It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon when the epiphany struck. I was driving on Broad Street in Richmond, Virginia. What had once seemed like a shopper's paradise revealed itself as a consumerist hell.
Miles on end of strip malls, home improvement warehouses, and chain restaurants, with no coherence or strategic planning. Nightmarish traffic on the street and in the parking lots. Space for pedestrians and bicycles nonexistent. Worst of all, endless signs and billboards, each one trying to get noticed by being larger and louder.
Most disturbing, however, was what I did not see. Virtually nothing was appealing to the eyes. Nothing incorporated the natural beauty of our creation or reflected the amazing potential human beings have for creativity and design.
Instead, in service to the relentless pursuit of profits and consumption, we have produced this sprawling, soulless, utterly unappealing mess. And not just on Broad Street, but on nearly every street in every city and town in the country. As I hurried back to the refuge of my seminary campus, I muttered to myself, "We can do so much better than this."
Aesthetic catastrophes like Broad Street are just one symptom of a culture that is squandering its abundance. Despite amazing technological advances, we are missing out on the creative and ethical possibilities that lay before us.
Do we really want to be remembered for our strip malls, our bloated highways, and our endless patches of concrete and asphalt? For our decaying urban centers, our exclusive gated communities, and our 3000 square-foot homes on 1/2 acre lots? For our love affair with fossil fuels and plastic, and for our literal mountains made out of garbage?
Since the economic boom that followed World War II, we have launched ourselves into a materialistic feeding frenzy. Signs now indicate that the frenzy is becoming a death spiral. Our habits of gross over-consumption, which all but the oldest generation take for granted, cannot and will not last.
In addition to the ugliness of our commercial sprawl, we face a growing gap between rich and poor; the uncertain future of our financial systems; and the shameful injustices of our health care and educational systems - not to mention the psychological and spiritual chasm that overly commercialized children and adults are being pushed into. But despite the many warning signs, most Americans seem unaware and unconcerned about how far out of balance our lifestyles have become.
Economist Juliet B. Schor reveals the depth of our collective denial:
"Consumerism as a way of life is so ingrained, it's hard to recognize within us and around us. it is, in the now-famous words of George Orwell, 'the air we breathe.' Like air, it's everywhere, we're dependent on it, and perhaps most importantly, until it's really dirty, it cannot be seen. We experience consumer society as something natural. But it's not."
Now more than ever, people of faith and social concern are called on to be a voice of sanity and reason within this culture of frenzied consumption; to lead modest and disciplined lives that foster humility and sustainability; and to seek alternatives to the commercial monstrosity that we find on Broad Street and so many other streets.
2 comments:
We went to visit my parents near Cary, NC over break and I felt similar sentiments keenly. My husband and I got to go out for a long-overdue date and unfortunately, despite the good company, I had a terrible time. Later we were discussing my depression and I managed to figure out that it was because, due to being unfamiliar with the area, we ended up driving for a long time through these sprawling commercial centers. It felt to me like the soul-assaulting ugliness was never-ending. It really made me sick to my stomach. I used to feel the same way returning to Charlotte after spending a summer at Buc--the shock of returning to a world of chain stores and restaurants and traffic and lack of nature was always spiritually sickening. However, it's important to acknowledge that there *are* still good "spaces" in this country. Many downtowns and small towns are walkable and filled with local businesses mixed with parks and homes, with thriving local art scenes. We lived in the south side of Chicago for 6 years in a neighborhood that felt like a small town (Hyde Park). Any day from May to October we would go to one of the 7 or 8 parks within walking distance and either run into friends or make new ones. We never went to the big box stores b/c it was too much hassle to drive out to the suburbs. We paid more for what we bought, but we bought less. There are several great neighborhoods in Columbus near downtown or near the university that have similar benefits. When I think about why people tend to live out in the suburbs, several things come to mind: school districts, crime rates, and age of houses. I realize that the quality of schools and the rates of crime in the cities are caused by suburban sprawl as much as they perpetuate it, but the age of homes is just a fact. People don't want to deal with older homes falling apart. Nevertheless, many families in our church live in the neighborhood where our church building is located, and it's one of those walkable, older neighborhoods with character. I've noticed that these families seem to derive a great deal of benefit from being near each other in such an environment. I know this response was kind of rambling but it's something that has affected me in my life and I think about it a lot. I'd be interested in continuing to discuss this topic. So thanks.
Thanks for the thoughtful comment. Looking back on that piece seven years after I wrote it, it does seem that more people are now resisting the commercial sprawl and seeking better spaces in which to live, work, shop, and play. As I recycle some other things I wrote at that time, I'm going to evaluate if things are getting better or worse in our post-crash economy. I hope you stay engaged!
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