The other day I found myself at a big airport. I’m happy to discover the perfect flying book waiting for me on the shelf at Concourse A. It was (but briefly) a text that captured the imagination of experts in Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson’s new book, Abundance. It’s about what you want to make into an airport book.
A brief review: “Abundance” is the superficial view that American urban and environmental politics, or liberal politics, aims to reconstruct its tactics more optimistically. Certainly, it appears to be outdated in May 2025, and the book was undoubtedly written before President Donald Trump’s reelection and subsequent descent away from the constitution. It is difficult to think clearly about public policy at the moment, so I give the authors a path as to whether their text predicted Zeitgeist.
This means that this book is not a genius work. Other than a few examples such as zoning reform, infrastructure costs, or semi-environmental regulations, we don’t dive deep into policy details. But for a 20,000-foot story, it’s a push in the right direction, a convenient reconstruction that goes beyond the debate of urban housing.
“Lower Liberals”
The book offers a broad range of criticisms of liberal urban governance, focusing specifically on housing and green infrastructure. After a refreshing introduction, the chapter laid out simple essentials, such as builds, deployments, governments, and more, each focuses on case studies of “blue state” failures that follow the stated ideals. Jumping every few paragraphs from quote to quote, this book is mostly read like an annotated reference. Here, there is the sheen of Ralph Nader, Ed Glaser, Matt Iglesias, Mankarl Olson, Robert Caro, John Maynard Keynes and Bill McKibben.
The author has repeatedly delved into the hypocrisy of a less affordable but “welcome” city, delving into soft slogans like “lawn sign liberals” and “liberal lawyers.” Given the facts on the ground regarding population growth and housing values, it is not unconvincing.
Whether it’s an original or not is a different story. As a slogan, the idea of ”richness” has long existed since at least the 1990s in the field of creativity (see Julia Cameron) or in the decade of mainstream housing advocacy. This is not to say it’s a useless pivot. In fact, it is probably a good framing for future urban agendas, at least if the country finds itself on the other side of its existential political crisis.
For me, the usefulness of the rich concepts became apparent after years of spending the deadlock in gentlemanship. (See this column for example. I didn’t get a bit of a pushback in this column.) Twelve years ago, I attended a meeting on creative placemaking in New York City and found myself endlessly detouring conversations about Zerosum gentlemanship. A Brooklyn friend explained that he and his partner wanted a wave of crime in their Bedsty neighborhood, so rent may remain low enough for them to afford to stay there. (He was half-joking.) That’s exactly what Klein and Thompson, and the generation of student supporters have been trying to avoid for a long time.
The other day I found myself at a big airport. I’m happy to discover the perfect flying book waiting for me on the shelf at Concourse A.
However, much of the urban housing conversation in blue states and cities takes place throughout this “sufficient” framework, and it is perceived that new housing always comes at the expense of existing residents. This is why suggestions to turn vacant lots into apartment buildings, add parks to busy streets, and improve transport are often overwhelmed by debates about who will benefit from the change and whether it is the right group of people. To some extent this is useful, but Klein and Thompson have set aside time to point out the inverse qualitative nature of this approach becoming a city norm.
For “richness”, the best illustrations of their overall critique lie in the hypocrisy of the blue city around the house. There, exclusive zoning and dog whispers like “neighborhood characters” make most neighborhoods uncontrollable or deeply vulnerable. (Believe it or not, Twin Cities offer the best exception to this rule, at least for now.) This is probably why the term “abundance” has already been in the widespread distribution of housing advocacy over the years.
Zerosum concept and abundance
Three years ago, I attended a meeting in Portland called Imivitown, centered around housing advocacy. At the event, half of my conversations were focused on the question of whether they had the right name for the meeting or were they marginalized brands. (For the sake of the record, they haven’t changed it yet.) Yimby’s moniker is frustrating for many supporters as it reinforces the binary that evokes the idea of zero-sum. My victory is your loss. This works around constant acronyms: Nimby vs Inbey, as well as Finby (public housing in my backyard), or those who demand that all new homes be subsidized and permanently affordable.
Binary logic is frustrating as most of the supporters I know agree on some basic things. First, American housing policy has long been plagued by damaging zoning regulations rooted in race and classism. Secondly, we need more housing of all kinds. Most supporters adopt the “yes” framework and promote subsidies, market rates, social/public housing, and incremental (ADU) housing. This is why we’ve been gathering for years under a more comprehensive and abundant banner for our rich residential Massachusetts, rich residential LA, or (our fun local example) neighbors.
“Abundance” not only ends in housing, but also covers many seemingly well-meaning bureaucratic hurdles in other areas. For example, the author invokes policy failures on climate and transportation infrastructure. This is another familiar critique of the cost of funding for an electric grid expansion or transportation project. (A good example is Dave Roberts’ great podcast conversation with Climate Policy Wonks, or Alon Levy’s tireless efforts to point out the bloated infrastructure costs of the US.) This book, for example, has passed the California Environmental Quality Act (CEQA) and a 1972 court of law making changes to America. (A local example is the weaponization of the Minnesota Environmental Rights Act to hold the Minneapolis 2040 plan.)
The authors similarly use the vast high-speed projects in California to explain the time frame and budget costs of transportation infrastructure. This is a critique that applies to those following the ongoing construction narrative of Green Line Light Rail Extensions. Yet another auditor’s report was released, but efforts to reform last year’s Met Council failed as Klein and Thompson might predict. Throughout the book, the lack of strong leadership focused on changing status quo, as perpetrators are found in bureaucratic inertia and helpless governance structures. U.S. cities don’t have the internal capabilities they need to build to change regulations and cost burdens.
It is not very important whether the author is correct about the details of the policy. Self-driving cars and sustainable aviation fuels are gold shades of different fools, so they may not be, but the results are useful even if they are too early. I am somewhat skeptical that this kind of message can be delivered in today’s media environment. For example, how does this differ from Kamala Harris’ “opportunity economy” or Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez seeking a green new deal? It can be argued that both of these well-known campaigns are essentially about wealth.
The big difference I think is that they didn’t point out the correct problem with their numbers, in this case the barriers established by the city’s liberal governance. It’s a useful move, at least around housing and climate infrastructure. And certainly, the politics of abundance is easier to protect than the opposition, i.e. rarity. That alone is a useful lesson to focus on a relentless, positive vision. If anything, those seeking climate urbanism can use all the optimism they can get right now.
