The Value of Livability

by Tony Chavira

In David Graeber’s 2001 book, Towards an Anthropological Theory of Value: The False Coin of Our Own Dreams, Graeber argues that societal problems arise from Western culture’s notorious need to define the value of stuff monetarily. If the Obama administration wants to invest in jobs, we only look at the value based on a) consumption and b) the bottom line. We’re constantly asking ourselves if we’re getting more out than we’re putting in, and quite often that’s the determinant for success.

But Graeber also thinks that there are some things out there have value and have nothing to do with consumption. Actions like putting on clothes, playing sports for fun, or having sex aren’t meant to make you money. There are also things that you could regularly put on the list of consumables but just enjoy doing for yourself, like gardening, reading or planning a party. You’re not doing any of these things to make money, so they have a type of value that’s free from the Marxist shackles of “consumption” or “production.” No socialism involved because there’s no drive to make money. You just like what you’re doing.

Seeing as we’re in the midst of a full-blown economic crisis, the materialistic value of everything around us seems to be emphasized: debt is rampant, housing prices plummet, credit card rates rise, Wall Street tanks, the Stimulus Package is huge, etc., etc. But these are all superficial, numeric values so large or widespread that it’s hard to fathom what they really mean and what they’ll do for us on an individual level.

What kind of value is intrinsic for a society that places such importance on monetizing achievements? More importantly, what are the means and what are the ends? Do we make money so that we can enjoy the finer things in life, or do we enjoy the finer things in life and just-so-happen to make money on the side? Which of those two outlooks ultimately seems more valuable to you?

As we move through this economic crisis and search for means of recovery, we are going to be forced to determine for ourselves what constitutes “high-value” when it comes to living.  In some ways, having no place to live almost means having no value as a person. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs considers “shelter” to be one of our most basic requirements, along with other physiological stuff like food, sleep, and water. So the availability of housing should be the most minimal requirement in any plan to improve the value of living. But “livability” means different things to different people, and not just because some people are helpless without their luxury condo. Some of us have families, some of us are single, some of us have roommates, and some of us have extenuating psychological or physiological circumstances that requires a certain type of living. Like the world’s fattest man, for example. He probably needs to be on the first floor with large doors and easy access to the exits in case of fire. That’s what livability means to him.

The much-touted urban planning term “livable communities” could really mean anything. Technically, Pruitt-Igoe was a community you could live in. But even though building a community may cost an arm and a leg, the total monetary cost is not nearly as valuable as the “livable community” end product. A park might cost the government a few million dollars, but what is it really worth? Does the whole community benefit from well-coordinated buses? What’s it worth to you to be able to walk from the library to a coffee shop? When there’s no drive to make money from any of these things, it’s hard to put a price on them. The government could spend $200 or $2,000,000 to redevelop the park next to your home, but the value to you and to the community cannot be simply monitored by average home prices. These infusions of cash may not ever make any money back for the government, but it doesn’t mean that the projects are valueless by any means.

Pruitt-Igoe

I’m not advocating that you take out that subprime loan with reckless abandon because you can’t put a price on the perfect living space. “Livable communities” doesn’t only refer to amount of livable space inside your home, but also the amount of space outside of your home, around your home, and between your home and work. Community is for everyone, and everyone places their own value onto it. Currently, Southern California isn’t much of a livable community for those who don’t have a car but need to get from Tustin to downtown LA for work. It’s not very livable to raise young kids in a community without any semblance of a park. It’s not livable when you live more than two miles away from a grocery store. Or more than five miles from a school. Or more than ten miles away from a police or fire department.

We pay our taxes, fight our wars and raise our children in America because we understand the intrinsic value of our communities. And we gladly contribute to the costs of our communities. Warm, open and safe public places, comfortable neighborhoods, and choices for affordable housing and transportation. None of these things have a formal price tag, and they come in so many varieties. Most importantly, they add value in a way that can’t be put into dollar amounts. Whether they cost the whole amount of the TARP fund or are donated out of the kindness of the communal heart, we can gauge the costs of infrastructure development in simple, noticeable ways. If I can walk to the store and back to my place, the TARP fund worked. If I live 15 minutes away from the office and can actually drive there in 15 minutes, the TARP fund worked. If I use a bus to take my kids from the park for their soccer game, to the pizza place to celebrate, and back home afterward (and I’m not waiting more than 10-15 minutes for a bus at each stop), I think that the TARP fund worked. Things that seem so simple, but somehow have such a high value.

Billions and billions of dollars will vanish into thin air as contractors bid for and take on large public works projects throughout America. More than likely we’ll have no choice but to tax that money back into our federal budget, and maybe we’ll have to raise taxes a little to accommodate. But what are a few billion dollars when both the traffic and the air are clearing before your very eyes, when you can only remember when schools were underfunded, or when you can stumble home drunk and know that you can always take a bus back tomorrow morning to wherever the hell you parked your car. We just can’t judge the value of that stuff by its financial costs.

Neither the TARP nor the stimulus package is worth anything until the money is spent, and only then can we give it value. By developing livable communities we can give more value to our lives and the lives of those around us, and, no matter how huge the cost, you just can’t put a price on that. Albert Einstein said it best: “Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.”

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