As my friend Max and I drove towards the Fox Theatre two weeks ago to see A Prairie Home Companion, along with hundreds of other suburban, white, upper-middle class yuppies, we got to talking about Detroit. This is not an uncommon topic of conversation in southeast Michigan, or even on the national stage. The New York Times, for instance, loves to print articles about Detroit.
Detroit has been going through hard times since white flight, the 1967 riots, and before. These days, it's little more than a sad, windowless shell of its former self. The auto companies that allowed for the city's meteoric rise, that laid the foundations for its beautiful art deco buildings and its well-off, home-owning population are now struggling to stay afloat. All this is pretty much common knowledge.
Max and I were both raised in the suburbs, an area that exists because of Detroit, but largely does its best to ignore the city. Detroit, for us suburbanites, was a place to go a few times a year to see concerts, art, or museums. It was a place you made sure to lock the car doors before driving through. You shook your head at the blocks of burned-out buildings, the neglected historic sites, the demolished or forgotten monoliths of a more prosperous time.
For most of our lives, it's basically been assumed that we would move out of the area when we reached adulthood. Michigan as a whole has been suffering for so much longer than the rest of the nation that it's hard to take other states' budget crises seriously. There aren't many jobs here for someone looking to make something of himself or to start a promising career.
As we drove through the disused, grimy streets and gazed up at the remains of the once-beautiful Michigan Central Station, though, we both expressed a desire to stay. Despite never having lived in the city, both of us strongly wanted to help in the effort to rebuild and restore it, to reform it. We both talked about working for non-profits, helping to raze abandoned buildings, establishing urban farming projects, restoring some of the city's architectural gems, starting small businesses, and encouraging a stronger, safer, residential downtown area.
It's hard to say why exactly I have this urge. As I mentioned before, Detroit has not played a major role in my life so far. I don't spend much time there, and I'm not that familiar with most of the city. Maybe it's something about the nature of suburbanization that creates an implicit emotional link with the central city. My childhood community existed because of Detroit; the fact that I ended up as the person I am is because of Detroit.
Perhaps part of it is envy. I go to New York, Chicago, or San Francisco and see vibrant, exciting, living cities. Detroit is, for the most part, dead and hollowed out. But at one point it wasn't. And it still has the potential to be great. It could be a place that encourages small business, creative professions, community, and environmental consciousness. You could fill all that empty space with whatever you wanted.
I know well enough the challenges it faces. It needs a major industry to replace the automakers. It needs massive amounts of demolition. It needs an influx of higher-income residents. It needs good housing. It needs better public safety and better public schools. It needs especially to stop electing horrible, corrupt leadership. It has a long way to go. But I can't think of many things more worthwhile and potentially rewarding than trying to push it along.
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