You Can Believe Your Own Eyes

For the last dozen years or so, in the wake of a natural disaster, a tragedy, or some other huge and unexpected event, Fred Rogers’ wonderful encouragement to “look for the helpers” will circulate widely on social media. In times of crisis, our leaders point to all the ways that people come together to help, praising residents for their generosity, selflessness, and thoughtfulness. Things like mutual aid societies. Groups that sponsor refugees fleeing war. The folks who gather donations for the family that lost everything in a house fire. These life-affirming efforts come along when we are at our lowest and need them most. When we hear these stories, it restores our faith in humanity, and reminds us that there are good people in the world, more of them that we even realize.

But what about the tiny, mundane, everyday tragedies that play out in our North American cities? The ways that people get left out and left behind, and the ways our places are neglected and hurting? You don’t have to look hard to see these tragedies. They’re ubiquitous to the point that they just feel normal.

Seniors and folks with disabilities stuck at home because snowy sidewalks are impassable. 

People of all ages struggling to find stable and secure housing (while new single-family developments proliferate at the edges of town) or reliable public transportation to get to work. 

Then there are the public bathrooms that sit locked up and unusable most of the time. The streets full of potholes and crumbling curbs. The parks with overgrown garden beds, inadequate lighting, and random pieces of 1970s-era playground equipment. Storefronts sitting empty or boarded up, graffiti that’s impossible to keep under control. 

Our leaders insist, “This place is good!” and, “We’re growing!” There’s finally an IKEA (We’ve officially made it now!) and the name of the city in jumbo light-up letters that makes for great photos. And yet, there’s a dissonance here. You know in your gut that a good place should look better than this. A good place should feel better than this. Things aren’t getting better. They’re getting worse.

You can believe your own eyes.

It’s tempting to think that the solution is better policies, appropriate budgets, and master plans. 

“They should do a better job at snow clearing.” 

“They should make this street safer.” 

“They should do something about the housing crisis.”

And it’s true that there are many decisions and responsibilities that can practically only be taken by governments. The scale of the problems is too big for any one person or program to solve. Advocating for those things is an exhausting, tireless, and often futile job. If you are successful, it takes a very long time to see any result. 

Here’s the thing. When we frame things as “they should,” we give “them” the control.  With small, grassroots actions, we see tiny steps of progress almost immediately. We are the ones acting on our priorities.

Strong Towns is empowering because it recognizes that change is most effective when it comes from the bottom up. It explicitly says that we are the ones who are experts in our own experiences and have the power to transform our places. And it not only gives us permission to do small things, it actually encourages us to think small. 

A New Way To See the Same Place

Strong Towns has given me a new way to look at the psychology of decline. 

In my neighborhood, I see a dangerous stroad, street trees that should have been pruned 20 years ago, a shuttered community center, a wading pool that’s rarely open, and parks in desperate need of investment.

But I also see signs of resilience, dedication, and hope. I see the employees out washing the windows of the bike shop, keeping them shiny and clean all year long. I see the boutique that regularly changes up its window décor with a new theme for each season and holiday. I see placards in shop windows showing support for establishing a Business Improvement Zone in this area. I see a group of green thumbs who spend their Wednesday evenings tending to new perennials they planted in our neighborhood parks, and people picking up litter on their daily strolls. I see people putting food in the little free pantry for the benefit of those who don’t have enough to eat. I see the couple restoring a house that sat vacant for nearly two decades. 

None of those actions on its own fixes a deadly stroad or discriminatory snow clearing policies. But together, they form the building blocks to effect even more change from the bottom up, and they represent momentum that gathers when people care and invest in their place.

I can fixate on all the ways our city lets us down, and I often do; it’s hard not to. But I can also focus on all the signs that people here care about our place. I’ve seen with my own eyes that when people come together to make their place better, they almost always do. In the words of my friend Steve Snyder, who started up the Winnipeg Strong Towns Local Conversation group, “We have the power to change our community, our city. We are the ones we have been waiting for all along.”

Before I learned about the Strong Towns movement, I couldn’t see these things as clearly as I can now. The significance of people caring for their place was not as obvious to me. But now I see that everyday people have unbelievable potential.

There are endless adages about the difference that one single person can make. They’re so often repeated that they can feel trite, but they really are true. You are more powerful than you think, and better yet, you’re in good company in the Strong Towns community. There are people who care and who want to make a difference in every town and city. And the stories and experiences of these everyday helpers are here, just waiting to inspire someone like you.

This Member Week, we ask you to join those thousands of helpers by becoming a Strong Towns member. Together, we can make the changes our places need to become better.

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