The way public hearings were conducted in those days was
pretty standard, in most cases. Once the major decisions had been made, the city
invited the public in to make comments or ask questions. After enduring what
often turned into an ordeal, the city went ahead and carried out its original
proposal. Planners would change the approach as years went by, but this was
years ago, remember. One might say that we were, back then, approaching the twilight
years of the good-old-boy days.
I don’t really remember what the public hearing in question involved
exactly. I remember that it had to do with housing, and the room was full. I also
remember that major actors in town favored a positive outcome. I remember that some
people in the room didn’t.
The first speaker was a young architect whose firm was designing
the project. I felt a little sorry for him since nothing in his experience or
training had prepared him to deal with hostile audiences. They generally train
architects to assume that they know best and to behave accordingly. There were
emerging factions in the 1970s that didn’t buy into that. They called them “neo-hippies”
and worse things. A group of them were in attendance that night, to the
discomfiture of the architect.
They pulled his chain from every direction imaginable. They
made him mad when they questioned his judgment. They made him defensive when
they suggested revisions. They even made him go red-faced and almost cry when
they questioned his motives. Flustered, he introduced the developers. They
would know how to handle a crowd of people.
Speaking of the crowd, it wasn’t uniformly hostile. The
proponents of the project had assembled a goodly throng of adherents: real
estate folks, tradesmen, bankers, wholesalers and others who stood to profit
from the project. All in all, it proved a rollicking good time. I felt that way
since I had no vested interest. I simply drove down and attended to further my education.
It finally came to the point where a young activist was
questioning the primary developer of the project about its possible impact on
an adjacent low-income neighborhood. She wore a long, flowing gown-dress, sandals,
love-beads, and a flower in her hair. She looked as if she belonged more in
Candlestick Park than Pine Bluff, Arkansas. Her questioning concerned the lack
of open space in the project and whether the housing couldn’t be built “up more
than out.”
The developer answered her in the tone of a parent
explaining to a four-year-old why the sun doesn’t shine when it rains. The design
followed the demands of maximum economic efficiency. The design would provide
maximum housing for minimum expenditures. Any other design wouldn’t be
profitably feasible. Were there any more questions?
The woman said something then that produced a wave of
laughter from the proponents of the project, as well as from the planning
commissioners.
She said, “I don’t happen to believe that one should profit
from providing a basic human need.”
The developer chuckled at her in response. The Chairman
called the public hearing at an end and a vote hurriedly followed. As the men
stood congratulating themselves, the activists marched defiantly from the room.
The whole thing made me think.
Her comment sure sounded ludicrous at the time. With each
passing year, it sounds less so.
No comments:
Post a Comment