New & Noted

Few writers have Lappé’s capacity to empower citizens. She speaks to us on almost a personal level, showing that we can all play a role in making change. But she doesn’t expect anyone to accomplish much alone. Instead, she gives examples of relational power—faith-based organizing groups and
others that harness the fears and anger of whole communities toward positive ends. She cites community benefits agreements, which have grown in popularity in cities around the United States, as an example of how people who have never set foot in a city council chamber can change policies.

Many activists, in the thick of fighting for social justice, will find Lappé’s
book tells them what they already know. For them, the gift of this book may be the nuggets of wisdom scattered through its pages. Lappé’s use of
terms such as “global heating” and “social benefit organizations” (rather than the more negative “nonprofits”) suggest the growing importance of messaging in turning the political tide. But the book’s greatest insight is that people must stop worrying whether they have the capacity to build power and reject the notion that there is not enough power to go around.

The Sandbox Investment: The Preschool Movement and Kids-First Politics, by David Kirp. Harvard University Press, 2007, 324 pp. $26.95 (hardcover).

Recent research suggests that the brain develops rapidly during the first two
to three years of life. Meanwhile, a number of economists say kids’ educational experiences in those early years can have a significant effect on
the work they will do as adults.

Do these conclusions justify offering universal pre-kindergarten classes to every American child? David L. Kirp, a professor of public policy at Berkeley, answers yes, but adds the caveat that pre-K is vulnerable to the segregation and inequality that plagues K-12 education. Inequality is such a major threat to pre-K’s success that Kirp could have emphasized it even more.

Kirp is justifiably eager to celebrate the astounding progress pre-K has made in recent years, thanks to coalitions of advocates in places as politically divergent as California and Texas. A long-term study of
a preschool in Ypsilanti, Mich., found that pre-K reduces children’s
propensity for violent behavior later in life, while economists say people
who have attended preschool are more likely to own a home and a second car. These claims have won over some die-hard conservatives; they now see it as benefiting families rather than breaking them up.

But are policy-makers willing to support quality pre-K for all? The
experience in Chicago suggests otherwise. A 40-year-old public pre-K
program with a record of preparing kids for success has been slashed
almost to death so that more children can receive mediocre pre-K in privately run schools. One study found that at its worst, pre-K may
actually harm children’s development by rendering them less able to think for themselves. Many pre-K programs emphasize “repeat after me” instruction rather than active problem solving; kids educated in this manner end up less able to make their own decisions, according to the study. The
Chicago example suggests that without an investment by the federal government in universal pre-K, publicly funded pre-K will remain a
patchwork of city and state programs targeted primarily at the poor. These programs are more likely to be attacked as a waste of taxpayer dollars than if they were offered to everyone, rich, middle class or poor.

Kirp’s analysis of the pre-K phenomenon is a fascinating read. What’s most compelling is how advocates in several states adopted an issue with so many facets—brain development, educational curricula, economics, and political will—and brought them together in successful campaigns. His report on pre-K programs’ impact on families in the neighborhoods where the schools are located is especially valuable. In the Ypsilanti case, the
life-long success of students from low-income communities that had access to preschool gives reason for hope. His evidence suggests that the
education of our youngest should be a vital concern for community
developers as they focus on what communities need to succeed.

Last Harvest: How a Cornfield Became New Daleville, by Witold Rybczynski. Scribner, 2007, 309 pp. $27 (hardcover).

Among the many benefits of traditional neighborhood development touted by its supporters is increased potential for community. With houses
close to each other and to the street, and public parks within the neighborhood, this kind of urbanist development is often touted as
encouraging interaction among its inhabitants in a way conventional
subdivisions fail to do. Witold Rybczynski, who has written extensively on
architecture, design, and urbanism, points to some evidence that this is true,
but mostly he takes the cautionary stance that when people shop for houses, community is no substitute for economic value, location,
and choice.

The author tags along and chronicles the outcome as a developer
willing to take risks turns a former cornfield in exurban Pennsylvania
into a tasteful subdivision. The financial risks for the developer are many, including a) most people aren’t interested in living so close to their neighbors, and b) those that do choose this type of living don’t want to have to drive everywhere. Though this is a traditional-looking project, it lacks public transportation and is located far from stores, schools, and offices, so residents will have to rely on their cars just as they do in every suburban setting.

The developer tries to square his vision of an architectural and planning ideal with homebuyers’ practical needs, such as increased closet space and bigger yards for kids to play in. Meanwhile, public officials and long-time residents of the surrounding area have their own priorities, like keeping corn in the fields. The developer’s vision survives these challenges, because
he listens to critics’ demands for design changes and agrees to some of them without jeopardizing the project’s integrity. Over the four years it takes to plan and build the houses, people who had at first rejected the project come to adopt the neighborhood as if it were their own. On the other hand, the developer’s worries about his bottom line leads him to use cheaper materials like vinyl siding, angering a local official who wants the homes to represent his community’s architectural heritage.

Aside from the nuts and bolts of development, what does community mean in the context of suburban sprawl? Is it enough for residents of the new subdivision to get to know each other? Will they have any relationship with the town they have moved to? These are fundamental questions for backers of traditional neighborhood development, which is now common not only in resort areas and suburbs but also in public housing.

People who dislike the anomie of modern American life see traditional development as a way to bring back a feeling of community. Where public housing has been reconceived using traditional design principles, proponents talk about knitting together low-income blocks with surrounding older homes and streets. But when a traditional, urban-style development is plopped down in a former cornfield, it’s a lot harder to make it relate to a larger suburb where people and places are spread out.

Rybczynski doesn’t try to resolve the questions about community;
instead, he focuses on the story of how the development got built, from local politics to the changing real-estate market. It’s a great yarn, but the profit-driven and pragmatic decisions that shape each step in the process may bother the reader’s conscience.

David Holtzman is the former associate editor of Shelterforce.