Detroit, a city that’s been slowly descending into ruin since the 1967 race riots, brings to mind Sodom and Gomorrah, another vice-wracked urban center undone by fire and moral collapse. As the story goes in Genesis, Abraham bartered with God, asking him to spare the city altogether, if only ten righteous people could be found. There weren’t even that many, though, so the cities burnt.

Looking at Detroit, it’s easy to think, as one commenter on my blight story today did, that the problem is “not some ethereal notion of decay named ‘blight,’ its the people of Detroit. We need to stop making excuses and pretending it’s something else.”

Detroit is infamous for crime without punishment. When I lived there in 2008, I rented part of a palatial house on Agnes Street and Burns in Indian Village. It was a relatively ritzy neighborhood, but the other two inhabitants had hidden baseball bats strategically around the house in case of an intruder; we had a security system and locks galore. A Detroit News interactive graphic shows that within a five-minute drive of my former abode, there were around 40 shootings and seven homicides in a single year.

And the general sentiment of lawlessness is so pervasive that it has become trendy—if that’s the appropriate word—to walk down the middle of the street rather than take the sidewalk. Windows are shattered or missing, and graffiti is as common as actual signage. If you run a red light in front of the police station, no one is liable to stop you. I’ve tried. The officers have bigger problems to contend with.

These are Detroit’s striking characteristics, but another one is neglected. I continue to be blown away by the number of people who want to make a difference in Detroit—and then actually do something incredible. Nowhere else have I met so many people with such a profound sense of community responsibility. Horrific settings often create heroic people.

Consider: In a city where 47 percent of the population is functionally illiterate, where buses are unreliable and parents absent, where jobs for teens are scarce if they’re not in the black market—even there, around two in three high school students manage to graduate on time. That’s a bad educational statistic, but it’s a testament to the perseverance of the majority of those kids.

Furthermore, because the cost of living is so low, artists are increasingly flocking to the city. I found their fearlessness inspiring and their creativity mesmerizing. Their art is often purposeful. The Heidelberg Project, which I write about, seeks to empower neighbors and draw attention to crumbling neighborhoods.

And then there’s the philanthropic sector. Bill Pulte, who I profile, is making a huge difference with his Blight Authority. Others simply give their weekends to volunteer. When I lived there, dozens showed up on a scorching-hot Saturday to build a pavilion designed by an artist in an otherwise ugly, blighted neighborhood. These volunteers hoped the installment would bring people together, fostering a sense of community. Maybe the people in that neighborhood would return the favor someday, the volunteers hoped.

The temptation is to look at Detroit, a tragic city, and immediately blame its people. But those people are the best and only answer the city has, and many of them are no longer waiting for government to provide the solution. Where the government has failed, individuals—not all of them, but perhaps enough — have risen to the occasion. That’s why I love Detroit, and that’s why I think this once-great city might be spared.