| Walk through any residential neighborhood built in
America over the last 75 years, and you'll notice a
revealing architectural pattern: Houses erected before
World War II almost invariably have large front porches,
while houses that came later don't. Broad, full-frontage
porches have given way to simple stoops or abbreviated
entryways that are more decorative than functional. The abrupt demise of the front porch isn't merely symbolic. It says a lot about how America has changed over the last 50 years and how new technology can significantly alter our communities and social relationships. Consider how front porches once defined our interactions with family members and neighbors. As an external room attached to the face of the house, the porch represented an intersection between public and private life. Before air conditioning, porches were a shaded refuge on hot summer days. Before TV, they were gathering places for socializing and courting in the evenings. In urban neighborhoods, they were public parlors, inviting random encounters with passers-by. Porches were designed for a lifestyle that was fundamentally extroverted. Over the years, that connection to the outside world has gradually been replaced with electronics that span great distances. First telephones, then radio, then TV, and now computers have changed the way we socialize, maintain relationships, and relate to our neighbors. Most recently, millions of people have started communicating with each other via computers and modems plugged into on-line networks — and soon, via the data superhighway. The interactive networks make it possible to maintain far-flung virtual communities of like-minded people. In itself, this is nothing new. It's the next logical step in a long trend toward basing relationships on common interests instead of geographical proximity. In the old days, especially in rural communities, folks had to associate with their neighbors, because there wasn't much choice. Nowadays, modern transportation and communication free us to associate with those who share our views and interests, and that's good. But they also threaten to isolate us from our immediate communities, and that's bad. Unlike some observers, I don't fear that the expanding bandwidth of communications will fracture us into virtual communities that are too narrowly focused. According to this argument, cable TV channels and on-line forums are growing so numerous and specialized that we won't be exposed to differing viewpoints. As viewership declines on broadcast TV networks, say the critics, we'll no longer share a common media culture. We'll lose our national identity and become so enmeshed in self-reinforcing feedback loops that we lose touch with reality. I don't think that will happen. Sure, some people will maroon themselves on virtual info-islands, but they already do anyway. Most will be liberated by the interactivity and finely tuned narrowcasting of the new media. Whether passive lurker or aggressive flamer, you can't surf the networks for long without stumbling across a spirited debate about something that grabs your attention. Log on and see for yourself: Our virtual communities are lively places that roar with the noise of democracy. Virtual communities are exciting and healthy, but they become a problem when they displace similar discourse in real communities. No matter how little you have in common with your next-door neighbors, you still have one thing in common: You are neighbors. If that relationship is abandoned, the real community begins to lose its cohesion, just as the virtual community unravels if everyone stops posting messages. It would be a serious mistake to sacrifice the old community for the new. Turn off your computer, take a walk around your neighborhood, and observe how dwellings continue to evolve. Prison bars disguised as decorative grilles protect doors and windows from break-ins. Front porches have moved to the back of the house, where they're called decks, and become the centerpieces of backyards walled in by privacy fences. Or they're relocated within the house itself, where they're euphemistically called family rooms (e.g., TV rooms), thereby offering even more privacy — plus easy access to the remote, virtual neighborhoods. At best, our real communities will become sterile and boring. At worst, they'll become hostile places where criminals fill the void of street life. Isolationism doesn't work any better locally than it does internationally, and the results can be equally self-destructive. Letters / August 1994Virtual Communities vs. the NeighborhoodThe commentary "The Introversion of America" by Tom R. Halfhill (May) relates directly to my experiences living in a circa-1920 house — with a porch — in the small town of San Luis Obispo, California, and to my own ambivalence surrounding the prospect of virtual communities emerging on computer networks. You may have read that the San Luis Obispo city council was considering an addition to the city's general plan that would require front porches on new residential construction, with the explicit intention of fostering neighborhood interaction. I'm in love with the little town I live in, but artificial attempts to preserve the closeness of this community will probably be overwhelmed by the inevitable reasons why a growing population turns away from relationships that are arbitrary and involuntary. The front porches of our neighborhood are almost always vacant. It has to do with the ever-expanding range of choices we have. When we gain a new freedom, we tend to exploit it immediately without realizing what we're giving up. Perhaps San Luis Obispo's porch proposal and the attention it's received indicate that people are starting to question the choices they've made. Thanks again for your excellent essay. Ken Broomfield San Luis Obispo, CA There are much better ways for a city to foster a sense of community in its neighborhoods than requiring builders to add front porches. Front porches don't cause social interaction; they facilitate the social interaction that's already happening. What next — will the government mandate fireplaces and hearths to promote family togetherness? If nothing else, however, at least it signals an awareness of the problem. — Tom R. Halfhill I appreciated your May commentary. A few months ago, I got a Unix/Internet account after a long period of going without, and I have been enjoying it very much. But it can absorb a lot of time. Today was one of a series of beautiful days in Seattle, and I decided to turn off my computer and take a walk around the neighborhood. I took my issue of BYTE and my dog along with me, and I came upon your article while lying in the sun in the park. Thanks for a thought-provoking article. Doug Johnson Something to Think About Do you think it feasible to attempt to organize the users of Internet into a town-meeting-style representational democracy that would eventually become the authority in any disputes that might arise between parties in far-flung jurisdictions? I'd propose the enforcement of rules against what are now generally accepted forms of rudeness. For instance, I'd support keeping records of — and blacklisting — "criminals" who send mail bombs that crash systems, send inappropriate Usenet News and cross-postings, or harass people by sending junk E-mail. Business advertising could also be regulated. David L. Nicol Kansas City, MO The kind of policing you describe probably won't happen on the Internet because nobody controls it. The Internet is just that — an "internetwork." It's up to the sysops on individual systems to decide what is and is not acceptable; the Internet now seems to thrive on anarchy. However, I believe this is also the Internet's greatest weakness. As more and more people gain access to computers, the more unruly behavior we'll see. The Internet could eventually go the way of CB radio, which was ruined by nitwits who spent hours whistling into their microphones and would-be disc jockeys who played country-music records all night. On-line equivalents of these behaviors are evident already. —Tom R. Halfhill Copyright 1994-1998 BYTE |