Jane Jacobs, in "The Death and Life of Great American Cities," wrote, "Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody only because, and only when, they are created by everybody."
Little Rock has a long, difficult history of being a city that did not appear created for everybody. Examples include an obvious interstate concrete divide, decades-long migration of whites from one side of the city to the other and eventually out of town in retreat from school integration and civil rights, and the institutional racism that pervaded real estate, zoning, housing, and banking policies.
It is why the election of Frank Scott Jr. as Little Rock's first popularly elected Black mayor was more than historic. The promise of Scott's candidacy, one I supported publicly, was that Little Rock could finally feel like a city that was for everyone.
On the stump, Scott spoke about revitalizing all corners of the city, improving the parks system, enhancing public safety, and providing a place where residents from all across the city could gather for long walks, bicycle rides, picnics, concerts, ball games, and much more.
It would, of course, come at a cost.
This was a dramatic shift from previous administrations where the neighborhood conversation was limited, it seemed to me, to what was best for downtown. Don't misunderstand: The past two decades, since the grand achievement of securing the Clinton Presidential Center, have been very good for downtown despite several conservative-minded efforts to lampoon or derail it altogether. The cohesion of business and arts interests has, in that time, bolstered Little Rock's image for the better.
But cities, like former high school football stars, can often find themselves dwelling on the past. Before Scott's election, Little Rock felt a lot like that. Meanwhile, other parts of the state moved on. Alice Walton developed Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, now Arkansas' most prominent cultural attraction. Northwest Arkansas decided to become one of the America's foremost destination for mountain biking--and is doing it.
I have written before in these pages that Little Rock will never have northwest Arkansas's resources. But Little Rock is not unique because of one family or corporation; its singularity comes from its perseverance. It could have drowned under the weight of its racist past, succumbing to antebellum practices as the next generation migrated elsewhere.
To be sure, Little Rock has a population dilemma which strains economic prosperity; the recent session of the Arkansas General Assembly, the most hateful and divisive of my lifetime, is very likely to turn off millennials and Gen Z to long-term residency in the state.
Be that as it may, for Little Rock to prosper despite these external and largely uncontrollable challenges, it has to make the very best use of its attributes: a welcoming attitude, an engaged populace, a majesty of parks, trails, streams, and mountains, unrealized potential, and a river that runs through all of it.
Enter Mayor Scott, who wants the city to invest in a penny sales tax. He called for this after his first State of the City address, but rightfully suspended the effort because of the covid-19 pandemic.
As Little Rock joins the rest of the nation in turning the corner on the pandemic, it is time to reconsider the matter. On Tuesday, the city board rejected an effort to move forward by a vote of 7-2. It was disappointing, but hardly definitive. If politics is "the art of the possible, the attainable--the art of the next best," as Bismarck said, then there is more to come.
But it should not take too long. The time is now for the popularly elected board of directors to realize that a future Little Rock created for everybody is on the horizon. All they have to do, as representatives of the people, is lead.
Blake Rutherford, a Little Rock native, is the co-founder and executive editor of SourceStream, the nation's first bipartisan, interactive live streaming network. He lives in Washington, D.C.