Wired: What makes squatter cities so important?

Stewart Brand: That’s where vast numbers of humans—slum dwellers—are doing urban stuff in new and amazing ways. And hell’s bells, there are a billion of them! People are trying desperately to get out of poverty, so there’s a lot of creativity; they collaborate in ways that we’ve completely forgotten how to do in regular cities. And there’s a transition: People come in from the countryside, enter the rickshaw economy, and work for almost nothing. But after a while, they move uptown, into the formal economy. The United Nations did extensive field research and flipped from seeing squatter cities as the world’s great problem to realizing these slums are actually the world’s great solution to poverty.

Wired: Why are they good for the environment?

Brand: Cities draw people away from subsistence farming, which is ecologically devastating, and they defuse the population bomb. In the villages, women spend their time doing agricultural stuff, for no pay, or having lots and lots of kids. When women move to town, it’s better to have fewer kids, bear down, and get them some education, some economic opportunity. Women become important, powerful creatures in the slums. They’re often the ones running the community-based organizations, and they’re considered the most reliable recipients of microfinance loans.

Wired: How can governments help nurture these positives?

Brand: The suffering is great, and crime is rampant. We made the mistake of romanticizing villages, and we don’t need to make that mistake again. But the main thing is not to bulldoze the slums. Treat the people as pioneers. Get them some grid electricity, water, sanitation, crime prevention. All that makes a huge difference.

“I don’t like the term crime—it’s such a big, fat, imprecise word,” says the renowned University of Oslo criminologist. “There are only unwanted acts. How we perceive them depends on our relationship with those who carry them out.” If a teenager swipes a wallet, we call it a crime. If he snakes a twenty from his dad, it’s a family issue. Locking up the pickpocket only sets him up to learn worse tricks from hardened thugs. Better, Christie says, to treat him like a badly behaved son. Send him to counseling and require that he compensate his victim. Similarly, drug abuse should be considered a matter of public health, not criminal justice. Give addicts treatment instead of incarceration and you’ll cure more of them and (bonus!) foster a more humane society. Of course, seriously violent criminals should be locked up, but Christie points out that the justice system does a poor job of determining which ones are so incorrigible that they need to stay behind bars.

Christie’s approach may sound implausible in the US, where crime is far more prevalent than in his home of Norway. But our national predilection for punishment has gotten out of hand. The Land of the Free incarcerates more citizens per capita than any other country on Earth, almost half of them for nonviolent offenses. And it’s not because of a rise in crime rates—in fact, those have been falling for nearly a decade. Rather, tough sentencing and anti-drug laws have put a growing number of marginal offenders behind bars. Maybe that’s why some US officials are starting to think like Christie. California and a few other states now mandate treatment rather than imprisonment for certain drug offenders, and many communities have launched victim-offender mediation programs.

If nothing else, cutting the prison population helps the bottom line. Each inmate costs US taxpayers more than $22,000 a year. And return on the investment stinks: Two out of three prisoners released are arrested again, according to government studies. Now that’s a crime.

Sonne reached this conclusion six years ago, after his youngest son was diagnosed with the mysterious developmental disorder. “At first I was in agony and despair,” he recalls. “Then came the thought of what happens when he grows up.”

In Sonne’s native Denmark, as elsewhere, autistics are typically considered unemployable. But Sonne worked in IT, a field more suited to people with autism and related conditions like Asperger’s syndrome. “As a general view, they have excellent memory and strong attention to detail. They are persistent and good at following structures and routines,” he says. In other words, they’re born software engineers.

In 2004, Sonne quit his job at a telecom firm and founded Specialisterne (Danish for “Specialists”), an IT consultancy that hires mostly people with autism-spectrum disorders. Its nearly 60 consultants ferret out software errors for companies like Microsoft and Cisco Systems. Recently, the firm has expanded into other detail-centered work—like keeping track of Denmark’s fiber-optic network, so crews laying new lines don’t accidentally cut old ones.

Turning autism into a selling point does require a little extra effort: Specialisterne employees typically complete a five-month training course, and clients must be prepared for a somewhat unusual working relationship. But once on the job, the consultants stay focused beyond the point when most minds go numb. As a result, they make far fewer mistakes. One client who hired Specialisterne workers to do data entry found that they were five to 10 times more precise than other contractors.

Sonne recently handed off day-to-day operations to start a foundation dedicated to spreading his business model. Already, companies inspired by Specialisterne have sprouted in Sweden, the Netherlands, and Belgium. Similar efforts are planned for Iceland and Scotland. “This is not cheap labor, and it’s not occupational therapy,” he says. “We simply do a better job.”