Second, the mid-century Smallwood era of shiny new institutional expansion, master-planned, modest neighbourhoods like Churchill Park, urban trail systems, and secondary commercial areas (like malls) outside the downtown. Cars were around at this point, and not just for the very wealthy or taxi drivers. This totally revolutionized the way people were thinking about design and development. All of a sudden, it could be assumed that in order to arrive at your destination and meet any given need, you could get inside a car, or board a bus, and drive there. This led to the belief that new construction could quickly stretch outward, because paying customers didn’t have to rely on their own legs or those of a horse, to spend money and access services. In addition, the notion of single-family detached dwellings with larger lots and lawns was becoming a symbol of prosperity. The city was still easily navigated, and human-relationships were still the centre. But a shift was taking place in the development style. Present-day bedroom communities (Mount Pearl, Paradise, Conception Bay South, Torbay, Bay Bulls, and more) were still completely independent of St. John’s and had their own rural economies.

Third, enter the era of subdivisions and eventually big box stores. Exclusionary and restrictive zoning really ramped up in the ‘70s through to the 2000s, entrenching residents’ reliance on cars and the need to own one in order to meet their needs. The city started sprawling outward with low-density, one-storey buildings and wide, multi-lane arterial roads and highways. Newer parts of the city were cut up into residential, commercial, and industrial areas. Oil money started rolling in, and with it, the interest of developers. Successive City Councils of my childhood years were all too happy to greenlight American-style power centres like Stavanger Drive and Kelsey Drive. This meant gouging through the landscape with new roads like the Outer Ring Road and Team Gushue Highway to satisfy the demands of cars and their drivers (trying to meet their needs). This led to even more traffic, a culture of faster driving speeds, and worsening safety. The strength of our community’s social fabric started to fray and unravel in places. The cost of living crept upward, and community connectivity (and amenity accessibility) decreased—all of which had an impact on human relationships and the vibrancy and resilience that comes from them. People started falling through the cracks. As time went on, families started getting smaller, the immigration rate didn’t keep up, and the population tipped heavily towards seniors.

This brings us to now.

On the doors, I am hearing:

• On housing:
  • Accessibility barriers and poor interior maintenance within the affordable housing stock.
  • A disdain for renters and poor property maintenance—albeit often with an acknowledgement that affordability is the issue.
  • An acknowledged need to help homeless people get housed.
  • Seniors on fixed incomes, who’ve lived in their own homes for decades, are afraid of increases to taxes and costs of living.
• On safety:
  • Frustration with frequent break and enters, and the need for security cameras on front doors.
  • Drug problems, (including used syringes littered in piles on the ground in green spaces and paved areas alike), and a feeling that they are inescapable.
  • Families who won’t let their kids play outdoors unless it’s in a fenced backyard because the streets (and the cars that speed on them) are too dangerous.
• On access to affordable transportation & safe streets:
  • Minimum-wage workers who’ve had to move apartments in order to access their workplace, because when they changed jobs the available bus route could no longer get them to work on time.
  • People who are fed up with the state of our sidewalks in winter, and the risks they must take in order to get to the bus stop, and get to work.
  • Disappointment in street design choices, for example, the current configuration of Rawlins Cross and the temporary bump-outs in Kenmount Terrace.
  • Worries about pedestrian safety, including that of children within the radius that do not qualify for taking the bus to school.
  • A strong desire for cycling infrastructure, cyclists new and old of all ages can move through neighbourhoods and around the city.
• On the environment:
  • An urgent need for serious and prompt climate action, and environmental stewardship.
  • An understanding that building on wetlands doesn’t make sense and should not be happening.
  • Concerns around flood risks.
  • A deep care for green spaces, our City’s rivers, and trails that allow us to access them.
• On City Hall:
  • Disappointment in the level and outputs of public engagement.
  • Disappointment in communication style when citing offences that result from complaints (no conversation, just written orders).
  • Complaints over budget prioritizations at City Hall, and the interests they reflect. In particular, the cost of operating and maintaining Mile One Stadium.
• On community:
  • Struggles with inadequate access to food from food banks
  • Many, many lonely people, of all ages, who are isolated in their homes in residential zones that are not within (safe) walking distance of amenities. Countless personal conversations with folks who are starved of human connection, and the sense of security and comfort, which comes from being connected with the world around you. I wish I could spend more time with them.

These are just the most prominent topics that come up over and over. They all speak to me in a way that relates directly back to the choices we have made in designing our city, as it has grown. These choices are resulting in harm, and it doesn’t have to be this way. St. John’s is still a beautiful, courageous, and resourceful city. We can repair these harms, and strengthen our urban fabric. But, the choices we make from here on out— the potential fourth wave of design in our city—will determine our success. Those choices must be reflected in policy, master-planning, regulations, development application processing and recommendations, strategic incentives and disincentives, and especially the budget.

Richard Moe, President of the National Trust for Historic Preservation defined sprawl as, “the degenerate urban form that is too congested to be efficient, too chaotic to be beautiful, and too dispersed to possess the diversity and vitality of a great city.” And here’s the thing: the more a city sprawls, the more expensive it is to operate and maintain. Every kilometer of road and pipe we lay down (1) costs all taxpayers a lot of money to take care of, especially in our climate; and (2) increases vulnerability of public and private properties to climate change impacts. If you want lower taxes, and less risk, the answer is: end urban sprawl, the design principles, and the thinking about human relationality that comes with it.

As you know, I am a scientist focused on addressing the climate crisis; I am also a neighbour striving for safety, inclusion, and rich human connections; and, I am a 31-year-old Newfoundlander who sees the writing on the wall when it comes to the fiscal situation of our city and province. I believe that climate, social, and fiscal problems are interwoven, and the best solutions are inherently intersectional. Applying a climate action lens to the governance of our city will lead to complete neighbourhoods and streets, multi-modal active transportation, an increase in affordability, stronger social networks, an increase in physical and mental health, inclusion and accessibility, biodiverse urban ecosystems, lower expenditures, and more revenue to invest. We all deserve these things, and we owe our best effort to your children and grandchildren.