Photo by Sanjeev Kugan via Uplash.

How often do you think about the physical makeup of your city? I’m not referring to the demographics or the sea of Chiefs fans, but rather the highways, streets and sidewalks—the infrastructure that fades into the background of our daily routines. Chances are, you don’t think about it very often. But these seemingly mundane elements of urban life may have more influence over how we live than you realize. 

One of the most significant concepts in urban planning is “urban sprawl.” This term describes the way a city expands as its population grows. Instead of building upward, creating dense, compact urban environments like New York City, many cities expand outward, covering more land in the process. The result is a sprawling city that may take up twice as much land as its original boundaries, with suburbs growing right along with it. Today, when you look at satellite images, you don’t just see cities bordered by farmland or nature. Instead, you see cities spilling into expansive suburbs, stitched together by ever-increasing highways, interstates, and vast seas of parking lots. This spread impacts everything from commuting times to the environment, influencing how we navigate our daily lives, often without us even noticing.

The spread-out nature of suburban developments means that homes, schools, stores and workplaces are often too far apart to walk or bike comfortably. Instead, residents are forced to rely on cars as their primary mode of transportation. This shift has profoundly shaped both the design of our cities and our daily habits. The need for parking lots, wide roads and highway systems becomes paramount, pushing out pedestrian-friendly spaces, bike lanes and efficient public transit routes.

This car-centric approach to urban planning has come with numerous consequences. Commuting times have stretched as suburbanites spend more time in traffic, contributing to stress and reducing quality of life. Environmentally, this car dependency has led to higher greenhouse gas emissions and increased pollution. As cars became a necessity rather than a choice, we’ve seen urban landscapes transform into sprawling networks of roads and parking lots, all of which are designed to support one mode of transportation, often at the expense of more sustainable and equitable alternatives.

Parking 

I’ll admit, as someone who lives on The Hill, I’m always on the lookout for the best parking spot. I’ve often complained about the lack of student parking close to the buildings where I live and attend class. But here’s the thing—this doesn’t actually reflect my broader views on parking. If anything, I believe we should have far less of it. In the U.S., there are an estimated 2 billion parking spaces, which amounts to more than six spots per car. This seems absurd at first glance but it starts to make sense when you consider how we got here. For decades, urban planning guidelines have recommended between five to ten parking spots for every 1,000 square feet of commercial building space. Think about the sprawling parking lots outside big-box stores or strip malls. How often have you seen these lots completely full? Chances are, not very often. The reality is we simply have too much parking.

At first, this might not seem like a problem. After all, what’s wrong with having more of a good thing? But parking isn’t free—it comes at a cost, both financially and environmentally. Let’s start with the financial side. Parking spaces require land and land costs money. Developers either purchase this land themselves, passing the cost on to consumers in the form of higher rent or prices or it’s subsidized by local governments, which means taxpayers foot the bill. In his article Why Free Parking is Bad for Everyone Joseph Stromberg explains, “Whether they’re [parking spots] constructed along with apartment buildings or shopping complexes, this cost ultimately gets passed along to consumers, in the form of rent or the price of goods.” This is especially unfair to those who don’t drive, often lower-income individuals, who end up subsidizing parking they never use. One estimate suggests that non-car owners in the U.S. collectively pay as much as half a billion dollars for parking spaces they don’t even benefit from.

Then there’s the environmental cost. Every summer, I try to spend time outside barefoot, only to be reminded of just how much hotter pavement is than grass. This isn’t just a minor inconvenience—it’s part of a larger issue. Cities are often referred to as “heat islands” because the abundance of roads, buildings, and parking lots makes them significantly hotter than surrounding areas. This heat has real consequences, from increased energy consumption for cooling to exacerbating health risks, especially for vulnerable populations. 

Additionally, parking lots contribute to water pollution. As Reimagining Parking: Unlikely Spaces for Climate Resilience notes, “Runoff from parking lots often contains high levels of pollutants. With nothing to absorb and redirect it, this heavily polluted runoff may end up in waterways,” harming aquatic ecosystems and contributing to the degradation of water quality. Ultimately, the surplus of parking spaces is an unsustainable and costly problem. Reducing the number of parking spots and reimagining how we use that space, whether that’s green infrastructure, parks or even affordable housing, could lead to healthier, more equitable and more resilient communities.

Interstates

Our interstate system is out of control. For decades, the mantra has been “expand, expand, expand,” leading to sprawling highways and massive interchanges like the notorious “Mixmaster” in Texas. These enormous infrastructure projects are often celebrated as symbols of progress and connectivity but they have come with serious social and environmental costs.

One of the most troubling aspects of the interstate system is its racist legacy. Highways were deliberately routed through predominantly Black neighborhoods, devastating these communities in the name of urban renewal and progress. This wasn’t an accident—it was part of a larger strategy that favored wealthier, predominantly white suburbs while isolating and marginalizing poorer urban areas. The result has been segregation. Highways serve as physical and social barriers between rich, often white, neighborhoods and poorer, more racially diverse areas. The historical context of this is important. During the mid-20th century, when the interstate system was being expanded, federal and local governments used highway construction as a tool to clear so-called “blighted” areas, which were often home to communities of color. These communities were labeled as such, not because of inherent deficiencies, but because of systemic disinvestment, redlining, and racial discrimination in housing policies. Bulldozing these neighborhoods to make way for highways allowed governments and developers to reconfigure cities in a way that prioritized the convenience and interests of suburban commuters at the expense of urban residents. 

The impact on these communities has been devastating. Homes were demolished, businesses were displaced and entire neighborhoods were wiped off the map. The construction of highways didn’t just disrupt the physical space—it tore apart the social fabric of these areas, displacing families and severing community ties. In many cases, residents were given little compensation and few options for relocation. These projects solidified economic and racial divides, creating an infrastructure that prioritizes cars and suburban living while neglecting public transportation and walkable urban spaces that would benefit lower-income residents.

The legacy of this planning is still evident today. Highways continue to act as barriers that separate wealthier, whiter neighborhoods from poorer, predominantly Black and Latino communities. These divisions are more than just geographic—they reinforce economic and social inequality. Residents on the “wrong” side of the highway are often cut off from economic opportunities, quality schools and public services. Meanwhile, wealthier neighborhoods are insulated from the challenges facing these communities, perpetuating cycles of poverty and segregation.

The environmental consequences of this interstate expansion are also significant. Highways contribute to pollution—in terms of air quality and noise as well as  their disproportionate affect on the health of those living near them. Studies have shown that communities living close to major highways experience higher rates of asthma, cardiovascular disease, and other health problems linked to pollution. Once again, it’s the same marginalized communities—often Black, Latino, and low-income—that bear the brunt of these environmental hazards. 

While it is true that the inventions of cars, roads, and interstates have improved the lives of many, it is also important to notice the harms they have caused. It is not my aim to convince you that cars are evil, but instead encourage you to think of a better tomorrow, where maybe we could resolve some of these issues.

However, the highway plan is not without its controversies, and some citizens still oppose it to this day.  Called “the most disputed stretch of concrete in Douglas County” by the “Lawrence Journal-World,” the South Lawrence Trafficway was first proposed in the 1990s and faced immense backlash.  While its western portion was completed in 1996, legal battles over the eastern section, which would include an area known as the Haskell and Baker Wetlands, continued for decades.  As a result, a bridge constructed at the same time as the western route to connect the two highway partitions became known as “The Bridge to Nowhere.”

Environmentalists and Native Americans were the major opposing parties, and both argued that development near the wetlands would destroy its natural environment.  The Kansas Department of Transportation eventually reached a compromise with both groups and promised to employ numerous organizations, such as the Army Corps of Engineers, the Federal Highway Administration and Baker University to help preserve the land around the proposed highway.  After the South Lawrence Trafficway is completed, these organizations will work to restore wetlands and habitats that may have been destroyed by the construction process, as well as create educational facilities and bike and hiking trails around the wetlands.

The completed highway is also expected to attract Johnson County and Topeka residents, as it will also serve as a route between the two areas.  In addition to the eastern side of the project, another bridge will be erected to accommodate further travel.