Abstract
New public management, in its focus on outcomes and performance, provokes a question on whether there is a value-tradeoff between ethics and performance. The new–old creed of administrators have arguably been focused on a need to produce results—to get things done—to the extent that they could sometimes overlook unethical implications of their actions. This happens at a time when ethicists are looking at ways to emphasize non-teleological ethical reasoning, which creates a problem for public administration. This article uses the case of Overtown, a predominantly African American neighborhood near Downtown Miami that was once dubbed the Harlem of the South, to explore the ethics of administrative actions. Administrative actions, often driven by the pressure to get things done, in Overtown were behind the demise of this neighborhood. The article makes the case for ethics testing to accompany any moves to institutionalize managing-for-results in cases of community development, education, housing, health, and other areas that affect people directly.
A key pillar of “No Child Left Behind” (Department of Education, n.d.) was “stronger accountability for results.” One of the most sweeping education reforms passed in 2001, this legislation called for improved test scores, comparison/benchmarking of the scores, and increased accountability based on student achievement scores. Allegations of gaming the system, pushing weak students out of school, and narrower curricula have plagued this initiative. For instance, some schools excluded weaker students from the test through encouraged absenteeism, some were more likely to dismiss a weak student than a strong student even if they had the same behavior violation, and in some cases, teachers were helping weaker students cheat on the test—all unethical actions that one would not normally expect from teachers and principals. However, for school administrators and teachers, meeting the standards was a question of survival (Monty, 2003).
Whether we call it management for results, managerialism, performance accountability, or benchmarking, it is hard to miss economic rationalism as it has resurged in public administration in the 1980s and has been relentless ever since (Heinrich, 2002; Kamensky, 1996; Pollitt, 1990; Sanger, 2008; Savoie, 1994). There are many writings on the prevalence of these outcome-based reforms in government. This article is particularly interested in the ethical implications of outcome-based public management on communities of color. It makes a case for a balance between outcome-driven management and ethical consequences of outcomes.
The focus on outcomes and benchmarking leads to a culture of competition, which in turn creates a conflict of values for administrators. In other words, the traditional values of Public Administration (e.g., economy, effectiveness, and efficiency) become at odds with equity, which seeks to ensure that “all social groups will have the same prospects for success and the same opportunities to be protected from the adversities of life” (Johnson & Svara, 2011, p. 3). Since Frederickson’s (2010) call for making social equity the fourth pillar of public administration, efforts have been put forth to ensure that administrators are more cognizant of how their respective actions affect all groups in society. However, the culture of competition has likely yielded a new–old creed of administrators who are so focused on a need to produce results—get things done—that they could overlook the unethical implications of their actions. To elaborate on the absence of accountability for unethical outcomes, the article uses the case of administrative actions in the predominantly African American Overtown neighborhood located near Downtown Miami. It further advocates for ethics testing to accompany any moves to institutionalize managing-for-results specifically in cases of community development, education, housing, health, and other areas that affect people directly.
The investigation into Overtown serves as an opportunity to critically explore the consequences of results-based outcomes of urban development efforts in the mid-20th century. This case study examines the juxtaposition between ethics and performance with a specific emphasis on the dichotomous outcomes for White and Black residents in Miami. This distinction is fundamental to what Arendt recognized in her research as the role of British functionaries (administrators) who served citizens (Whites) and controlled the subjects (minorities) in an ongoing relationship between the mob (elite private and political interests) and capital (Alkadry & Blessett, 2010). Within the context of urban redevelopment, race and class differences often dictated policy outcomes, engagement opportunities, and access to resources. Svara’s (2007) ethics triangle is used as the theoretical framework to explore the responsibilities of a democratic public administrator. Subsequently, the American Society for Public Administration (ASPA) Code of Ethics is applied as a practical guide for administrative behaviors. This article compiles data from numerous secondary sources to understand administrative actions within the context of ethics in both theory and practice.
The article is divided into four sections. First, we discuss the ethical responsibilities of democratic public administrators using Svara’s (2007) ethics triangle to articulate the balance needed to pursue the public interest. Highlighting the revised ASPA Code of Ethics, we argue that public administrators must be accountable to all citizens to lessen the possibility of unethical actions. Second, we attempt to develop ideas about the perils of results-based management, especially in cases where vulnerable and powerless individuals are concerned. These issues are exemplified broadly by highlighting examples of urban redevelopment in the 20th century that have disproportionately disadvantaged African American communities. Third, we make the case that administrative actions in Overtown, largely the pressure to get things done, were behind the destruction of the neighborhood and the dispossession of its residents. This case, like many others, occurred in an environment where the drive for results was not explicitly mandated but seemed to implicitly drive administrative actions. In the final section, we conclude with a discussion of lessons learned and recommend a future direction for the field of public administration.
The Ethics Triangle
The nature of administrative work is outcome oriented. Administrators are hired to get things done and to deliver outcomes for the public. In the past few decades, particularly after the Holocaust and the Nuremberg Trials, public administration scholars argued for ethical standards to accompany the delivery of public services. This was a realization that administrators have a duty to balance the varying interests in a way that produces democratic outcomes. In this section, we discuss the different models of ethical reasoning that have governed American public administration, and the prevalence and evolution of ethical standards in the field. We first discuss the models of ethical reasoning, then we discuss Svara’s democratic administrator model, followed by a discussion of the evolution of ethical standards in the field.
When discussing ethics, at least three normative theories are usually identified: deontology, teleology, and virtue. Deontology refers to an absolute or strict adherence to rules, protocol, and organizational procedures. This approach can be likened to Weber’s bureaucratic philosophy, whereby administrators are confined to the dictates of the hierarchy, bounded by rules, and assumed technical experts within the framework of objectivity and subordination. It is argued that the deontological or principle-based approach is advantageous for several reasons: It provides an external source of ethical guidance, principles by their nature—to act or not to act—are independently valid, and finally, the principles for which this approach is based offer guidance about how to act or what to do (Svara, 2007).
Teleology, however, represents a utilitarian philosophy, in other words, “get the job done” by any means necessary. This approach argues that an action is only right or wrong based on its consequences; therefore, to get the job done, the focus is on efficiency, a cost-benefit analysis, or the market model (Svara, 2007). Although this rational approach is highly valued in public administration, it is important to note that contextual factors are minimized in the decision-making process. Thus, while economic goals may be achieved, social goals may be compromised in the process. Public administrators often find themselves caught in the middle of this paradox as conflicting ethical approaches have blurred the lines of responsibility and responsiveness with respect to meeting the needs of superiors and the citizenry.
Last, virtue/intuition make up a third area of ethical consideration for public administrators. Svara (2007) argues that, philosophically, ethics is rooted in three concepts: an understanding of duty (the behaviors expected of a person who occupy certain roles), virtue (qualities that define what a good person is), and principle (fundamental truths that inform the basis for behavior). A fourth concept, benefits to society (actions that produce the greatest good for the greatest number), recognizes the unique nature of public service and attempts to consider the broad implications for public policies, resources, and service delivery in a democratic society (Svara, 2007). Svara (2007) articulates the responsibilities of a democratic administrator as
putting the public interest over personal interest, displaying a service orientation and a commitment to serve, having a commitment to procedural fairness, exercising fiduciary responsibility, be bound by and uphold the law, supporting the democratic process, and being responsive to the policy goals of political superiors while fairly examining all policy options and exercising leadership appropriate to the position. (p. 28)
These ethical principles are representative of a public service orientation that values fairness, justice, and equity. This framework recognizes that public administration ethics is rooted in a sense of duty to serve others, for the benefit of society, or to pursue the public interest (Svara, 2007). In this regard, the public interest is an interesting concept because for an administrator, the citizenry is comprised of diverse stakeholders with very divergent interests. Therefore, public administrators are constantly faced with having to reconcile the competing and sometimes conflicting interests (and values) of the numerous stakeholders that they are encouraged to serve, and who are affected by policy decisions.
Collectively, each of these components is foundational to a model of administrative ethics that attempts to balance virtue, principles, and good consequences, while promoting the public interest. Ultimately, each approach has advantages and disadvantages, and one strategy that is frequently recommended in the literature is a combined approach. For example, Bowman, West, and Beck (2010) suggest the use of Svara’s (2007) “Ethics Triangle” because it avoids the over- or under-utilization of a particular model. Bowman et al. assert, “Since antiquity, people have relied upon their personal characters to guide them when confronted with dilemmas” (p. 77). Thus, virtue—the qualities of a person—is significantly important for understanding the (un)ethical actions and behaviors of administrators.
The virtue-based approach to ethics is becoming increasingly relevant for public administrators, particularly as society becomes more diverse, and disparity is perpetuated along race, ethnicity, sex, and class groups. In this context, virtue ethics places more emphasis on the moral character of the administrator and on his or her intuition in conducting public affairs. Therefore, it is recognized as a more personal and subjective approach. Stivers (2002) writes that the “virtuous public administrator not only protects and upholds the public interest but serves as an exemplar of virtue to others” (p. 82). While the public administrator who uses a virtue-based approach may intuitively select the honorable path, “the truly virtuous administrator may be good but not know how to do good” (Svara, 2007, p. 52), one reality being that “right versus wrong” decisions are easier to make than those that involve “right versus right” choices.
The direction toward virtue ethics is obvious in the formulation and reformulation of the Code of Ethics for the ASPA. In 1984, ASPA adopted the profession’s first code of ethics. The approved principles and standards sought to
. . . guide the conduct of ASPA members not merely in preventing wrong, in pursing right through timely and energetic execution of responsibilities . . . the members of the Society, recognizing the critical role of conscience in choosing among courses of action and take into account the moral ambiguities of life . . . . (ASPA, 1984, p. 1)
Despite an explicit set of guiding principles and a thorough articulation of the behavioral expectations, public administration and administrators have been criticized for the unequal representation of women and minorities in public institutions (Alkadry & Tower, 2013; Berry-James, 2010; Riccucci, 2002, 2012), inequality in the criminal justice system (Blessett, 2012; Brunet, 2011), health (Alkadry, Bhandari, Wilson, & Blessett, 2011; Hug, 2011), and educational outcomes (Stiefel, Schwartz, & Ellen, 2011). Even with a code of ethics, public administration is deeply embedded in each of these areas and, therefore, should be more proactive in facilitating the effective, efficient, equitable, and just outcomes that are critical for all citizens to lead productive lives in society.
Since its adoption, the ASPA code of ethics (“the Code” from here on) has been revised in 1994 and 2011. This most recent iteration of “the Code” considered three recommendations. First, there was a recommendation to elevate three former sub-points to principles—social equity, democratic participation in governance, and the obligation to provide full information and advice. This recommendation acknowledges the role of administrators to minimize disparity and inequity for all citizens, have proactive interactions with the public, and serve as stewards of knowledge through effective communication. The second recommendation was to make the Code shorter with the principles and sub-points listed separately. The recommendation recognizes that for a code of ethics to be useful, it must be an explicit and concise governing structure for administrators to operate within. The third recommendation was to use the language that is aspirational, so it would call for the highest level of ethical conduct and express the social responsibilities of public administrators (ASPA, 2013). This recommendation sought to inspire administrators to find their “virtuous self” or consider the question, “What sort of person should I be?” rather than “What sorts of action should I do?” (Hursthouse, 2012, p. 514).
Although such changes to “the Code” are encompassing of the diversity of people and complexity of societal problems, it appears that ASPA is making an attempt to thoughtfully consider the persistent disparities that exist with regard to access, engagement, and the impact of administrative actions and behaviors on marginalized populations and communities. However, questions remain: How do you ensure that public administrators abide by the principles and standards outlined by the profession? What types of sanctions or penalties (if deemed the best way to hold public administrators feet to the proverbial fire) are appropriate for unethical behaviors, particularly for those actions that are grounded in moral rather than a legal framework? In other words, a code of ethics is a great way to set a foundation for the actions of professionals within a specific vocation, but for it to fulfill its true objectives, public administrators must be motivated (intrinsically or extrinsically) to serve the public.
Diversity and the Ethic of Getting Things Done
Should administrators effectively balance professional and ethical standards outlined by the job and those expected by society? What role does race and class have in considering the outcomes of public policy decisions? How should administrators respond to the conflicting structure that promotes rationality and utility maximization at the expense of public values like democracy, liberty, and justice? These social equity questions are important to the field of public administration, although social equity has often been an afterthought in the history of administrative reforms in the American public administration.
Since the 1880s, the field of public administration was focused on achieving effectiveness and efficiency, while trying to balance the conflicting values of democracy and equality (Simon, 1946). Within orthodox public administration, the focus on technical-rationality seemed to ignore the influence of history, context, and politics in the development and implementation of public policies (Wilson, 1887). This foundation established a framework that valued the outcomes, results, and “getting the job done” without consideration for how vulnerable individuals, groups, and communities were affected. In many respects, this is no surprise as issues of race and class have always been at the forefront of the American consciousness even when it is not mentioned explicitly. Thus, public institutions, policies, and resources have been used to maintain the status quo, while outwardly evoking impressions of fairness and equality. In the United States, many public policy decisions (e.g., voting, housing, education, employment) have racial implications and undertones. Yet, the role of race is rarely articulated, nor are connections made to reveal the adverse implications the aforementioned policies have on communities of color.
Urban redevelopment exemplifies the influence of race in the development and implementation of public policies, the cooptation of public institutions and resources, and the actions of administrators, which produced divergent outcomes for Blacks and Whites (Alkadry & Blessett, 2010). Public institutions have always been embedded with discriminatory practices that aggregated advantage and disadvantage along racial and class lines. For example, the Federal Housing Authority Underwriting Manual considered any change in the social or racial occupancy of a given neighborhood as factors that would likely contribute to instability or declining property values (Witt, 2006). The Home Owners’ Loan Corporation (HOLC) became known for consistently undervaluing older central city communities that were racially or ethnically mixed (Jackson, 1985; Massey & Denton, 1993). The American Road Builders Association and the American Association of State Highway Officials all took a firm stance to eliminate slums, contribute to the appreciation of property values, and counter the threat posed to slum housing (Mohl, 2001a). These entities were fundamental in concentrating poverty in urban communities across the country.
Hirsch (2000) uncovers the collective effects of federal housing agencies establishing rules for sanctioned discrimination against African Americans. He states,
Examining the policies and practices of the Housing and Home Finance Agency (HHFA) and its constituent bodies—the Public Housing Administration (PHA), the Federal Housing Administration (FHA), and the Urban Renewal Administration (URA)—the commission asserted that the agency had not “moved far or very fast” in eliminating segregation. The commission also made it clear that the government and its minions were more contributing architects than passive bystanders in the residential isolation of African Americans. (Hirsch, 2000, p. 158)
The ultimate result is racialized urban spaces. Gotham (2000) notes that urban neighborhoods were traditionally characterized as pathological, dangerous, and nefarious places, thus fueling the desire to raze existing African American communities and serving as justification for their subsequent transfer and isolation into second-ghetto neighborhoods. Ironically, each of the aforementioned federal agencies was an outgrowth of the New Deal movement, which was designed to protect families (e.g., Whites) and stabilize local economies. African American families and neighborhoods were excluded from such efforts. So when considering the disproportionate effects of urban rehabilitation, economic development, and downtown expansion, it must be considered within the broader context of American society. In other words, redevelopment and the subsequent outcomes need to be thoroughly examined, and the historical context (e.g., racial unrest, Jim Crow, civil rights movement) must be used as a backdrop to interpret policy intention and outcomes.
In this regard, the results of urban redevelopment were indeed helpful to the urban elite, the entrepreneurs, the affluent, and the politicians, but were simultaneously damaging to low-income African Americans and their respective communities. Herein lies the conflict of values.
Results-Based Management and Disproportionate Outcomes
Results-based management is about the design of programs that will produce certain intended outcomes. Try and Radnor (2007) suggest that results-based management is more complex because of limited and finite resources coupled with unlimited demand, potentially conflicting program and inter-program objectives, multiple stakeholders, and delivery within the boundaries of a myriad of internal rules and regulations. In the case of 20th century, urban redevelopment, public housing, urban renewal, and transportation programs sought to rehabilitate struggling central cities through investments in infrastructure, business expansion, and revenue increases for local jurisdictions. However, the colossal nature of urban redevelopment programs funneled hundreds of millions of dollars into communities across the country within a complex network of state and local agencies and diverse stakeholders—all with varied expectations and priorities. Supplemented with unlimited discretion, administrators were empowered to make unyielding decisions about how programs were implemented, thus distributing benefits and penalties along traditional racial and class lines.
The unappealing aesthetics that were representative of urban communities in the 1940s, 1950s, and the 1960s provided public administrators and the urban elite with the “green light” to characterize neighborhoods as “slums,” which initiated what Klein (2007) calls “the disaster capitalism complex” (p. 15), whereby core government functions were handed over to the private sector, deregulation ensued, and social spending was cut to make way for a new economic apparatus in central cities. In this regard, the financial incentives available to those represented interests in the “disaster capitalism complex”—home and commercial builders, insurance companies, real estate professionals, entrepreneurs—undermined the needs and desires of the most vulnerable factions in society. Therefore, the intentional disinvestment in neighborhoods and the purposeful dispossession of residents led to the social, political, and economic isolation of minorities leading to the fulfilled desires of a few at the expense of many.
The results reveal a very narrowed perspective whereby quantitative measures (e.g., number of public housing units built, location of highways, and elimination of “slum” neighborhoods) superseded quality of life indicators (e.g., social capital, communal ties, and residential stability). Despite widespread reports of the adverse impact urban redevelopment had on African Americans, administrators proceeded as the desire to “get the job done” took precedence. Mohl (2001a) further explicates this argument when he states,
Displaying a “two-birds-with-one-stone” mentality, cities and states sought to route interstate expressways through slum neighborhoods, using federal highway money to reclaim downtown urban real estate. Inner-city slums could be cleared, blacks removed to more distant second-ghetto areas, central business districts redeveloped, and transportation woes solved all at the same time—and mostly at federal expense. (p. 96)
Consequently, the pervasiveness of these tactics is revealed in numerous case studies that investigated the relationship between urban redevelopment, African American dispossession, and second-ghetto development. It is precisely what Arnold Hirsch (1983) termed as the making of the second ghetto—a form of segregation driven by White residents wanting to protect their property rights and/or business elites wanting to preserve prime commercial space so inconveniently occupied by poor minorities. Accomplices in the making of the second ghetto are public administrators, who intentionally or unintentionally used public housing or public transportation dollars to transfer Blacks to carefully selected locations. For example, Hirsch (1983) investigates public housing and urban renewal in Chicago. Sugrue (1996) and Thomas (1997) examine its implications of urban redevelopment in postwar Detroit. Bauman (1987) and Mohl (2003) study similar issues in Philadelphia and Miami, respectively. Each case study highlights the program responses within a specific city, but collectively, the studies demonstrate the pervasiveness of uneven development and inconsistent policy outcomes for Black and White residents. More explicitly, in Birmingham, Alabama, a predominately Black neighborhood located near downtown was severely affected by the construction of the I65 and I59 highways and their subsequent interchanges. Consequently, the community lost 4,587 residents, nearly all Black residents (Connerly, 2002). Widespread dislocation could have been avoided, but administrators went through great lengths to preserve existing White communities at the expense of Black ones (Connerly, 2002). In Atlanta, the urban elite used a variety of tactics to limit African American mobility and create racial barriers in an attempt to ease the tide of racial tension. Through the use of coded language and implicit strategies like highway construction, land use patterns, building type designations, and tenant categories, administrators were able to circumvent court decisions and federal policies that sought to mitigate racial segregation (Bayor, 1988).
The federal bulldozer claimed many victims, but there were a few successful opposition movements that sought to slow the tide of dislocation and destruction in many communities. In New Orleans, Tennessee, Baltimore, and San Francisco, anti-highway lobbies emerged that coordinated efforts of minorities, small business owners, and advocacy groups to halt and/or alter construction patterns (Bayor, 1988; Connerly, 2002; Mohl, 2001a, 2002). Oftentimes, these political alliances worked hard to generate awareness, galvanize support, and protest the actions of local administrators and politicians. Such opposition forces demonstrated the impact of political collectivity among what had been previously singular factions fighting against a more powerful set of interests. Despite marginal success, outcomes disproportionately benefited the White urban elite at the expense of an economically and politically vulnerable African American population. Consequently, these aggregate racial outcomes are evident in the cities that implemented 20th century urban redevelopment programs (Alkadry & Blessett, 2010; Gotham, 2000, 2001; Highsmith, 2009; Hirsch, 1983, 2000; Massey, 1990; Mohl, 2002, 2003; Wilson, 2007).
Overtown: Then and Now
As previously mentioned, many urban communities across the country implemented urban renewal plans, which destroyed neighborhoods and displaced residents. However, the Overtown community in Miami, Florida, is highlighted as a representative case. McNabb (2010) argues that representative case research involves studying the unit in depth to learn how a governing unit manages circumstances, experiences, processes, and events in situations or under certain conditions. In this case, the Overtown community experienced the urban redevelopment trifecta, whereby public housing, urban renewal, and transportation policies were all used to force African Americans off valuable real estate and shift the population to a nearby second-ghetto community—Liberty City. The focus on Overtown highlights the racial tension and subsequent desire to “get things done” that was initiated with one of the first federal urban redevelopment policies—public housing. More specifically, after decades of national outrage at “Negro removal” and subsequent legislative safeguards to minimize displacement, Miami administrators were steadfast in their decisions to route the I95–I395 interchange (although other options were available). Ultimately, this decision initiated another wave of destruction for the surviving residents and homes that withstood earlier public housing and urban renewal displacement attempts.
The need to get things done, move things along, or deliver goods and services can overwhelm administrators into overlooking the unethical outcomes of their actions. In Overtown, this article argues, administrators were driven by similar outcome-based results, such as a need to provide public housing and to run highways. Subsequently, administrators found themselves accomplices in a plan to transfer Black residents from a vibrant downtown community to a distant neighborhood—Liberty City created on the edge of Miami specifically to house African Americans. Overtown is a neighborhood of barely ¾ square mile immediately adjacent to Downtown Miami. This section first presents an overview of Overtown’s history and present. Then, it discusses the administrative actions of housing and transportation personnel that steered the community over the past 50 years. The section concludes with a discussion on what motivated administrative actions in Overtown.
During an age of segregation and overt discrimination, Miami Blacks were confined to an area west of the railroad tracks officially first referred to as the Central Negro District (Dunn, 1997) but commonly called “Colored Town.” Blacks were forbidden from operating any businesses along Miami Avenue (Avenue D) and Flagler Street (12th Street). Ordinance 199 defined NW 20th Street (Morse Street) as the line that would confine Blacks to the borders of Colored Town—today known as Overtown (Dunn, 1997). Housing almost a third of Miami’s population by 1920, Colored Town occupied less than 10% of the City’s geography.
Colored Town’s heyday was in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, when NW 2nd Avenue was considered Little Broadway. In an age of segregation, racism, and extreme hardship, the Colored Town community of 40,000 residents prospered into a major destination for music and entertainment. Colored Town was dubbed by many as the Harlem of the South because of an abundance of nightclubs, live music, three theaters, and three hotels. The segregated economy consisted of more than 350 separate and viable businesses, which included medical services and doctors (21), eating places and restaurants (27), groceries and small markets (34), and barber shops and beauty salons (44; Connolly, 2006). Colored Town was the only place where Whites and Blacks could perform without a concern for racial exclusion (Collaborative, n.d.). Thus, it was also the only place that Black entertainers and athletes could bunk after performing all night in White Miami clubs because of strict racial separation (Dunn, 1997). In addition, the Colored Board of Trade was formed in 1900, and the Civic League of Colored Town was formed in 1912. Of this period, Wong (1998) writes, “Overtown was the center of gravity and could be considered even a semi-autonomous city of African Americans in South Florida” (p. 12).
Getting Things Done: Ethics, Process, and Outcomes
As early as the 1930s, Miami business leaders recognized that Overtown occupied valuable real estate that was important for the future growth of Downtown. In 1936, the Dade County Commission approved a 20-year development strategy that included a “Negro resettlement plan” (Mohl, 2001b, p. 322). According to Mohl (2001b), the plan was to cooperate with the City of Miami “in removing [the] entire Central Negro town [Overtown] to three Negro Park locations, and the establishment of three model negro towns” (p. 322). For years, White residents, realtors, and politicians were concerned about the overflow of overpopulated Black neighborhoods into White Miami. Although the State Supreme Court outlawed the use of race boundaries, restrictive covenants were implicitly used to ensure that Blacks would stay out of White communities (Dunn, 1997; Mohl, 1995, 2001a, 2001b, 2003). Dade County planning commissioner George Merrick, who was also a developer, made public statements about “effectively removing every negro family from the present city limits”—a plan that would move Blacks into a newly created Black town on the edge of the Everglades (as cited in Mohl, 2003, p. 247).
To facilitate such action, the HOLC and Federal Housing Administration (FHA) plotted out “residential security maps” that essentially redlined African American neighborhoods, thus creating a downward spiral effect of property devaluation, dispossession, and the reclamation of real estate by private entities (Hirsch, 2000; Hirsch & Mohl, 1993; Mohl, 2003). The effort to transfer the African American community from Overtown to Liberty City was a coordinated effort by public and private partners who worked together to further the interest of Miami’s White civic elite. Actors include, but are not limited to, Florida State Road Department, the New Miami Development Corporation, Miami-Dade County, Florida Real Estate Commission, and the Miami-Dade Chamber of Commerce (Connolly, 2006; Dunn, 1997; Mohl, 2004). Subsequently, the head of Bonded Collection Agency, a management company for Whites owning rental properties occupied by Blacks, had clear plans to shift the “Negro District” and build “a new downtown” (Mohl, 1993). Juanita Greene reports for the Miami Herald,
[the plan] would gradually erase the Central Negro District [Overtown] and make it part of a new downtown Miami . . . the 60,000 Negroes living downtown would move north to the 11-square mile Liberty City area; [the plan] has attracted the interest of City of Miami and Metro Planners, who are giving it more study. (As cited in Mohl, 1993, p. 130)
Administrators made no secret that Liberty Square was intended to be the nucleus of the new African American community in Miami—and the subsequent Liberty City became the destination of Black newcomers to Miami as well as the Black residents forced to leave Overtown due to transportation policy decisions (Mohl, 1993). Administrators were unequivocal in their desire to expand Downtown in the direction of Overtown. The stated and explicit goal of the Miami business community was to claim the ¾ square mile real estate that the community occupied. Therefore, it was evident that race was part of the formula to redevelop Miami, thus becoming part of the context of administrative actions. In this regard, government action was indiscriminately tied to racism and discrimination, particularly through the development of public policies and their implementation by administrators. These actions garnered widespread acceptance by private citizens as adverse outcomes were justified by the race of its victims.
Housing
In Miami, the decision to relocate Overtown was made as early as the 1920s, and the first step taken to implement this decision was to find the location of the new community. Floyd Davis, a Miami developer, had purchased land on the northwest edge of the City and started marketing the new development to Blacks in Overtown through one of his African American employees (Dunn, 1997). A 4- to 5-foot wall was erected to separate Liberty City Blacks from neighboring communities. The wall stretched along NW 12th Avenue and across nine blocks from 62nd Street to 71st Street.
By the late 1930s, a public housing project—the second of its kind in the entire South—called Liberty Square was developed to house Black residents. Overtown residents were given a clear choice between overcrowded living in substandard housing in Overtown and concrete apartments with indoor plumbing in Liberty Square (Mohl, 2003). Although the construction of Liberty Square was hailed as a potential new nucleus for Miami’s Black community, Overtown residents were too slow to oblige. To make the choice even easier, code enforcement administrators intensified inspections for new minimum housing requirements on low-income households (Connolly, 2006). The quarters were tight, and the area was heavily, and unevenly, targeted by public administrators who started doing home inspections in 1947. Many residents found themselves unable to meet the requirements of bringing their homes up to the new codes and were forced to leave Overtown. A property owner Rachel Williams remembers,
They sent us [a] notice and a check for $7,000 for two double lots . . . and, at the time, we were not educated to the point to know that we didn’t have to take that . . . and most of us got these checks from the city and we thought we just had to move. (Connolly, 2006, p. 37)
For the city, deposited checks served as proof of sale. Ultimately, “the evictions, checks and almost unceasing pressure to sell embodied the very authority of the state, representing an inter-governmental concert at its most simple and profound level” (Connolly, 2006, p. 37).
As a result, overcrowded Overtown started overflowing into Liberty City—a community at the Northwest corner of Miami approximately 5 miles from the central business district—the jurisdiction that would house the Liberty Square public housing project. The role of public administrators—housing personnel—in re-segregating Blacks in Liberty City was facilitated by two federal policies: the Housing Acts of 1937 and 1949. These policies specifically empowered administrators with unprecedented discretion to identify the locations for public housing construction sites and determine the occupancy requirements for all facilities (Alkadry & Blessett, 2010). Collectively, these actions contributed to the overwhelming concentration of Blacks in public housing facilities located in impoverished second-ghetto communities on the outskirts of Miami.
Racial steering and systematic isolation were overt, but it continued at least up until the 1980s. In 1987, Ann-Marie Adker filed a lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) and Metro-Dade County. In this lawsuit, Adker alleged that housing administrators were instrumental in segregating Blacks in pre-1960s public housing projects, while directing Whites and Hispanics into more desirable Section 8 housing (Mohl, 2003). The evidence was overwhelming, very few Whites or Hispanics occupied public housing projects, and very few Blacks were offered Section 8 vouchers. As a result of this lawsuit, housing authorities entered into a negotiated decree that gave Section 8 preferential treatment to Blacks for a 10-year period that expired in 2009.
By the 1950s, Liberty City became an overflow neighborhood and not a replacement one for Overtown. Housing and code enforcement actions had limited effectiveness in clearing Overtown. This realization came at a time that the nation was undergoing the largest infrastructure project of its history—the interstate highway system.
Transportation
The Interstate Highway Act of 1956 initiated a nationwide program to run highways across the country. The policy empowered Miami administrators with vast discretion to route highways as they deemed fit, usually based on the preferences of the urban elite. In Miami, transportation administrators and planners used highways to deal a final blow to Overtown. The neighborhood was literally razed to the ground in the 1960s when a single project was responsible for tearing up the neighborhood geographically and instantly uprooting 10,000 of Overtown’s 40,000 residents (Mohl, 2001a, 2002, 2004). Thus, once completed, the highway interchange wiped out the bulk of the business corridor in Overtown. This marked the beginning of the end for a community that was able to persist despite the ugliest forms of prejudice but was helpless in the face of bulldozers and highway mortar and steel. The 1950s and 1960s witnessed the largest growth in highways in the United States (Hirsch & Mohl, 1993; Mohl, 2001a). Highways were coming to Miami, and in anticipation, local engineers and planners developed a plan that was least obtrusive to residential life in the City. The plan would loop traffic around the City and away from developed areas—away from Overtown.
However, these plans were scrapped shortly thereafter. As planning historian, Raymond Mohl (2004) notes,
The interstate highways program provided Miami’s civic elite with a new opportunity to achieve their racial goals and recapture central city space for business purposes. Florida consulting highway engineers worked with the Dade County Commission, the Miami City Commission, and the Miami-Dade Chamber of Commerce in developing the Miami expressways route. The Florida Road Department, the largest state agency, was heavily politicized, a patronage plum for politicians. Wilbur E. Jones, the road department chairman, was a Miamian and close to the Miami civic elite. The final routing of Miami’s north-south expressway in 1956 emerged from these connections and from meetings between state highwaymen and county politicos. (p. 685)
The 1955 plans were replaced by a new plan that would slice through Overtown vertically using I95 and horizontally with an east–west I395 highway. Dluhy, Revell, and Wong (2002) identify several reasons for the choice of the westerly route:
The battle with the Florida East Coast (FEC railroad) made it unlikely that the expressway could be built over the railroad tracks;
Land to the west of the tracks was cheaper, in the downtown area and along the entire route (which ran through over 130 blocks of White neighborhoods to the north of Overtown);
It was easier to deal with a few large property owners in Overtown rather than many property owners in other sections of the downtown area; and
Black residents in Overtown had little political voice at the time, and their objections to the route were easier to disregard (p. 83).
Mohl (2003) argues that the interstate construction project became a tool in the hands of downtown developers and policy makers to transfer Blacks from Overtown to Liberty City. Mohl (1993), a planning historian, notes that
For years, the Overtown landlords had resisted the encroachments of the central business district. The potential of managing second-ghetto expansion, however, brought them into harmony with the thinking of the downtown business people. The Brooks scheme coincided with plans for the Overtown area that had been proposed since the mid-1930s. The only thing new about the idea in 1961 was that interstate highway building in the inner-city now made its achievement possible. (p. 131)
As the federal highway program did not require relocation assistance for displaced families, Luther Brooks, a realtor, provided African American families with an informal relocation service (e.g., housing assistance and moving trucks). Consequently, his services helped facilitate an easier transfer of Blacks out of Overtown.
If we fast-forward to the present, Overtown is a different place. Overtown’s population in 2010 counted for approximately 10,000 compared with about 40,000 people in 1960. The resulting Overtown is geographically divided into four quadrants with a monster interchange that instantly displaced 10,000 people and literally removed the major business corridor in Overtown. Overtown is socially, demographically, and economically very different from its surrounding neighborhoods. The number of businesses in Overtown declined from 274 in 1967 to 148 in 1971 after the construction of the interstate (Dluhy et al., 2002). Income statistics for the area reflect a very grim picture where 60% of Overtown households make less than US$15,000. The median income of households in Overtown is US$16,086 compared with US$28,884 in the City of Miami. Only 4% of Overtown residents have some kind of college degree compared with 21% of residents in the City of Miami who have a college degree. Tagle, Exley, and Baker-Bouie (1992) report that in 1991, there were more than 3,000 arrests in a population of just over 8,000 residents living in a ¾ square mile area. An impact study of transportation planning in Overtown was conducted by Florida International University (FIU; 1997-1998) describing a dire situation in Overtown:
In addition to the severe loss of residents and businesses, the community’s internal circulation system was left in shambles, the vacant space under the elevated expressways became a wasteland and haven for undesirables, and home ownership dropped from 12 percent to 5 percent from 1950 to 1970. Today, Overtown has one of the highest poverty rates and worst (and cheapest) housing in Miami-Dade County. The population is now just under 8,000 and there are only 41 businesses left—compared to 389 in 1950. Only 2 percent of the county’s African American population lives there and 32 percent of the population lives in either public housing or government subsidized housing (p. 2).
Overtown was driven to its knees because of the attractiveness of its location to the neighboring downtown business community, the actions of many administrators, and public housing and transportation dollars available for redevelopment. Liberty City was waiting and would rapidly become the new ghetto. It was actions by administrators—planners and engineers—that dealt the decisive punches to the neighborhood. The vulnerability of the resilient, poor, and politically powerless Overtown community did not seem to qualify it for protection and advocacy by housing, transportation, and code enforcement administrators. To add insult to injury, Miami’s elevated people mover would later take another shot at Overtown—passing but never stopping in the area that was established originally to house Miami’s Black working class. The end of official segregation brought with it the end of a community that survived in spite of segregation.
To use military terms, the Overtown community became collateral damage. Public policy and the actions of public administrators made the destruction of Overtown a reality. Public administrators’ role in the establishment of the second ghetto around Liberty Square cannot be undermined. The construction of the I95−I395 interchange served to speed the slow bleeding out of the Overtown community and into the new ghetto in Liberty City. Public administrators once again were the executors of a plan to “transfer” a community that was able to survive and prosper in decades of nothing but discrimination and oppression.
As a result, a small subset of the population—the urban elite—was able to fulfill their financial desires at the expense of African American residents. Miami administrators were more than happy to oblige the urban elite as the razing of Overtown, and the dispossession of its residents fulfilled explicit preferences to rid the city of its existing Black population. Consequently, what was articulated as just and compulsory policies to redevelop urban communities—public housing for low-income families, highways to promote employment and interstate commerce, and renewal to help rehabilitate deteriorated infrastructure—was in effect used to systematically disenfranchise and segregate African Americans. In Miami, administrators seemed to take actions to destroy the once vibrant and healthy African American community. It is difficult to speculate on what motivated administrators to execute the second-ghetto plan in Miami and elsewhere. What is certain is that administrators found themselves maneuvering between several forces—adherence to professional duties, the most powerful (business) interests, and the least powerful (African American community) interests—and they acted to further the interests of the business community over the interests of the Overtown community.
This case highlights gross negligence on behalf of state and local public administrators to meet and address the needs of all citizens—the most and the least powerful. Unfortunately, fulfilling professional objectives produced an overzealous and narrow-minded process that did not comply with the conceptions of democracy, justice, or fairness for which administrators are professionally bound. Public administrators steered the bulldozers into Overtown and in one decision displaced one quarter of its residents, half of its businesses, and set the stage for the hemorrhaging of the community to its ultimate demise. Consequently, when the “ . . . professional or administrator acts responsibly toward the hierarchy of authority, public policy, and the requirements of the job or profession, while abdicating any personal, much less social, responsibility for the content or effects of decisions or action” an “agentic shift” has occurred (Adams & Balfour, 2009, p. 43). This aloofness or detachment of administrators is particularly visible when vulnerable groups and communities are targeted for adverse policy actions. Administrators did not have a genuine concern for the long-term well-being and quality of life of these residents, only the outcomes that were preferred by White residents and the business community (Alkadry & Blessett, 2010).
Lessons (Not) Learned
Public administrators get things done. Planners get highways built. Housing personnel provide affordable residential options to citizens who need them. Code enforcement administrators ensure that houses meet minimum housing standards. Prosecutors ensure that criminals are convicted. In the line of duty, people get in the way. In Overtown, administrators were constantly placed between two forces with disproportionate power: the powerful businesses and White communities on one hand, and the less powerful and disenfranchised African American Overtown community on the other. Administrators were driven by a need to build public housing and open new roads, and the path of least resistance was through Overtown. In the case of Overtown specifically, and African American communities broadly, urban renewal, public housing, and transportation policies have been responsible for massive dispossession and displacement in the name of the greater good. In these instances, the greater good equated to catering to the needs of affluent Whites, politicians, and entrepreneurs at the expense of poor African Americans.
Ethical values and results-based outcomes are especially important to consider when the consequences of actions are disproportionately placed on those most vulnerable groups. The results- or outcome-oriented management movement has been sweeping American administrative reforms since the 1980s and has dominated reforms in the last decade. As New Right reforms embodied in economic rationalism and managerialism (James, 2003) gain more credence in public sector management, one has to be concerned with the fundamental question of whether pursuing value for money would result in a lesser concern for due process and ethical values in public administration. New Right reforms undoubtedly subject public decisions more to economic tests, that is, utility maximization test, and less to ethical tests. This article did not intend to articulate an argument against results or outcome-based management. To the contrary, when it comes to policy actions, outcomes are very important.
We want mental health patients to get jobs or to improve their educational attainment, but we do not want clinicians to drive them into suicide while trying to make them better. We want students to learn more, but we do not want them to cheat to demonstrate that they have. We certainly want prosecutors to put criminals away, but do not want them to hide evidence that could acquit the accused. We want housing personnel to provide public housing but not as a tool to vacate a vibrant neighborhood and to create a second ghetto. We want administrators to serve the transportation needs of a community, but if they are running highways, it is appropriate to expect them to not run over communities of politically powerless residents. We want administrators to be responsive, to achieve outcomes, and to produce results, but not at any cost. In other words, we wake an argument for ethical outcomes.
In American public administration, ethical outcomes have been an afterthought at best. So often do we absolve administrators of responsibility for egregious actions based on their adherence to proper policies and procedures. The fact that child protective services followed all policies and procedures in performing their job should not absolve them of responsibility for losing a child or the death of a child. Some even argue that as a field public administration has been morally mute. Menzel (1999) argues that
modern public administration has suffered from moral muteness since its founding in the 1880s . . . past attempts to lift this veil of moral silence have met with little success and that recent management trends are likely to reinforce moral muteness. (p. 522)
Can administrative action driven by a need to get things done reinforce this notion of moral muteness? Is it even possible for American public administration to balance or resolve the inherent conflict between a need to act and an obligation to promote the general welfare? This article argues that outcome-based performance is more likely to reinforce moral muteness, but it does not need to do that.
The trouble here is that what happened in Overtown and elsewhere remains largely unaddressed by contemporary and past public administration literature. In fact, the foundation of the Nuremberg trials of Nazi criminals was to hold administrators accountable for outcomes of their actions regardless of intent. “I did not mean to,” “I do not hate Jews,” “I was just doing my job,” and “I have many Jewish friends” were statements that remained marginal not only in policy but also in decisions made by these courts. In Overtown, people were intentionally transferred from one neighborhood to another. People’s homes, businesses, and communities were unnecessarily destroyed.
Interrogating administrative decision making within the context of outcome-based managerialism and performance accountability reveals several important lessons. First, there is an inherent and unacknowledged conflict between serving the public interest and the increased and persistent emphasis on outcome- and results-based competition and performance by any means necessary. Second, it is past time for public administrators to understand that the needs and desires of the powerful elite cannot be given primacy over those without power. Government policy should not create environmental circumstances that foster disenfranchisement and marginalization. For example, Lewis and Gilman (2005) argue for decision-making methods that include the perspective of potential victims and call for administrators to take “the empathic leap to public interest without sacrificing too much or too many” (p. 161). Third, government administrators should take note of and adhere to environmental justice principles designed to mitigate social, economic, and other effects that adversely affect minority and low-income populations. Fourth, government administrators must be held accountable for the negative consequences of policy making and implementation that adversely affect marginalized and disenfranchised communities. Finally, the ethical public administrator/professional must rise above a compliance-based approach (to one that includes character and principles) because while necessary, it is not sufficient to meet the increasingly complex environment in which government operates.
Most recently, Detroit is indicative of the manifestations of ethical values and results-based outcomes gone wrong. While the economic impetus to increase revenues, attract commercial investments, and rehabilitate an ailing central business district (all principles that instructed urban renewal), Detroit leaders used the “disaster capitalism” model to “fix” the city. Consequently, investment in private interests usurped the public interest. For example, over the last 10 years, aesthetic improvements to buildings downtown, the People Mover, that is, monorail in the downtown area, and the construction of professional ballparks, that is, Comerica Park for the Tigers and Ford Field for the Lions, and three casinos, are the embodiment of commandeering public resources to subsidize private interest. Subsequently, public resources have been unavailable to invest in public schools, infrastructure (e.g., roads and blight), and public safety (e.g., fire and police). In addition, under the guise of an appointed Emergency Financial Manager, Detroit’s residents have been forcibly muted in their engagement and efforts to retain valuable public artifacts and hold administrators accountable for their actions.
Simply put, Detroit is a predominately Black city that is rhetorically undeserving of the ethical considerations outlined by professional codes of ethics. Otherwise, the lessons of mid-20th century urban renewal as exemplified by minority experiences in Miami (Overtown), Chicago, Philadelphia, and many other cities would have informed actions that make inclusion and representation of all interests, not just a limited few, a priority. The idea that urban disinvestment can only be addressed with the seizing of public resources and spaces and their subsequent transfer to private entities, which will result in some “trickle down” of financial prosperity for urban residents and their communities is a complete myth. This solution has been advocated for the last three decades with little improvements in the quality of life for residents and communities both domestically and abroad (Klein, 2007). Klein (2007) argues,
. . . it is also true that certain ideologies are a danger to the public and need to be identified as such. These are the closed fundamentalist doctrines that cannot coexist with other belief systems; their followers deplore diversity and demand an absolute free hand to implement their perfect system. (p. 23)
Although the juxtaposition of public versus private, affluent versus poor, economic versus social interests have always been prevalent, in a new era of accountability, particularly with an emphasis on “social equity, democratic participation and governance, and the obligation to provide full information and advice” (ASPA, 2013, p. 1), public administration and public administrators are in a unique position to either maintain the status quo or chart a new direction for inclusion and participation. History informs us of the outcomes of the former, the authors advocate for administrators to give the latter a chance.
Power is intoxicating, and administrators often find themselves with lots of it. Cornered by an explicit or implicit drive to produce results or outcomes, administrators tend to use their power to achieve results by all means necessary. If ethical conduct is about reconciling administrative power and administrative responsibility (Kernaghan, 1980), it is easy to say that administrators in all the cases cited above failed to do so. The trouble with results-based and outcome-driven management is that it, intentionally or unintentionally, mutes responsibility. The result is a full throttled drive to outcomes. Add to the mix a culture of competition resulting from benchmarking of outcomes, administrators have no time to account for collateral damage. If execution of projects and presenting a portfolio of completed projects are the pre-requisites for job mobility for a planner or a city engineer, then what stops these administrators from behaving like rogue prosecutor operatives?
The dominant normative ethical perspectives discussed earlier—deontology and teleology specifically—really highlight the conflicting responsibilities of public administrators. In both instances, the context and consequences of actions are not considered as the focus is to either follow the strict bureaucratic structure or “get the job done” by any means necessary. In either case, those individuals, groups, or communities not represented at the table or influential enough to have their voices heard are likely to become the collateral damage of policy decisions. Thus, practicing “ethics in context” becomes an important consideration to fully consider the diverse perspectives affected by broader policy decisions. In this article, we have argued that the drive to achieve outcomes and/or results has blinded administrators from paying attention to ensuring that their conduct is ethical. The case examined and the many examples provided show that given the power to act (housing dollars, code enforcement, transportation dollars and authority, etc.) and driven by an implied or explicitly stated need to achieve outcomes, administrators act without due regard to ethical conduct or the interest of the vulnerable and powerless among citizens. The collateral damage is too serious to overlook as we proceed to institutionalize the drive to achieve outcomes almost in every aspect of public service.
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.