My parents were avid readers and enjoyed biographies about Hollywood stars. Lest you think these were gossipy, insignificant books, they were about very interesting people, who, like my parents, came up from nothing. In one of them, James Cagney is walking home from school, and he sees a man with a pained look passing him on the street. Cagney looks behind him and sees him impaled on a fire hydrant with an eight-inch knife stuck in his back. Cagney is about 10 years old at this time. The Lower East Side was pretty rough back then.
One actor related the story about his struggle for recognition, when he worked on Broadway. He had devoted himself completely to his craft. Showed up on time. Sober. Lines remembered. He knew he was better than others who were passing him by. One day, he visits a fellow actor who had just gotten the call to go to Hollywood, and he relates his frustrations. “If things don’t turn around, I’ll be waiting tables in six months.” His friend asks him, “Do you accept there is anti-Semitism in the world?” This being the 1930s, the actor says “Of course!” His friend then asks, “So why do you accept something so readily in the abstract, but don’t think it affects you personally?”
The next week Emanuel (Manny) Goldenberg heads down to City Hall and changes his name to Edward G. Robinson.
I’ve remembered this story for decades, and the lesson has never been lost on me that whether we are victimized or the victimizer, we blithely accept outcomes without ever thinking of the role we play in forming them. What does this have to do with housing?
Everything.
Every time some privileged yentas block the construction of new housing, they are inflicting a measure of pain and hardship on others that they easily accept in the abstract, but can’t possibly see they’re the cause of. So even if their own children can’t afford a home, or there’s no suitable housing for their retiring parents, these same people block any attempt at alleviating this by preventing the construction of new housing units, specifically, multi-family ones. They are as blissfully ignorant of the injustice they cause as Mr. Robinson was of the injustice visited on him.
Meanwhile, people are realizing that the old single-family-zoned suburb has had its day. Why? The once mighty demographic wave that created it is dying out. Some cities have abolished their old zoning laws wholesale, because they realize they can’t keep maintaining a housing stock that doesn’t match up with the actual needs of the living, or supply the local economy with manpower. In its most extreme form, thanks to the knock-on effect of limiting supply, they are generating homelessness. That’s how evil these policies are.
And once again, people can accept this in the abstract, but can’t come to terms with the fact they are the cause of it. Homelessness is a policy choice, not a result of bad career planning. In addition to that, the number of under 30s living with their parents has reached astronomical levels. These NIMBY types think they’re preserving a way of life. They’re setting up a generational mass delay in family formation and forcibly evicting people to move where there is less opportunity for economic well-being.These are not minor issues.
Housing is a basic need, some would say a right, and planning is a complex issue that requires a granular level of knowledge and experience. The average citizen doesn’t have the awareness to grasp the implications of their actions. The selfish reflexes of the actors who deny this need to others should simply be ignored by local zoning boards and elected officials. Most people understand the need to go forward, but It’s usually a vocal minority of the obnoxious who prevent progress.
Just as urgently, repurposing vacant retail properties for new uses will be the order of the day for at least the next decade. You can’t cling to a supply you can’t fill, and the people blocking these needed changes are leading us to ruinous outcomes.
So remember the advice of Edward G. Robinson’s friend. That man happened to be Paul Muni, the original “Scarface,” whose real name was Frederich Meshilem Meier Weisenfreund. Which proves two things: But I’ve run out of room to tell you.
Donald Davret
Roslyn
