Across US, locals rebel against noise
The common culprits - and some new ones.
By
Patrik Jonsson
| Correspondent of The Christian Science Monitor
RALEIGH,
N.C.
- In rural California, neighbors want the mules to stop braying. In New
York City, the ice cream man has to turn off the jingle on his truck, at
least while he's handing out fudgesicles. Here in Raleigh, N.C., it's
essentially one shout and you're out as the city council increases noise
fines aimed in part at rowdy renters.
Shhh.
Be very quiet. The noise patrol is coming to a siren, scream, or
boisterous CD near you. Julius Caesar is believed to have been the first
to enact a noise ordinance, banning creaky chariots from barreling
around Rome at all hours of the night.
Now
a grass-roots movement is gaining momentum from California's Gold
Country to the honking streets of New York to turn down the decibel
level on all things annoying - and even on some that aren't.
While
most municipalities in America now have some kind of noise code on the
books, local governments are taking new steps to bolster and tighten
laws, pushing back - quietly, of course - against a cacophonous nation
that loves its Harleys, leaf blowers, and "boom cars."
In
some ways, it's just a fight against the inevitable march of
civilization. "You used to reliably move to the suburbs and find
peace and quiet," says Les Blomberg of the Noise Pollution
Clearinghouse in Montpelier, Vt. But now "we've made our suburbs
noisy. We can't all buy 1,000 acres and hide in the middle of it."
Advocates
of quietude say that among the most visible culprits are the bass
amplifiers that now use the chassis of the car as a resonator, which in
turn rattles walls and windows. The amps are even marketed with a sort
of rebelliousness in mind, with one subwoofer manufacturer telling
customers, "Disturb the peace."
To
critics, such affronts are downright unconstitutional and even a cause
of urban sprawl, as people move further out on the fringes to get some
peace. "[Industries] market noise under the flag of freedom, which
is counter to the Jeffersonian idea of freedom within the limits of the
equal rights of others around us," says Mark Huber, a noise
protester in Richmond, Va.
Since
President Reagan cut the federal noise abatement program in 1982, state
legislators have been forced to deal with the issue more directly - and
often side with big industry. So today it's frequently up to county
commissioners and precinct captains to address the thousands of noise
complaints phoned in everyday.
And
there are a lot of them: 83 percent of the calls to New York City's
quality-of-life line in the past year were about "excessive
noise," while the vast majority of calls to new 311"municipal
emergency" lines in many cities concern sound complaints.
Music that is in ears of the beholder
In
Austin, supposedly the Southwest's "Music City," police
recently arrested three musicians leading a conga line for breaking the
city's noise ordinance. Now the city council wants to change the
ordinance so police can ticket people who violate the code even if no
one has filed a complaint.
In
Tamworth, N.H., some townspeople don't want any part of the sonic
pleasures that a new European racetrack will offer, so they are pushing
a far-reaching new noise ordinance. The racetrack owners, for their
part, say they won't even be able to mow the lawn under the proposed
code.
Here
in Raleigh, N.C., a new fee hike for noise violations has resulted in a
"first shout and you're out" policy by some property
management firms. The fines imposed by the city council have become
stiff enough that the property owners, who have to pay the penalties,
won't tolerate any violators in their rental units. In Lorain, Ohio,
police are known to smash illegal stereos with sledgehammers.
"Noise
pollution has become an epidemic, and sufferers nationwide are not
taking it quietly any more," says J.J. Surbeck, a San Diego
resident and the webmaster at Noiselaw.org, which advocates for peace
and quiet.
The
loudest harangue, as usual, may come out of New York, where Mayor
Michael Bloomberg is championing a "silent nights" initiative
that would lower decibels and hike fines. It's a plan drawing fire from
business leaders and poorer neighborhoods. After all, last year New York
cops got into a scrape with a Hispanic family that had been listening to
music in their yard. The family insisted there had been no complaints,
yet the cops arrested everyone, including the grandmother. The case was
eventually thrown out of court.
Cases
like this raise a more arcane question: Is there an objective standard
for noise that everyone can agree on or is it simply that one man's
symphony is another man's cacophony? Noise meters, experts say, can do
some of the scientific measuring, but standards are still debatable.
Bloomberg
critic Charles Barron, a New York City councilman from Brooklyn, says
the idea of having Mr. Softee ice cream trucks turn off their jingle
targets what he calls a "sound of the city" just to appease an
individual's perception of annoyance. "Real loud music - boom cars,
car alarms - those are legitimate concerns," says Mr. Barron.
"But Mr. Softee? C'mon, that's a bit much."
In
Placer County, Calif., on the slopes of the Sierra Nevadas, the growth
of the suburbs has set up perhaps the inevitable conflict of man versus
mule. Late last year, a newcomer sued a neighbor over the nighttime
brays of her companion, "Happy." His demand: $100 per bray.
Happy's owner prevailed, after other neighbors testified that the mule's
rough melody was a legitimate part of the country soundscape.
To
some in Placer County, the question is whether objectively measuring
sounds and educating locals with signs will actually lead to a quieter
world. Some think the best solution is for neighbors to work it out
among themselves. "We don't want to create an ordinance that's used
to get rid of Happy the mule," says Gerry Brentnall, a Placer
County planning commissioner.
Seniors versus car stereos
In
St. Petersburg, Fla., some elderly activists did take matters into their
own hands. Judy Ellis, upset over the sound from loud car stereos, got
neighborhood permission to put up no-noise signs (they show a figure
holding his ears). She also sued a local "boomer" who woke the
neighborhood up every morning at 6:30, and she is working with local
police in a sting operation to take out what she calls the "54th
Avenue Boom Car Parade."
"We
can feel the car coming before we see it..." says Ms. Ellis.
"There's nowhere to run."
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