You can dwell on the past if you want, but that won’t change anything. The future is what matters—and it’s ours to shape. One of the most persistent drivers of urban crime, especially affecting Black and minority communities, is housing. Back in the 1960s and ’70s, high-rise public housing offered a feasible, cost-effective solution. The concept wasn’t the problem. The failure came from mismanagement, corruption, and a lack of discipline and community control. Instead of tearing these buildings down, we should have fixed the system.
Corruption was rampant. Kickbacks, inflated contracts, and unnecessary repairs drained resources that should have gone toward maintaining safe, livable homes. Rent paid by residents could have covered maintenance costs if the system had been honest. But poor oversight allowed buildings to fall into disrepair, and crime took root in the absence of structure and accountability. When the towers came down, communities were scattered, and the supply of affordable housing shrank. The crisis didn’t disappear—it just changed shape.
There’s a better way forward. Imagine a system where residents themselves help oversee maintenance. Every couple of floors could form a committee responsible for monitoring repairs and upkeep. These committees wouldn’t have direct contact with contractors, reducing the risk of bribery. Instead, they’d choose companies based on reputation and submit vouchers to a central office. After repairs were completed, the committee would inspect the work and send a report to the main office, either approving or disapproving the job. The central office would also send inspectors, and they would submit a report if these two reports do not match that would raise a red flag. A disapproval would affect the company’s reputation, and contractors would be warned of this in advance before accepting the job. This structure would encourage accountability and discourage shoddy or overpriced work.
Much of the maintenance could be done by residents themselves, after some basic training. They could work part-time at a much lower cost than corrupt contractors, and they’d have a vested interest in keeping their homes clean, safe, and functional. Of course, not everything could be done in-house—some repairs would still require outside professionals—but the system would be transparent, efficient, and rooted in community pride. Not just anyone would serve on these boards; only those with proven integrity and ability would be eligible.
Children need structure too. Each floor—or every two floors—could include a designated rec room, a safe space where kids could spend time before their parents got home. A part-time resident employee would monitor the room, supported by video surveillance. This setup would foster discipline, safety, and trust, helping to prevent the kind of cultural decay that plagued earlier housing projects.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with high-rise living. Wealthy people do it all the time. The problem wasn’t the architecture—it was the culture of neglect and corruption. With discipline, transparency, and resident empowerment, high-rise housing can once again serve as a dignified solution for low-income families. It’s not about nostalgia—it’s about reclaiming what worked, fixing what didn’t, and building something better for the future
