the most radical thought of all.

Rethinking the idea of land ownership isn't about dismantling society as we know it—it's about evolving past outdated concepts that no longer serve the common good. We have, for too long, been entrenched in a system that sees land as a commodity to be owned, bought, and sold, a leftover from the days of Locke and his notion of mixing labor with land to justify property. Locke had his reasons, and they made sense for a world that needed taming. But the frontier is closed, and we no longer need to tame anything. The land owns us, not the other way around. And yet, we continue this outdated dance, clinging to the belief that property confers power, or worse, virtue.

Let’s not forget that even Adam Smith, often seen as the patron saint of free markets, had a more nuanced understanding of property than we credit him with. His concern was never just about individual wealth but about the health of society as a whole. When land becomes a tool for a select few to hoard wealth, it weakens the very foundation of that society. Smith saw that land, like any resource, needed to serve the public good, not just private interests. When people claim dominion over the land as if it’s their birthright, we run into problems that ripple through time—inequality, environmental degradation, even the erosion of civic life.

But we’re not here to dismantle civilization, far from it. Instead, think of this as a shift, a realignment of values more in tune with what we’ve learned since the Enlightenment. We’ve seen how treating land as a finite resource to be controlled and exploited only leads to division and conflict. This obsession with ownership has brought about urban decay, ecological collapse, and social disintegration. Detroit is perhaps the most extreme example, but it’s not an outlier. It’s a sign of what happens when we push a flawed ideology to its breaking point.

The idea of communal land use is not some wild Marxist fantasy. It’s grounded in a deeper understanding of human nature—one that thinkers like Rousseau toyed with when he warned that the moment someone claimed land and others believed him, civilization was born but freedom died. Rousseau was an idealist, sure, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. He saw the dangers of unchecked property rights leading to inequality and societal decay. And we see it now, not just in Detroit, but across cities worldwide, where land is hoarded by the few while the many fight over the scraps.

But let’s pull back from the brink of polemics. What if we reimagined the city itself? Not as a patchwork of owned plots but as a living organism, sustained by the contributions of all who inhabit it. Land would no longer be a trophy to be won, but a shared resource to be stewarded. This isn’t some utopian dream—it’s already happening in small ways, from urban commons in cities like Copenhagen to indigenous land trusts in North America. These models aren’t perfect, but they show us that alternatives are not only possible but sustainable.

We might look to figures like Hannah Arendt, who understood that the essence of politics is the space between people, the relationships that form the fabric of society. What would she say about a city built not on property lines but on connections? A city where land is managed by the community, not as a possession but as a responsibility? Arendt would likely appreciate the return to civic virtue, where the health of the city is bound to the health of its people.

This isn’t an abandonment of progress; it’s a recalibration. Enlightenment thinkers like Hume understood that human beings are fundamentally social creatures, bound together by shared experiences and mutual obligations. Our economic systems should reflect this reality, not distort it. When we frame land as something to be owned, we fracture those connections. When we see it as something to be shared, we build on the social contract that holds us together.

And to the skeptics who say this is just another unrealistic fantasy, I offer this: we’re already seeing the cracks in the old system. The housing crisis, the environmental collapse, the social unrest—all symptoms of a model that no longer works. It’s not a matter of if we change, but when. The question is whether we’ll do it by choice or necessity. If we wait until we’re forced, the costs will be higher, the damage deeper. But if we start now, we might just find a way forward that doesn’t pit us against each other, or against the very planet we rely on.

So yes, the devil’s advocates will come, wielding their well-worn arguments about the tragedy of the commons, or the dangers of socialism. But they’re clinging to the past, to ideas that have outlived their usefulness. Let’s not forget that even Hardin’s “tragedy” was a fiction, a hypothetical that doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Elinor Ostrom showed us that communities can and do manage shared resources effectively when given the chance. It’s not a lack of ownership that leads to collapse; it’s a lack of cooperation, a lack of trust.

As for the argument that this is all too idealistic, I’ll borrow a line from Arendt again: the space of appearance, where politics happens, is where the unexpected occurs. We may not have all the answers, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. After all, we’re living in the most enlightened era of human existence, and if we don’t use that knowledge to reimagine the future, then what’s the point?

This isn’t about tearing down what’s come before, but about building something better, something more resilient. It’s about recognizing that the land isn’t ours to own, but ours to care for—just as we care for each other, just as we care for the cities we live in. And if that sounds utopian, well, maybe that’s what we need right now. Something to aspire to, something worth fighting for. Because in the end, it’s not about the land. It’s about us, and the world we want to live in.

And I suppose, that’s the most radical thought of all.