Rarely Has A Local Government In The New West Advanced A Plan So Bold To Save The Land.
By Jeff Smith
WHAT DO YOU do when company comes from back home and you
want to impress them?
If you said, "Take them to Hooters and order the all-you-can-hurl
buffet," one, you might be a redneck; and, two, you're on
the wrong page: you need to be trolling the personals under SWMWBB
seeks MWFWW.
If, however, you thumbed to this space with malice aforethought,
and aren't moving your lips as you read these words, chances are
your answer has something to do with driving your guests up to
Mount Lemmon, or out to the Desert Museum, or maybe just up to
Gates Pass to show off one of those lurid, Technicolor sunsets
we tend to take for granted after a few years around here.
It is unlikely, I think, that you're going to take them to Broadway
and Wilmot to show them how far the traffic backs up at 6 p.m.,
to one of the malls to prove that we've got Victoria's Secret
here too, to downtown to let them get a peek at that stupid red
sculpture in front of the library.
The best of what we've got to show off in Tucson was pretty much
here before Tucson was here. In the case of the Desert Museum,
we're simply herding a representative sample of pre-civilized
scenery into a tidy enough space that you don't burn up a tank
of gas trying to find it.
So one might make a case that there's nothing special about the
City of Tucson as a city. We're not New York, where your city
cousins may take you to visit the Statue of Liberty or the Empire
State Building, city stuff, wrought by the hand of man. By the
same token, they wouldn't drive you out to look at the Hudson
River and admire the sewage floating by. No offense meant, but
the Best of Tucson--our annual ad-sales orgy of the same name
notwithstanding--has very little to do with Tucson, unless you
count the taste and sense demonstrated by a populace that decided
to pull off the highway and park and stay in a setting of such
natural splendor.
I SAY all this by way of prefacing my approval of Chuck
Huckelberry's ambitious Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan.
Frankly I'm stunned at the scope, the vision, the political audacity
of such a notion, given the prevailing Sunbelt attitude of subdivide
and conquer. The fact that Chuckleberry announced such a grand
plan, and was not discovered the following morning in the trunk
of a car with a bullet in his head, is testimony that our local
brand of developer either is a less-virulent strain than his fellow-microbes
in, say, Phoenix; or that the real-estate community has been struck
dumb by the sheer huevos of the proposal.
Whatever, let us jump at the opportunity before the other side
wakes up, or before our own supposed allies parcel us into so
many subcommittees and discussion groups that we talk this wonderful
idea to death before word can become deed.
What I like best about Chuck's plan is that it's to be a creature
of government, but local government, and that its concept is simple,
direct and unapologetically natural. Of late some of my friends,
journalistic colleagues and the natural constituency of readers
tell me I have gone anti-green. I disagree, contending that my
arguments of late have been with organizations grown over-large,
too powerful and perforce, monomaniacal in their approach to environmental
matters.
Not to wander too far afield here, but let's just say good people
sometimes can do bad things in a good cause. An absolutist, global
approach to saving the green world by walling it off from untidy
humanity may seem the surest way to save the snail-darter, but
it ignores certain realities and does violence to local rights.
Putting the future of so much flora and fauna in the stewardship
of Pima County may strike the Southwest Center for Biological
Diversity as hiring a fox to guard the chickens, but I believe
a county that has the wisdom to try such a plan, and the political
will to pull it off, ain't a bad applicant for the job.
Sure, it's going to cost a shitload of money. But hey, eco-tourists
could spend some of their L.L. Bean and Land's End money with
us.
Sure, political whims and wills may vary, but we the people still
have the means to impose ours on those boys and girls we hire
to do our political bidding. If we want to keep our mountains
piney and our deserts spiny, why then we'll just have to get off
our asses every few Septembers and Novembers and vote the right
folks in and out of office.
For five decades I've lived around here and listened to what
the natives have had to say about growth--our own and other communities'--and
I've taken a measure of pride in believing that Tucson wasn't
like Phoenix. All the while watching Tucson become more and more
like Phoenix. All that really has kept Tucson from becoming Phoenix
is that Phoenix kept becoming Los Angeles. Tucson really is Phoenix
circa 1970.
But there's a core of us who love the old town, the westside,
the tortilla factories, dirt and creosote and swamp coolers and
the way it cools off in the desert at night--even in August--as
soon as you get away from the city lights. Huckelberry's vision
of the brave old world appeals to people like us, and should to
everybody who lives here and loves it.
Here's a way to keep the best of what is essentially Tucson,
to put metaphorical leagues between our town and the greedy, growth-obsessed
majority of the New West, to preserve this place as somewhere
you're secure and proud to raise your kids, and perhaps even turn
the odd dollar as well.
Bienvenidos a Tucson, the prettiest city west of Truth-or-Consequences
and south of Provo: enjoy your vacation and then go home and leave
us in peace.
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