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challenge the experts, and as Rozzi (
2013
) argues, to actively reverse the trends
toward biocultural homogenization. Such actions may require an active push from
the level of ordinary citizens.
This was the message of Jane Jacobs' landmark topic of
1961
,
The Death and
Life of Great American Cities
. Jacobs fought against the idea that the planning
expert always knew best, and that tearing apart urban communities with such things
as expressways or any structure that alienated people from their environment was a
progressive step. She was not a scientist, but a keen observer of the urban scene, and
she perceived that what might appear as clutter could also appeal to urban dwellers,
providing aesthetic pleasures and sources of interest as they navigated their environ-
ments. A city's downtown core should welcome people in, not drive people away.
Her idea was that one did not have to be an expert to evaluate what worked and did
not work in an urban environment. The key skill was to be able to observe how
people used spaces: where did they cluster, shop or play, and what did they avoid?
What made some areas seem dangerous and others inviting? She had faith that if
people were attuned to their environments and how they worked, they would make
good decisions about the future of those communities. Again the emphasis was to
preserve what was culturally valuable, rather than to tear things down for the sake
of a modern look that is devoid of unique local characteristics.
A fi nal example illustrates the way an educated and ecologically sensitive public
can steer decisions toward ends that promote earth stewardship by asserting the
value of biocultural conservation. In Toronto, Canada, an urban wilderness called
the Leslie Street Spit was created at fi rst by accident and then with the support of a
group of citizens called Friends of the Spit, who formed in 1977 (Carley
1998
;
Courval
1990
). The spit is a human-made peninsula jutting into Lake Ontario,
which started as a breakwater for harbor expansion in the 1950s but then became a
construction landfi ll site when the harbor plans were abandoned. In time, vegetation
started to grow and the process of ecological succession got underway. The peninsula
attracted various wildlife species and became a bird watcher's paradise. Although it
continued to be used for construction landfi ll, limited public access on bus tours was
allowed starting in 1973, followed by cyclists and hikers the next year. In 1977
Friends of the Spit formed and began to lobby for greater public access, but other-
wise they hoped to keep the land in an undeveloped state, allowing it to mature as an
urban wilderness park. They had to fend off efforts to develop the area for recreational
use, for instance plans to build a multi-purpose aquatic park, and held fi rmly to the
principle that the best possible thing was to leave it alone and let nature take its
course. This struggle was by no means easy and required determined efforts by
citizens over many years. Today, after decades of lobbying, the 5-km peninsula is
exactly what these citizens envisioned, a unique urban wilderness that draws nature-
lovers to what is in effect an ecological experiment, ever evolving and maturing.
This is a different example of what Rozzi has called biocultural conservation, a
case where citizens have chosen to adopt a culture of earth stewardship because they
recognized the value of biological diversity. It should remind us that cities are very
good environments in which to promote ecological awareness, and that there is
nothing quite so interesting as an ecological experiment in progress, especially
when it emerges as a result of people's intrinsic love of nature.
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