Katrina Johnston-Zimmerman, MUS AlumWhen I applied to the Master of Urban Studies program at Portland State University, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I had done a year of fine arts, transitioned into art history, and finally landed in anthropology. Then I recognized what I had loved all along: the study of people. It wasn’t until my final semester as an undergraduate, however, that I realized I wanted to focus on cities.
I had greatly enjoyed linguistics, dabbled in archaeology (including a summer field school in Cyprus), and had almost certainly settled on studying sociology, but what area of sociology kept eluding me. It was funny that, when I finally decided to study cities, I was going to school in Phoenix, Arizona. That was my first experience living in a large city (and as a non-driving urban inhabitant at that!). I didn’t have to look hard to know that the city wasn’t built for someone like me. And there were many people like me, biking to the bus on the way to campus, desperately searching for a park or plaza amidst miles of strip malls. I longed for the walkability and social programs in cities I had visited abroad, such as Copenhagen or Stockholm.
But one moment that I’ll never forget gave me the insight I needed to pursue a master of urban studies degree. While working in a student position for a research lab with archaeologist Michael E. Smith, I was first exposed to the seminal urbanists Jane Jacobs and William H. “Holly” Whyte. I had been researching public space (and open space more broadly) in cities throughout space and time and finally worked my way up to the present. It came as a great surprise, then, to discover that my daily trials living in a car-centric city were already talked about! And even more so, these legends, Smith and Whyte, were essentially practicing anthropologists without having been trained in research methods. There was even a whole community around the subject of urbanism as well as degrees specializing in urban studies that allowed people to do applied research and help move the needle toward these human-centered cities I so loved.
In short, I was hooked and determined to further my education to become an applied urban anthropologist in the world of urban planning and architecture like my idols before me.
As I investigated programs, Portland State stood out like a lighthouse. It had it all—a better climate (for one) but also a high quality of life. Biking and walking were standard. The city was compact. And if you needed to go farther, there was always the streetcar or bus network. It sounded like heaven, and the faculty and multidisciplinary focus on city systems set me on the path to apply. I really didn’t think I was guaranteed to get in, of course, despite my firm dedication to my thesis proposal and no other path forward for my career. But there I was, crying over my acceptance letter, proud to be the first in my family to pursue higher education.
Yet more than that, I was honored to have been given the opportunity to explore my subject with reckless abandon. I wanted to recreate the same kind of public space study that Whyte had designed in New York City during the 1960s and ’70s, but this wasn’t entirely a common idea. As an anthropologist in the urbanist space, I was absolutely an outsider—a qualitative researcher wanting to observe rather than necessarily plan. I found the perfect place for this observation—the plaza outside of the main building of the urban studies program. It was a challenging spatial environment: filled with steep grade changes, a lack of seating or green space, odd angles and nooks, and even the first at-grade streetcar tracks! My public space study was ambitious but a dream come true, thanks to the support of the staff and faculty, who clearly saw my determination. Two years later, my study was complete, and I was graduating with the same dedication and optimism to pursue this craft professionally.
But like every moment in my life... I know it’s where I’ve come from that has led me to now and builds to the future.
Fast forward nearly ten years, and I’m still as dedicated to making our cities better than ever before. In that time, I’ve attempted to carry out these studies full-time in various positions—from nonprofit work to private design work to a role as an academic research lab technician and an adjunct educator. I’ve even been a consultant for local business improvement districts and international firms—making my way from New York City to Philadelphia, the place I’ve called home for the past six years. At present, I’m a fellow for the city of Philadelphia, where I’m researching best practices for smart city policy around data equity and privacy—something that impacts us all in public spaces in cities globally (whether you know it or not!).
But even more than that, I’ve come into my own as an advocate, not only for the publicness of public space, but also for gender equity in our cities more broadly. It’s a new subject, to be honest, not something I had much exposure to in my education, and not a standard practice within most urban planning or architecture programs. But after experiencing for myself the alienation of being a kind of second-class citizen within a city in a few different ways, I couldn’t unsee it. My exploration led me to speak up in different capacities, from a grant-funded series of workshops in Philadelphia to a panel at SXSW and even a TEDx talk—all of which led to the most humbling award when I was named one of the BBC’s 100 Women in the World in 2019! (Still pinching myself on that last one to be sure.)
My guiding light throughout it all, in my personal and professional life, has been to go where I’m wanted. Most of the talks I’ve given at dozens of conferences have been by invitation. When coordinators find me and my work, I respond with an enthusiastic yes! They take a chance on me every time—much like Portland State did when they invited an ambitious (and maybe naively optimistic) anthropologist with a dream of changing our cities for a more human- and heart-centered future. I have never stopped being willing, and I am forever grateful for those who have given me the guidance necessary to succeed.
I’m looking back while writing this essay after my most recent trip to give a talk for the Congreso Futuro conference at the invitation of the Senate of Chile. As part of this two-week trip, a group of us was lucky enough to take a trip to Antarctica and visit the Chilean Antarctica research institute, INACH, to learn more about the work that “ambassador cities,” such as Punta Arenas, are doing for this very special continent. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and one that I never imagined I would have. But like every moment in my life, like when I’m preparing a talk, I know it’s where I’ve come from that has led me to now and builds to the future.
In my dream for the future of cities (as I say in my talks), it’s always valuable to look to the past. While we don’t always have a clear vision of what transpired, we can clearly see the benefit of coming together as a community and co-creating a better habitat for us humans. Whether that’s as artists or urban planners, activists or politicians, we benefit from environments that promote knowledge-sharing and allow for critical thought. I’m always asking the question—have we done it better before? If the answer is yes, or if we already understand full well what we need, then we can do it again. We have invented these artificial habitats for ourselves and each other and have designed everything about them despite limited capacity in recent years. We have the power to make cities better if we dream big—and if we help co-empower the next generation of urbanists with the tools necessary to do so. Learn more about my work at thinkurban.org.