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Just eight years after the end of the last century, it's clear that the word "urban" no longer means quite what it did. Indeed, for the first time in human history, more people now inhabit cities than don't. Canada is no exception.

"Canadians don't think of themselves as an urban nation," Miller notes. "But the fact is that we live in cities. The economic ingenuity of cities is what's going to lead us into the future."

But as Miller points out, we have a little governance issue here that we have yet to deal with; namely weak cities, a federal regime apparently unaware of them, and provinces with their own priorities.

"Politically," Miller continues, "cities in Canada don't exist, especially at the federal level. As far as I know, this is virtually unique in the world. Throughout the world, federal and national governments invest in cities, but we don't see that here. All cities in Canada are suffering from lack of federal spending."

According to Miller, "We have tied ourselves up in political correctness and NIMBYism. People have such a fear of change, but at some point things have to change."

The status quo, he warns, will lead inevitably to declining productivity and quality of life.

And while cities everywhere else are busy renewing themselves, Miller fears Canadians have grown complacent, taking the nation and cities' prosperity for granted.

"We need to develop a sense of urgency," he says. "Toronto is such a rich city, but we're not marshalling our strengths in an effective way."

At this point, Miller suggests, the best way to overcome inertia and get some momentum going is simply to pick a project and start.

And so it is a measure of how far removed we have grown from ourselves that many of us now see walking as extraneous. It is viewed as a kind of hobby, a pastime, a luxury, certainly not essential, and definitely not a means of transportation.

Indeed, we have reached a point where we classify ourselves according to whether we walk or drive. Thus we are either drivers or pedestrians. Because walking is not considered necessary, we give precedence to those who travel in cars and trucks. From their perspective, people who walk are obstacles, in the way.

Though we can't turn back the clock, the only way to ensure urban health is to plan cities with walking in mind. If nothing else, this necessitates a human scale. There's no better measure of that than walking. Not to say that everyone will walk everywhere, but that we should be able to, it should be an option. No, it must be an option.

Fleet St., Lake Shore Blvd. and around the Rogers Centre. These islands of condos separated by six-lane highways are hostile, even dangerous, for walkers. Pedestrians are definitely not welcome here; they get in the way of drivers, who are always in a hurry.

This is not how to build a city. This is how to destroy a city.

The only question left is what role the private sector should play in the rebuilding process. Get used to it, Caplan warns. AFPs, as they're now called – alternate funding plans – are here to stay.

"The private sector isn't a magic solution," he admits. "It will never be involved in more than 15 per cent of infrastructure projects. But overall, AFPs cost less and can lead to innovation."

Although some have been dubbed failures, most recently Brampton Civic Hospital, like anything else, they can be done well or poorly.

In the meantime, the ownership of the land had evolved into a patchwork of civic, provincial and federal agencies that in addition to the TRCA includes the Ministry of Natural Resources, the Toronto Economic Development Corp (TEDCO) and the Toronto Port Authority. Its annual management budget is paltry, under $200,000.

Perhaps because of this administrative confusion, and continuing neglect, the Spit was free of the kind of human intervention that has altered the landscape everywhere else. By the time the city started to get serious about reclaiming and revitalizing the waterfront, the Spit was an established part of life in Toronto. Though only open on weekends and holidays, it had become a magnet for birders, bikers, hikers and joggers. Indeed, it has achieved storied status, attracting 250,000 visitors annually. We see it now as a shining example, a desperately needed ray of hope in a world fast destroying itself.

Half a century after the Spit was begun, its problems are the result of this unexpected success. In 2006, the Toronto Waterfront Revitalization Corp., now Waterfront Toronto, announced plans to incorporate the Spit into a larger park, Lake Ontario Park.

This isn't necessarily cause for alarm. But we shouldn't forget that the key to the Spit's transformation from dump to natural habitat has been the absence of man. True, hundreds of trucks show up most working days. But their impact is minimal. They drive down the road that forms the spine of the peninsula, drop their load, and return.

The real threat may come from the people who go to the area for leisure. Though well-meaning and sympathetic, they represent the forces of gentrification. Despite their good intentions, their presence means planners feel pressure to ensure the park has all the amenities – toilets, interpretive centres, picnic benches, trails, lights, information kiosks and so on, the whole paraphernalia of civic green space – the public expects.

To a great many contemporary architects, this must seem precious and all rather beside the point. Their job is to deliver their client's bidding as cheaply and painlessly as possible, and to hell with the rest.

And the city, why should they worry about that, it's not their concern?

Condo critic

THE LIBERTIES, 717 BAY ST.: This nasty slab sums up the ethos of a generation of architects that may be well trained, but was certainly poorly educated.

There isn't a single element of this complex here that engages us at any level; more disturbing, there wasn't meant to be.

It comes to us as one of those poor architectural creations unloved by those who gave it birth. Its justification is strictly an economic one.

The miserable green metal columns that support the glass canopy clutter the sidewalk and the building. You just want to get past it as fast as possible.

The frontage on Bay and Gerrard Sts. has been broken up into a series of bays that reach up from a four-storey base.

The bricks are beige and the results aren't pretty.

GRADE: D

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Email us at condocritic@thestar.ca

And when it comes to development, the fear grows even more intense. A relatively straightforward proposal to build a simple seven-storey condo in the north end of the city turns into a three-year marathon, complete with armies of lawyers arguing before the Ontario Municipal Board.

And who could forget the screams of protest occasioned by the Minto towers at Yonge and Eglinton and One Bedford Place at Bloor at Bedford? Both textbook examples of smart urban growth, but both able to turn locals into snarling beasts.

NIMBYism is one thing, but we have hit new levels of fear and loathing. Prevailing attitudes toward change dictate that it be avoided at all costs. As awful as the present may be, it's preferable to what might follow.

Fear of change is nothing new, of course, but how did we become so fearful?

In part it may be because so much of the growth that occurred after World War II, however well-intentioned, was misguided and destructive.

During the 1950s, '60s and '70s, bad things did happen to cities. The dominant narrative was one of urban decay and the way out was through the kind of mega-projects that now make us shake our heads in disbelief.

Just look at Regent Park, the housing project that won awards at the time but is now being razed and rebuilt. Experts travelled to Toronto from around the world to gaze at the marvel that was Regent Park. Now we can't wait to tear it down.

Back then, however, it made sense to sacrifice whole districts, even cities, in the name of progress. It was an ideology, almost a religion, that took everything into account but the people it was meant to benefit. Neighbourhoods were torn apart, residents displaced and history destroyed.

The Spadina Expressway established a new normal, a new attitude, a new Toronto. Although it was right to say no to the Spadina Expressway, it's not right to say no to everything.

"Toronto doesn't know how to say yes."

And Toronto isn't alone. "Fear of change is palpable everywhere in New York," reports Hilary Ballon, who co-edited the recently published, Robert Moses and the Modern City, a revisionist history of the controversial builder.

Residents complain when a new building is constructed, then when it's torn down.

The likely winner, however, is Toronto landscape architecture firm, Janet Rosenberg Associates. It envisions a square by the water, hard-surfaced and dotted with armchairs. The highlight would be an environmental artwork by California-based Ned Kahn.

The three-part piece would have a shallow pond, a "roof" and a giant 20- by 13-metre "screen" made of clear "pixels" that blow in the wind.

The idea is to embrace the weather, to make it a part of the square, to illustrate it somehow and actually make it visible.

The double row of trees that extends along the lake's edge would break up here to allow for maximum access to the water.

Though the three finalists are all quite different, in their own way each takes conventional notions of public space and carefully turns it upside down. This is exactly what Toronto's waterfront needs.

It's reassuring, too, that the square will sit on land that could easily have been ignored and left untouched. Yet it is precisely this sort of detail that will bring the waterfront to life and attract an audience beyond the immediate.

Perhaps the Toronto Waterfront Revitalization Corp. – now Waterfront Toronto – should create an idea bank, an inventory of schemes that can be brought out when opportunities arise. In this case, all three finalists have done projects on the waterfront; it might be that this familiarity allowed them to produce such excellent schemes.

"I'm very excited," says Chris Glaisek, Toronto Waterfront vice-president of planning. "This space didn't exist, but now I think it's going to be one of the best public places on the water's edge. It'll be a space people love to come to."

With a few exceptions, no one on council has started to think about Toronto as a whole. The system discourages that at the best of times, never more so than now. The result has been a sharp drop in civic self-confidence; a growing sense Toronto has entered a downward spiral. The blame extends well beyond city hall, but the low level of debate, divisiveness, bitterness and triviality of council meetings has led to feeling that we're no longer able to deal with the problems we face.

The psychology of amalgamation hasn't created more solidarity between neighbourhoods, but a masochistic, let's-hate-Toronto attitude. But Toronto is us, and we are Toronto. In the decade since amalgamation, we have become our own worst enemy.

Can a building change a city?

Probably not, but it can alter the way we see it.

That's not to say everyone will love Libeskind's deliberately provocative contribution. With its sharp edges and leaning walls, it looms over the corner of Bloor and Queen's Park in a way that can't be ignored. It demands we engage with it and refuses to leave us alone. In this sense, it ranks among the most public pieces of architecture ever erected in Toronto. Which is another reason so many of us aren't sure what to make of it.

At the very least, its appearance marks 2007 as a turning point in the life of the city. It will be to the early 21st century what City Hall was to the second half of the 20th century, one of those rare instances when Toronto stepped outside its usual conservatism to do something entirely out of character.

The first result of Toronto's new-found boldness was, of course, the Sharp Design Centre at the Ontario College of Art and Design. Created by English architect Will Alsop, it is a two-storey box suspended high above the ground on 12 multi-coloured steel stilts.

Not surprisingly, Alsop's "flying tabletop" was met with howls of outrage. Torontonians, especially architects, had never seen anything like it and they weren't impressed. That was back in 2003; now this unique structure is arguably one of the most popular in the city.

Both Alsop and Libeskind have been criticized for being more interested in designing architectural icons than city-building. The truth is that in both cases, they have accomplished both. This isn't always so; just take a look at the condo tower Libeskind has designed for the west side of the Sony Centre (formerly the Hummingbird Centre). This is as kitschy and inappropriate a piece of architecture as one could imagine on this site or any. Resembling nothing so much as a Vivienne Westwood boot, it fails on any number of levels.

But the Crystal, like the Sharp, manages to be a landmark as well as a solution to practical issues of circulation, access, program and the like. Both projects make it clear that a building need not be dull in order to be useful.

Further north, the city's love affair with the condo tower reached new heights; a tower at Yonge and Bloor will stand 80 storeys tall and a second, at Yonge and Gerrard, 75 storeys.

Though neither tower could be described as architecturally exciting, both are presentable. At the same time, however, most development happened in the vacuum that passes for planning in Toronto.

The mother of two young daughters, Mei, 5, and Clara, 2, Wa was also attracted to Montgomery Sisam because of the possibility of flexible work hours. "I'm the primary caregiver," she says. "But I want to do interesting work."

It helps that Wa and her husband, financial analyst Adam Parkin, are also committed to living downtown, close to work; they are among the small but growing number of families that make their homes in highrise condos.

"There are more families in our building than ever," she reports. "I founded a Parent Network in my building when my first daughter was born. We share a car with my husband's family."

Wa feels fortunate to be in a profession that can actually do something about the quality of city life and the public realm. She also serves on the Regent Park Revitalization Design Review Panel and was part of a symposium about high-density living organized recently by the city planning department.

"Architects have participated in the creation of a lot of our problems," she declares. "But now we're starting to think about the quality of the street. I think it's important to be optimistic."