Symbolically, the Des Moines City Council couldn’t make a bigger blunder than to silence the train whistles. What the council should silence, with logic, is the multimillion-dollar proposal emanating from the downtown lofts that would assist in the comfort of a few but rob the core city of a big part of its identity.

It’s irksome that citizens who are bothered or inconvenienced or have purely self-centered agendas can spin them around “economic development” concerns and gain steam. It’s like moving to the rural countryside and demanding that gravel roads be paved to reduce dust or that livestock be moved to some other area to eliminate the smells of agriculture.

Shoot, the jets fly so low over my South Side home that I instinctively duck even when I’m inside, yet I’m not before City Council members complaining that I’m not getting enough sleep and arguing that my life would be altogether more pleasant if they would just move the airport to West Des Moines. I’ve learned to be tolerant. For five years, I lived a half block from a far-busier railroad track than the one snaking through downtown and became mostly oblivious to the blaring horns that sounded as many as 20 times a day. I’d be lying if I said the train whistles were comforting and soothing, but disingenuous if I said they ruined my life, threatened my investment and reduced my community’s economic development efforts to a folly.

Nothing says “old and tired” like “quiet zone.” When I was a kid, “quiet zone” signs that subtly discouraged the use of automobile horns and, I assumed, even talking were posted along both sides of the block that housed a sprawling hospital-turned-nursing home. To me, it meant that loud noises could kill these old, feeble people. Why, a car creeping by without a muffler could take out quite a few of them. I’m not sure anyone explained it as such to me, but I was a smart girl and I could figure out that unless I wanted the deaths of who knows how many senior citizens on my conscience, I should keep my mouth shut.

So, naturally, when I hear “quiet zone,” I’m not thinking about a magnificent quality of life. I’m wondering if the train left any bodies.

This is a ridiculous debate, but one that has to play out since it’s written nowhere that only smart initiatives can go before the City Council. Government would be a lot less interesting to observe if that were the case. We haven’t had a really good fight around here since the late Frank Bowers tried to force a referendum on Iowa Events Center funding. And it’s easier to poke fun at the librarian types who want quiet, please, than Bowers, who just wanted to serve democracy and tried to ensure that the voice of the people would be heard.

These anti-train-whistle people haven’t been paying attention. Cities larger and smaller than Des Moines have been discussing quiet zones and dismissing them as too extravagant for years. Des Moines, which can’t even properly illuminate all of its streets, can’t afford quiet zones. And even if the city were flush with cash, silencing train whistles would be a bad idea.

A city at work is often noisy. Sometimes it smells bad. Living in its core is always a sensory experience. It is what it is, and it’s wrong to try to change that.