Red Bricks, Green Message

By Daniel Yuan

An electric scooter zooms past me, disappearing into the crowd of students ahead. Behind me, I hear the rattle of a skateboard growing louder as its wheels bounce over the rough red bricks that stretch across USC’s campus.

In front of me, Trousdale Parkway flows like a current of students: shoes tapping against the pavement, Dulce and Starbucks cups in hand, conversations filling the afternoon air. My own footsteps join the rhythm, adding another sound to the symphony of campus life.

However, something is missing.

Something I’ve grown so accustomed to.

Cars.

There isn’t a single one.

Instead of the constant rumble of engines, there is only the gentle hum of conversations. Instead of horns cutting through the air, there is the sound of laughter. Instead of lingering exhaust fumes, there is only the cool afternoon breeze.

The campus feels busy, but not chaotic.

It moves.

It breathes.

But it doesn’t roar.

As I reach the end of Trousdale, five steel bollards rise from the ground, quietly separating the calm of campus from the city beyond. On one side is a place where people, bicycles, skateboards, and scooters take priority. On the other, Los Angeles returns immediately: traffic lights flash, pedestrian signals beep, and the steady flow of cars and buses resumes.

The bollards aren’t advertised as part of a sustainability initiative. There is no wall, no checkpoint, and no sign dramatically announcing that cars are prohibited. Yet these short metal posts quietly accomplish something remarkable: they protect the heart of campus from vehicle traffic, almost forcing sustainability upon the people inside.

By closing the campus core to cars and arranging buildings within a comfortable fifteen-minute walk of one another, USC subtly encourages sustainable behavior. Students don’t have to make dramatic environmental decisions. They simply live their daily lives—walking to class, biking to the dining hall, or skateboarding to the library.

The campus itself nudges people toward habits that use less energy, create less pollution, and foster a more human-centered environment.

As I slow down, I begin noticing this quiet sustainability everywhere. It isn’t limited to solar panels, recycling bins, or climate pledges. It’s also present in the shade cast by the trees around Founders Park, in the squirrels and chipmunks darting across the grass, and in the steady movement of students and faculty walking together rather than driving separately.

Most students probably don’t think much about sustainability as they move across campus because it has been woven so seamlessly into everyday life.

I usually don’t either.

It’s only when I stop and pay attention that the intentionality of the campus’s design becomes clear.