Guest Opinion

On Aug. 20, Tom Danehy referenced Councilwoman’s Regina Romero’s
invocation of the “creative class” as a justification for preserving
the Warehouse District. At first, Danehy dismissed Romero’s comment as
“stupid,” primarily because he didn’t recall the term.

Danehy revisited the “stupid-ass term” and gave it a full thrashing
on Sept. 10. As he noted, “creative class” was coined by Richard
Florida, a professor currently at the University of Toronto, to
describe people believed to be the drivers of growing regional
economies. Danehy accuses Florida of “shoddy scholarship,” but it is
Danehy’s commentary that is shoddy.

With all of this “creative class” banter flying about, it is time to
clear things up.

First off, Florida’s definition of the “creative class” is often
caricaturized as being a collection of gays, indie musicians, and
intellectual snobs lounging about drinking coffee and daydreaming. If
you read closely and examine the indices Florida uses for analysis,
you’ll see that his actual definition includes entrepreneurs,
academics, high-tech innovators and real estate redevelopers. This is
the segment of society that is actively contributing to economic
growth. Entrepreneurs create jobs. Academics demand quality education
and spin off new companies from research. (In Tucson, you can look at
Frost, a Gelato Shoppe and Ventana Medical Systems as examples.)
High-tech innovators develop world-class centers of
research—aerospace and optical-science sectors in Tucson account
for thousands of quality jobs. And developers invest in
depressed spaces to rebuild and capitalize on existing assets rather
than soulless sprawl.

The bohemians and gays? They may contribute to the progressive
politics that attract the creative class, but they are not necessarily
a part of the creative class themselves. Successful regions are
socially progressive; basic logic suggests that being more accepting of
broader segments of society casts the widest net in the search for the
best and brightest talent. Florida’s indices, which he has
painstakingly developed over the past two decades, generally confirm
this logic. The books cited by Danehy are popular press stuff, but
Florida’s scholarly peer-reviewed articles are quite compelling. While
some have taken stabs at Florida’s methodology, nobody has really done
much damage.

All Florida is really doing is serving up a prescription for
regional economic development. Why is Tucson lagging behind comparable
cities like Salt Lake City, Austin, Nashville, etc.? Let’s start with a
miserable downtown (although it’s showing impressive signs of life), a
substandard transportation/transit infrastructure and a woefully
underfunded public education system. You won’t hear about these
shortcomings from local politicians, but you will hear these complaints
from the scads of young engineers who rebuff Raytheon’s recruitment
drives every year.

The irony in the whole argument is—and this comes straight
from Richard Florida’s lecture to TREO a couple of years
back—Tucson scores well in creative class indices. But
politicians have not been able to capitalize on Tucson’s vibe. We’re
spinning our wheels.

This brings me to Danehy’s swipe at Romero. She is indeed the one
who screwed up Richard Florida’s argument in the first place, by
carelessly justifying Warehouse District preservation as a benefit to
the creative class without discussing the direct economic benefits. The
creative class can set the table, but traditional business development
brings the economic feast. Any councilmember who bows to neighborhood
demands without considering how the plan fits business needs violates
the harmony between progressive politics and business development that
Florida envisions. Romero’s comment suggests a rather careless
interpretation of a theoretical pursuit, and the fallout is
demonstrated by the depth of the rut in which downtown revitalization
is mired.

It is worth noting that Danehy squandered an opportunity to
contribute a trenchant critique of the applicability of the creative
class theory. In practice, catering to economic elites, even if they
wear trendy eyeglasses, should always be questioned. Florida has also
been challenged on how the enactment of creative class strategies
impact housing costs, education and the political empowerment of
citizens not deemed creative. Nevertheless, there’s a lot to like about
creative class theory.

This commentary is not an assault on Romero or the Warehouse
District. I am simply imploring downtown’s stakeholders to take a
holistic, long-term view toward sustainability—a concept that
encompasses ecology, social equity and the economy. Capitalizing
on the creative class—one of Tucson’s strengths—is a bona
fide strategy that could get us there.

Derek Eysenbach is a Ph.D. candidate in the School of Geography
and Development at the University of Arizona, and can be found lurking
downtown in search of beer and adventure.

This article appears in Sep 24-30, 2009.