Broken-windows theory always worked better as an idea than as a description of the real world. The problems with the theory, which include the fact that perceptions of disorder generally have more to do with the racial composition of a neighborhood than with the number of broken windows or amount of graffiti in the area, are numerous and well documented. But more interesting than the theory’s flaws is the way that it was framed and interpreted. Consider the authors’ famous evocation of how disorder begins: A piece of property is abandoned, weeds grow up, a window is smashed. Adults stop scolding rowdy children; the children, emboldened, become more rowdy. Families move out, unattached adults move in. Teenagers gather in front of the corner store. The merchant asks them to move; they refuse. Fights occur. Litter accumulates. People start drinking in front of the grocery; in time, an inebriate slumps to the sidewalk and is allowed to sleep it off. Pedestrians are approached by panhandlers. Things get worse from there. But what’s curious is how the first 2 steps of this cycle—“A piece of property is abandoned, weeds grow up”—have disappeared in the public imagination. The 3rd step—“a window is smashed”—inspired the article’s catchy title and took center stage. Debates about the theory ignored the 2 problems at the root of its story, jumping straight to the criminal behavior. We got “broken windows,” not “abandoned property,” and a very different policy response ensued. But what if the authors—and the policymakers who heeded them—had taken another tack? What if vacant property had received the attention that, for 30 years, was instead showered on petty criminals?

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