Mike Davis describes what he calls a "residential arms race": As one Los Angeles community after another closes its streets to non-residents, walls, gates, and strategically placed security cameras become both a sign of status and symbol of safety to potential buyers (Davis 1990: 246). The arms race ethic comes in quickly as each block of houses vies against neighboring blocks for the most imposing- and impenetrable-looking front. The idea is that potential criminals will see the (often unlocked and unguarded) gates and move on to more vulnerable-looking prey.
While gated communities in Los Angeles are based on an ethic of fear, members are at least locked into their compounds together; Many Portlanders, enjoying the benefits of lower property costs, have chosen to make each house into a single-family fortress. Instead of pitting community against community, this individualized method of security pits neighbor against neighbor.
After a rash of thefts in suburban Vancouver, WA, residents rushed out to buy the most sophisticated alarm system on the block (no doubt unwittingly signaling to criminals that there was something really good inside). Others acquired attack dogs which, although I have not yet heard of one catching a criminal, really put the fear of God into local children and joggers. Some groups did institute neighborhood watch programs, which, as I understand, means you're supposed to call the police when you see someone breaking into your neighbor's house. It irritates me to no end that someone would need a program for this, but if it takes a criminal invasion to get neighbors talking to one another, so be it.
In the really posh areas, most houses are too heavily secluded to be watched by their neighbors. There are no sidewalks, no front porches, and no comforting porch lights shining onto the street. **pic of rich residential portland or vancouver**Often, there are not even street signs, a safety measure which ensures that once a non-resident gets lost in the area, she will drive up and down the same dark road for hours until she either gets picked up by the police, or commits a felony out of sheer frustration.
As for community, how could there be one here? Houses are not built in communities, but instead leapfrog down one long road out into the wilderness. This is the great escape, the final ironic twist in the story of overconsumption: realizing that they could lose all their stuff if anyone found out how much stuff they had, the rich have taken to the hills like bandits. As the road extends farther into what remains of Northwest forests, the new occupants of capillary hillside homes can rest assured that (at least for awhile) they have secured escape from the rest of the human race.
Such an escape does sound enticing, until I remember the strain it puts on our natural resources not to mention our dwindling faith/trust in each other. Much as we may want to "get away from it all", there just isn't anywhere to go, nor is there any reason to hope that things will get better if we barricade ourselves and sit it out. Hiding from the problems of the world outside the gates will only exacerbate those problems; facing them together might get something useful done. Besides, neighbors who know you by name will be far less likely to let their dog piddle in your yard.
On one street in Palo Alto, CA, neighbors send stamped letters to one another asking that dogs be kept on leashes and leaf blowers be used in moderation. Although houses are only a few feet away from one another, the US Postal Service mediates all neighbor contact. There have been no thefts in recent memory, but residents keep their doors locked anyway.