For decades, the subdivision I grew up in, with its Leavittown uniformity and its blue-collar sensibility, was surrounded on three sides by trees and farmland. The small industrial park to the east of us was well-hidden by our neighbors in between, and frankly, it just wasn’t as interesting as the woods around us.
Growing up on this frontier between the suburbs and the rural, there were a few things I took for granted. Foremost was that a stand of trees was meant for exploring. I spent hours exploring “the woods,” as we called it, following a system of creeks that provided much-needed drainage for the valley and fed the river to the south. The woods were my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself, or perhaps find myself. They provided a welcome escape from the pressures of life, allowing me to follow my own direction, at my own pace.
Today I stand on my mother’s back patio, facing the sunset, and see the desolate remains of that stand of trees, most of which have been cut down to make room for duplexes. To the west, what was a corn field is a series of retention ponds designed to draw rainwater away from the new houses under construction. What few trees remain stand in silhouette against the burning sunset, and in the gaps we witness the bitter irony that the sub-prime mortgage fiasco will likely mean these duplexes remain empty indefinitely.
Independence is crawling to the south and east, sloughing off each season and leaving behind the evacuated skin of itself. With every year, we lose more of our green spaces and fall further behind in maintaining our aging real estate. There are pockets, here and there, and hopeful trends, where some of us have reclaimed the older parts of the city. But for every reclaimed space, there are plenty of derelict shells remaining.
Witness the economic model we’ve allowed to form:
- Tax incentives have gone primarily to build up new commercial and residential growth, but on the outskirts of town, outside of the school district that serves a clear majority of homes in the city.
- The nation’s largest for-profit healthcare company, which owned the two hospitals in town, decides to close those two hospitals, whose commercial property tax helped fund the school district, and build a brand-new hospital in the southeast of town, again outside the main school district’s boundaries.
- One of the school district’s main sources of revenue is property tax, and as business flocks toward the new areas of growth, the school district’s finances become strained, and it struggles to meet its commitments to the community.
- Frustrated by an ill-equipped school district and a fleeing hospital system, more affluent residents move out of the district, leaving behind retirees and the working poor.
- To make jobs for those remaining, we invest in new construction at the outskirts and hope for a trickle-down benefit.
As a city, we’ve been cashing in our collective future for short-term gains.
Before we cut down one more tree, we should resolve to maintain what we have. Before we encroach farther east onto the undeveloped lands, we must find a new formula for our economic growth, one that isn’t based on new home construction and big-box retail. We need a better mix of small and medium-sized businesses: technology companies in our downtown office space next to art galleries next to the upscale restaurants that have pioneered the effort.
Urban renewal isn’t just for Kansas City. It’s time for a new approach to our city’s growth. Independence must make a sincere commitment to urban renewal – a lasting commitment that makes our downtown a unique and vibrant place to work and play, that rescues 24 Highway from abandonment, and that ensures timely access to emergency medical treatment for the majority of residents.
