I am one of the few, the proud transplants from the western United States to Georgetown. Upon my arrival two years ago, I was confronted with a host of perplexing new experiences: subways, stupid accents and, most amazingly, condensed travel time.
The rapidity of, nay, the existence of interstate train travel allows one to traverse the Eastern Sea Board in the time it takes to drive to many of the respective state lines west of the Mississippi. I was quick to capitalize on my discovery, and have spent the better part of two years exploring the distant metropolises of which I dreamt throughout my youth. But this wasn’t without reservation.
A potent hybrid of natural paranoia, extensive research, friendly advice and practical experience has honed my abilities to detect and avoid potentially unsavory environments. For example, the bewildering cab ride from BWI with a rasta in a battered, unmarked Volvo on the first day of my first year, during which we stopped several times at random truck stops and tenements in Southeast, helped me establish that it’s not the best place to be caught on foot. That the Bronx should, by and large, be avoided was a no-brainer, and it took me about five minutes to learn that Baltimore and northern New Jersey have about as much collective charm as Chernobyl.
These findings merely enforced suspicions and tentative conclusions about the East Coast that I had generated during previous visits. Most of the aforementioned areas formed an immutable axis of evil in my mind prior to my arrival. The real surprise for me, however, was Philadelphia. True, several friends of mine had previously assured me that Philly consisted of a waterfront, some schools and a massive, infertile crescent of decay, filth and cheesesteaks. I remained skeptical. My perceptions of Philadelphia remained delusionally optimistic as visions of Ben Franklin, Rocky Balboa and Allen Iverson danced in my head. After two visits, however, I was utterly appalled by the urban blight, cultural vapidity and unruly residents that I encountered.
I stoically managed to retain my optimism. After all, how could the place that brought us the Constitution, the Fresh Prince and Liberty Bell be entirely devoid of merit? My questions were answered last night, on my third visit to Philadelphia to see a concert in the bustling downtown area?a trip that went awry and had us seeing many neighborhoods and facets of the city, all of which confirmed my friends’ admonitions: Philadelphia has no redeeming value and should be excluded from the Union as an example to other derelict cities.
Why rate a city? True, it may seem petty or futile, but it is a process applied to music, literature and national personages in the hopes that critique and scrutiny will create a critical mass and allow us, as a society, to root out the parasitic ballast that contaminates the cultural and physical spheres. Philadelphia, you’re contract is up for renewal, and I don’t like what I see.
Cities are ambiguous entities that, for all time, poison and mar their surrounding environment and set the stage for interactions both creative and destructive. A city’s existence can, however, be justified easily by its contributions to humanity measured in everything from aesthetics to cultural and economic performance. Sadly, even under this broad interpretation, Philly has fallen from grace. On the aesthetic front, the ageing skyline, Ben Franklin Bridge and polluted waterfront serve merely as poignant and monolithic reminders of a glory that once was. For the rest, the city is dominated by rotting factories, collapsing buildings and slums. Even in the historic part of town, the pass? “Sarajevo look” is the decorative style of choice. As a cultural and political center, Philly hasn’t done much since 1787 and boasts little more than the questionable contributions of G-Love and the Roots. A poor showing indeed. Economically, Philly has been far outstripped by the highly adaptable metropolitan areas of the northern corridor and California. The predominance of smokestacks and the seemingly astronomical rates of homelessness seem to indicate that the city is floundering in the information economy. Furthermore, the Philadelphia highway system is a marvel of civil engineering chicanery. The poor lighting, endless one-way streets, dead ends and poor signage make the city virtually unnavigable by car, and the risk of being shanked in the kidneys is enough of a deterrent to potential bus riders and pedestrians.
Then there are the intangibles. There seems to be no locus around which the city can rally aside from its own malaise, as exemplified by the continued failure of its sports teams and the increasing mediocrity of its cultural enterprises (see Will Smith, Kobe Bryant). The result is that not only do Philadelphia residents seem ill at ease, they are imbued with a twisted sense of pride regarding their dystopian hometown. Philadelphia fans boo their opponents, concert goers last night booed New York, and a good friend of mine was flagrantly punched in the nuts several times, in yet another display of unswerving Philadelphian sore-loser syndrome.
Such was my impression of Philadelphia after each visit, an opinion confirmed by many others. Those of you who remain skeptical may opt to visit on your own, but be warned?you may not like what you see. Philadelphia, you are but one of many of the nation’s tired, obsolescent cities, an entity alienated from its prime by years of urban decay, poor coaching and wanton Tastykake consumption. Philadelphia, the message is clear: Shape up, or ship out.
Ian Bourland is a sophomore in the School of Foreign Service and head of business of The Georgetown Voice. Despite the credentials, he has no credibility.
