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Last Exit
Sunday in the Square with Everyone
Puebla , the fourth largest city in Mexico, is not on most tourist itineraries. Just two hours from Mexico City, Puebla lies in the capital’s enormous shadow. But enchanted by a guidebook’s description of a wellpreserved, colonial-era city (and its well-preserved, over-class of traditionbound aristocrats), I squeezed in a visit.
The city appeared as advertised. The downtown was filled with Spanish colonial architecture. There were plenty of wealthy-looking locals. But it soon became clear that Puebla is cursed in the manner of most countries’ fourth-largest cities: it lacks the excitement of a great metropolis and the charm of a small town. I cut my losses and headed for the central square. Puebla’s central square is typical for a Mexican city, which is to say, wondrous. On the south side of the square is an enormous Baroque cathedral.
Opposite, on the north side, sits the columned city hall. Restaurants and cafés mark the remaining perimeter. Tables spill out over the sidewalks since the streets bordering the square are closed to traffic.
At the time of my visit, meticulous plantings of palms, cypress trees, and Christmastime poinsettia adorned the square. Wrought-iron benches, filled with couples, lined its walking paths; families meandered around a grand central fountain. Near the fountain, an experimental art exhibit—a trailer filled with hammocks available for passersby to use—touted the city’s current contemporary art expo. On the other side, a stage had been
set up for a brass band concert.
In front of city hall, the “urban peasants league,” an oxymoronic-sounding organization that had moved to the city’s shantytowns from the countryside, was banging pots and pans, protesting government inaction over the dramatic rise in the price of tortillas (thanks to the soaring price of corn on international markets). Wealthy families in nearby cafes tried to tune them out.
Why is this scene—a bustling Sunday in the central city square—so common in so much of the world, but so rare in the United States? To most Americans, a McDonald’s with café seating sounds like a tall tale. American urbanism has long given the public realm short shrift. But in recent decades, the few places where American cities approximate, though never match, the kind of vibrant public life seen in Puebla (Washington Square Park in New York, Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia, DuPont Circle in Washington, D.C., Washington Square in the North Beach section of San Francisco) have become
among the most desirable—and expensive—neighborhoods in the country.
These places are pricey to the point of being exclusionary because demand for them outstrips supply. But instead of building our cities and exurbs with more squares, we cut corners, so to speak, and make do with outdoor malls and Starbucks elbow-rubbing. The long-held notion that Americans do not want public space has been proven false by experience.
So what are we going to do about it? Instead of addressing the problem collectively, most Americans concerned about public space either move to places where such space exists (if they can afford to) or get their fix of public space on jaunts abroad.
In The Death and Life of Great American Cities, Jane Jacobs analyzed why some city squares work and others don’t by using Philadelphia’s four squares, laid out in 1682 by William Penn, as a kind of naturally occurring scientific experiment. Each was the same age, size, and distance from the center of town. Yet only Rittenhouse reached its potential, Jacobs argued, because Rittenhouse is situated where commercial, residential, and retail spaces converge. This mixture of uses ensured that the square is bustling at all hours. By understanding why such spaces work, we can create more of them.
With adequate community alliances, we could turn existing community gardens into full-fledged squares. Adding amenities to existing parks can turn them into community assets—Chicago’s Millennium Park, created in an existing section of Grant Park, is a fine example. Taking a page from Puebla, Chicago added a band shell (a multi-million-dollar, Frank Gehry-designed band shell, at that).
Another strategy would be to rezone the land around existing squares, to bring more life to them. Why not require restaurants lining New York’s Union Square, such as McDonald’s, to provide outdoor seating in mild weather? Or build more winter gardens like the glass-clad public space at the Brooklyn Museum? We could go further and build new squares. Ironically, the debate about public space is missing in the places it is needed most and easiest to create—the Sun Belt, where a climate similar to Mexico’s makespublic space even more viable.
The first step in any conversation is using honest terms. We have to stop deluding ourselves that we have more public space than we do. America as plenty of parks, but precious few squares. “Times Square” is not a square; it is an intersection. And a sidewalk does not necessarily make public space “pedestrian-friendly,” merely pedestrian-tolerant. Pedestrian-friendly space, as the Puebla square makes clear, is closed to vehicular traffic.
Behind the stage at the Puebla square, a sign put up by the local arts board read, “Juntos es posible” (“Together, things are possible”). The sentiment may seem delusional in a society where a few dine in fancy restaurants while many cannot afford to feed themselves, but at least in Mexico they have structures that make togetherness possible. To make community possible in the U.S., we need to build the spaces where it can happen.
This article appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Next American City magazine. SUBSCRIBE NOW!
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