Even in a time of unprecedented disruption, one place remains untouched by the tools of design: the humble sidewalk.

We’ve devised air traffic systems that keep the skies seamless, and designed highways where humans and combustion engines coexist without chaos. Yet the ultimate point of interface between person and planet has been virtually ignored.

But a sidewalk is more than an outlay of concrete. In dense urban environments, it’s a platform for human collaboration on its most essential level. It’s the last venue where we must physically contend with our fellow beings, in real time, without protective gear. And we’re supposed to cooperate.

In today’s American city, however, that platform is broken.

Personal technology is the primary culprit. Most pedestrians now amble without regard for their surroundings, eyes down, consumed by conversations and scrolls. Their pace dwindles as their path veers. While their bodies are present, their minds and manners are elsewhere.

Add tourists to the mix, and the problem deepens. They arrive from places where cigarettes and fanny packs remain in fashion, then wield both with impunity. Photo shoots commence without warning. Directions are requested. Smoke clouds billow.

A stolid few of us remain attuned to our surroundings, conscious of our civic duty to share the sidewalk. We have places to be, and where we come from, time still equals money. The human obstacles in our paths don’t just sap our productivity; they drain our spirits.¹

So before the social, economic, and psychological costs become unbearable, it’s time to marshal the tools of disruption and pose a fundamental question: Can design save the sidewalk?

If so, we’ll need clear and specific expectations for pedestrians. The rules of the road can guide us, beginning with slower traffic on the right and a faster passing lane on the left. Cautious merging into the flow of existing traffic. Stopping only when avoiding physical harm.

But the honor system has failed us so far, and social norms are on the wane. So without etiquette to rely on, legal changes will be required.

In high-density urban zones, that will mean no more screen-distracted walking. Smoking in designated areas only. Phone conversations held to a maximum length. Selfies in the flow of traffic forbidden.

But regulation will become irrelevant without real enforcement. Many cities will jump at a new source of revenue opportunity in sidewalks — particularly among budget shortfalls in education, infrastructure, and service delivery.

Following the example of parking meters, enforcement options will emerge from both public and private sectors. Some municipalities will issue fines on foot, but others will look into outsourcing the task. Enterprising VC-backed startups will appear overnight.

Inspired by new efforts to curb vehicle traffic in dense areas, cities will designate “efficiency zones” charging a nominal pedestrian toll, either per use or by subscription. Many commuters will gladly pay for a premium urban walking experience, and toll-collecting jobs will be created.

Sophisticated technology will arise. Mobile apps will process payments and identify compliant behavior based on GPS signals. Surveillance cameras with facial recognition will help nab offenders. Public service announcements will launch: You can walk, but you can’t hide.

Good behavior will be rewarded by gamifying the pedestrian experience. Responsible walking will amass points, unlock rewards, and build social standing. The same systems will broadcast the failings of offenders, amplifying their shame.

With each design decision, incentives will shift, behaviors will adjust, and revenue will flow. Politicians will declare that efficiency gains are boosting the economy. Startups will claim that our emotional toll is lifting, leaving us happier and healthier.

Pointing to the recent past, from indoor smoking to impaired driving, proponents will assert that once again, good manners alone can’t protect us from public harm. With their coffers expanding, they’ll call these measures the next logical step in our evolution.

But hopefully not.

Our sidewalks may seem archaic in their simplicity, but they can also serve as a blank canvas. They might even be an opportunity to reinvent how we behave collectively — our chance to design a new public commons for our time.

Perhaps we seek out incremental moves like curb cuts, which benefit all levels of able-bodiedness. We take a more active voice in local debates over micromobility, balancing the needs of pedestrians with the economic realities of short-distance rapid transit.

Above all, we make a conscious decision to minimize distractions and maintain our awareness of others while we move. To be better about sharing space, returning to social norms, and being collaborative by choice. In time, even trusting one another again.

That approach isn’t bold or disruptive. It won’t win elections or mint new billionaires. But it’s cheap and ready to implement today.

And if that doesn’t pan out, here’s hoping our flying cars arrive soon.

[1]: Your author commutes roughly 1,000 miles on foot each year, earning him authority in the matter. Although at press time, he lacks a shoe endorsement deal.