I graduated with a doctorate in urban planning 20 years after earning a master’s degree in architecture. Though my pre-doctoral training provided an indispensable foundation, I became increasingly concerned with problems that extended far past any single building site — questions of environmental quality, access and connectivity, and the way the design of cities impacts social justice. The flow of air, water and politics doesn’t stop at the lot line.
That doctorate and the teaching and research that followed eventually led me to WashU and my current position as the inaugural director of sustainable design and environmental justice for the Sam Fox School of Design & Visual Arts. This opportunity allows me to work across disciplines and with a range of partners to position designers central to the conversation of sustainability and spatial justice. Now is a particularly difficult time to focus on these topics, which perhaps makes it all the more critical to deeply commit.
I call part of my research “measuring what matters,” which challenges the idea that economic growth and profit are the best measures of a society’s success. Since its inception, GDP — gross domestic product — has been a terrible measure of quality of life, though governments put an exorbitant amount of emphasis on its rise. For one, GDP relies on a model of excess production and consumption that all but guarantees unnecessary resource depletion and waste. Alternative measures exist, including those that consider the costs of environmental losses, like clean air and water, and the benefits of hard-to-measure social assets like community connections, volunteerism or intergenerational households.
For example, research I conducted with Sam Fox School lecturer Bomin Kim, AB ’13, DrSU ’23, looks at the “true cost” of relocating the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency to north St. Louis — an area of the city that has suffered decades of disinvestment and neglect. We argue that the “win” of preserved tax revenue should’ve been evaluated in light of the loss of community connectivity, small businesses, cultural and architectural heritage, and the inherited wealth of homeownership.
Disasters like the devastating EF3 tornado that swept through St. Louis last May further exposed the compounded risks for neighborhoods already strained and undermined. The swath of tragic destruction that felled over 3,000 trees in Forest Park alone and damaged some 5,000 structures impacted both Clayton and north St. Louis, but response and recovery look very different in the two neighborhoods. Home ownership and rates of insurance are higher in Clayton, as is annual income, typically equating to a stronger safety net.
Resilience — often defined as the ability to bounce back (or better yet, bounce forward) after unexpected tragedy — relies on that reservoir of capacity that can be tapped in times of need. When resources are already stretched thin — when there is no slack in the system — resilience can be an out-of-reach luxury, and the discrepancy between those who have it and those who don’t is further widening with the rising threats of climate change. Already over-burdened by the impacts of environmental and social injustices, how does a family just staying afloat prepare for the multidirectional barrage of heat stress, flooding, rising food costs and a once-in-a-lifetime tornado?
There is the kind of resilience that money doesn’t buy, and that is the irreplaceable social safety net of strong community networks. Local organizations have been the heroes of St. Louis’ tornado recovery. Organizations like 4theVille led by Aaron Williams, AB ’08; Invest STL led by Dara Eskridge; and Action St. Louis led by Kayla Reed, AB ’20, mobilized immediately to help victims of the tornado. (See a profile of Williams in the December 2025 digital issue of WashU Magazine.) With the support of hundreds of volunteers, this ad hoc emergency response served the critical needs of thousands of residents by providing household necessities, food and building-stabilization assistance. They continue to serve impacted neighbors.
If we want to imagine equitable recovery a year from now, 10 years from now, we have to provide — then go beyond — the economic needs of residents. Material impacts are huge, but the environmental and social damages are also real and deep. We should measure long-term success not only by dollars, but by improved overall quality of life. This includes healthy people and places supported by intergenerational community ties, with vibrant and preserved histories and cultures, in places free from toxins and ripe with resilience. Resiliency should be a right, not a privilege or a burden, and every community should have that stash of assurance readily available.
