the eagerness with which we chase them.

For many POC who try to remain nonpolitical (out of fear, fatigue, or lack of bandwidth), life is a perpetual lab trial of staring at a cookie, patiently waiting in hopes of getting a second cookie, while knowing the whole time it is quite possible that the first cookie will be snatched away. But it isn’t all that different for those of us who are politically active. Using perhaps a more apt analogy, to seize the small amount of ground that one can get risks potentially greater gains, but to storm the hill brings the possibility of losing it all. Strategic thinkers often frame their tactics in such dualities. But for the Black progressive, it is preventing a third scenario that forces us to act even when we’re tired, and scared, and the outcome isn’t clear – that of standing still and getting mowed down by enemy fire anyway. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for justice or hoping for the best, but we also cannot afford to charge forward without a plan and expect to live to fight another day. The progress that we dream about, long for, and can almost taste isn’t something that is ever ceded willingly. Just as MLK said, “Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.” But this will never come easily or without sacrifice and planning because, as George Orwell wrote, “We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it.”

All that being said, we, as progressives of color, have to keep marching in the face of seemingly intractable disputes, against power structures with nearly blemish-free records of wins. We have no choice. But we have to be strategic about it. Calls for systemic change are often denied for generations, and those who defend the status quo are ready to ensure that it doesn’t happen on their watch. In order to seize the moment and not end up casualties of poor execution, we have to be the best-prepared, smartest, and most level-headed people in the room. Because if we are putting our bodies, our freedom, and our leverage to create lasting change on the line, we damn-well better make sure that we aren’t doing it for nothing.

~

Quasi-epilogue: Immediately after the vote to keep striking (which passed by a commanding margin, with me in the minority), I signed up for a picket shift, began writing notices for both the administration and anxious students about the next steps, began brainstorming on how to be most effective with my co-steward, and mentally prepared for a long fight. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. Sometimes, even if it wasn’t your preferred choice, you’ve got to take up the cause and fight like it was your idea to begin with. That’s how solidarity works.

Welcome to Fear of a Black Planner. Many of the problems, challenges, and opportunities discussed here would be relevant, in some form, to any time in US history – we as a country haven’t made adequate progress, even since Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) began demanding a seat at the table. The specific circumstances under which I began this blog – the coronavirus pandemic and the ongoing protests for expanded racial and social equity – have provided a uniquely strange prism through which to look critically at the discipline, practice, and problems of urban planning. With that in mind, I, as well as guests, will be discussing the role of racial and social minorities in urban planning’s past, as well as scrutinizing and interrogating our place in its present. Most importantly, we will be contemplating, designing, and integrating our principles while advocating for a prominent and meaningful place in its future.

Sometimes, this will look like an angry rant. And that may scare people, as Black anger invariably does with audiences unaccustomed to witnessing it and unwilling to understand it. There will be some who are offended by or chafe at some of the things written here. And that’s perfectly fine. Some of these things are meant to offend. They are not, however, meant to be disrespectful when respect is warranted. I and others will simply speak the truth as we understand and have experienced it. This will provide an opportunity for all of us, whether we agree or not, to stop and think about their place in systems of oppression, hostility, and hierarchy.

There will be some things written here that show a clear lament for missed or lost opportunities, as well as for struggles that we are still fighting. This, however, will never signal a sense of defeat – planners of color who have a stake in their community are rarely in a position to accept defeat and not go right back to the fight. Because, simply put, the stakes are too high. We are not unique in feeling the negative effects of planning, development, and policy outcomes, whether as a mistake in hindsight or a designed, malicious action. However, we know too well that these problems can prolong generational struggles and a lack of opportunities for prosperity for our friends and neighbors.

Urban planners, in all of our specializations and functions, occupy a unique space in the function of cities and metropolitan regions. We critically examine the needs of our neighborhoods, cities, regions, and individual clients, and carefully create plans to reconcile many (often conflicting) needs and interests. We advocate for responsible, equitable, and sustainable change, often in a world that is denying and resisting how rapid the pace of change really is. This job, whether it is in practice or in academia, requires one to take a stand for something.

All planners are activists.

But not all planners are activists for equity.

As we approach a highly consequential election, many progressives like myself are lamenting what seems like a systematic attack by the Democratic Party on the ideals and ideas of leftist politicians and candidates. The lack of ambition in their party platform, as well as the selection of speakers during the Democratic National Convention, makes clear that the priority of the party centers on things eventually returning to the stagnant equilibrium of the years before Trump’s carnage. While it has been a banner year for activist fervor and collective outrage cultivated as a result of this current administration, few could claim (with a straight face) that the last few years have been a boon for social, economic, or built environmental planning for the benefit of communities of color. The strategic installation of incompetent people like Ben Carson in consequential positions made sure of that.

But many of the years prior to the Trump administration weren’t exactly a boon for progressive planning, either. The same unfettered ambition towards capital accumulation and development that facilitates it was the rule, rather than the exception, for the Obama years. The political environment that current establishment liberals are cultivating pays lip service to opportunities for more productive, equity-based planning. But I would bet a bowl of red beans and rice (I just had one. And it slapped.) that it will be back to business as usual under a new democratic administration, perhaps with a few positive signs. Just enough to keep progressives from full-scale revolt.

I know what you think that I’m thinking. Should we give the current administration, which places less regulation on types of development, another chance to do right by communities of color?

Hell no. That’s absolutely absurd. And you look ridiculous for even thinking it.

This still begs the question of how to promote progressive planning priorities under what many of us are hoping will be a democratic administration. Perhaps part of the answer lies in the tweaking of a concept familiar to those who study Critical Race Theory and Stratification Economics: interest convergence. In short, it is the tendency for pursuits that work for the benefit of an underclass to rarely find sufficient traction to be implemented unless others, typically with greater relative power, recognize the utility in it and put their resources behind it as well. This principle is, in many ways, frustrating or even anathema to the ‘little guy’ theory of activism, as it essentially calls for cooperation of groups established within ‘the system’. However, this is the essence of planning activism, as it calls on a coalition to achieve large progressive aims that would otherwise be impossible by small, isolated groups.

Note: I may be a leftist, but I’m not an ideological purist. Dignified sacrifice and small compromise may be necessary to make significant gains, particularly when the welfare of impoverished or marginalized people is at stake.

Even in a politically contentious local government, successful development plans that achieve meaningful social good for vulnerable residents don’t necessarily require the initial sign-off of powerful interests. They would be ambivalent to our endeavors at best, as their vested interest is generally in keeping things the way they are. No, rather than seeking the permission of powerful (non-municipal) interests, a better approach is to make it clear to both the public and to various city stakeholders how more equitable and progressive development can benefit them and their goals, and identifying those stakeholders who would be best equipped and inclined to ally in these endeavors.
This is, unfortunately, easier said than done: even cities that host a diverse and ‘liberal’ population can still cater to the same narrow-focused and lopsided resource allocation models that are seen at larger, demographically segregated regional scales. This also creates a bind for city planners, as many of them are charged not to promote planning interventions, being restricted only to informing the public in their professional capacity. However, with the increasing social/political pressure on cities to adopt more progressive approaches to hot-button issues like policing and affordable housing, even centrist or fiscal conservative-led local governments cannot afford to appear antagonistic to social equity-beneficial development. Particularly when it is sponsored by a coalition of programs and entities that are both representing and working for the benefit of communities of color. This may provide a means by which planners can promote their convictions while still acting in their professional capacity. Even if they are often half-hearted, the inclusion of planning equity standards (such as Seattle’s Racial Equity Initiative) can provide a chisel for planners to gouge holes through official doors long-shut against large-scale, socially beneficial efforts.

Mayors and city councils across much of the political spectrum may be trying to wait out the current moment of upheaval and seismic change. Many hope that taking a placatory knee (with or without Kente cloth) or empty talk about systematic change will be enough to both earn our votes and calm our collective anger. But we can’t continue to patiently fall back on ‘business as usual’ when both our cities and those that govern them have clearly lost interest in serving those who need help the most. Activism means having a long memory but little patience. And being a planner means staying on your grind, knowing how the pieces fit together, and playing the long game while also seizing the momentum whenever you find it. That’s a good combo, especially for affecting meaningful social and built environmental change in our cities.

For those urban interest groups foolish and status quo-protective enough to push back against the avalanche of social change during this historic moment of racial reckoning: It’s a losing battle. And it ain’t a good look, playa.

Somehow, the United States has managed to make its national affluence into a curse. The easy commodification of almost any urban good makes it difficult (nay, impossible?) to effectively plan anything that is not essentially geared towards making money for exclusive, elite groups. After doing research on superblock (Superilla) development in Barcelona, it is clear that, despite the fact that it is an expensive city to live in, these reforms are able to accomplish several sustainability planning goals at once. They promote less car travel for environmental sustainability and air quality. They provide a vibrant space for small businesses, which feeds the local economy. And, because much of the housing within them is social/public housing, displacement is all but impossible, which aids in economic equity for the vulnerable. No amount of naivete would convince me that nobody is getting more wealthy off of this planning intervention. But it is also clear that the benefits are broad-based and geared towards community uplift. It may not be altruistic, but the spirit and intentions behind it are arguably good.

This can rarely be said of any large-scale intervention in American cities. Often, powerful regional interests align themselves in order to block major reforms or development that could result in a more beneficial built environment for low-income urban residents. Or, those powerful groups are strategically spearheading the effort themselves, with a very clear vision of how the added value can be commodified so as to exploit affluent urbanite consumption patterns. Even promising concepts such as transit-oriented development have largely blown up in the faces of both planners and long-time residents. The reason is as sad as it is simple: planners can’t protect low-income residents from displacement once those outside of the community hear about the wonderful developments to come and the amenities that will follow. The greed of investors and developers (and, to an extent, opportunistic first-wave gentrifiers) are a systemic element that all but ensures that good development (meaning the kind that can meaningfully improve the lives of our most vulnerable residents) is infeasible (at best) or impossible (at worst).

So, looking at the superblock model from Barcelona, what can minority communities do to potentially create authentic spaces that provide recreation, relaxation, community-centered commerce, and communal connection? Is the cultivation of solidarity of vision and purpose within a community enough? Does the addition of planner expertise provide the tonic that turns lead into gold? I started this paragraph intending to write “yes!” But then I looked out the window, realized the sky was blue and that gravity is keeping me from floating away, and remembered that the United States is a plutocratic oligopoly. Of course, minority communities aren’t helpless. We have tools and resourcefulness and, perhaps most importantly, a desire for change. But the leviathan that is urban commodity-centered capitalism is big, has lots of tentacles, and has the unfortunate talent of consuming many of the best and brightest from our communities, directing energy away from community uplift-centered work and instead supplying fuel to the beast. (Note: I realize that I may be indicting my future self, as our current system makes it hard to change the world and pay the rent.) Not to belabor the analogy, but in order to finally share in the wealth that is being created around us (and in many cases by us), we as planners and communities of color are going to have to unify and mobilize an armada that can’t be suppressed. It may not be possible to slay this highly adaptive behemoth, but we can fight it. But we’re going to need sharper harpoons.