In Athens, I have a learned, there is something known as antiparochi. The practice took hold in the middle of the 20th century at a time when Athens was in desperate need of new housing. Supposedly during the 1950s, an estimated 560,000 people came to Athens from the countryside in search of opportunity -- effectively doubling the population of the city. That was a bit of a problem for a city with no money to build new housing. So something needed to be done. The solution was a ground-up arrangement (i.e. it wasn't a government initiative) that allowed developers and contractors to increase the supply of new housing without having to ever pay for land. And given the time period in which this took hold, it also spurred quite the modernist building boom, leaving an architectural legacy that to this day continues to define Athens.

Here's an explanation of how antiparochi works (taken from this BBC article by Alex Sakalis):

Here’s how it worked: a contractor would approach the owner of a house and offer him a deal. He would knock down his house, and build a block of flats in its place. In return, the homeowner would be given a certain number of flats (usually two or three), while the contractor would then make his money by selling the remaining flats to Greeks who were seeking accommodation. Generally, no money was exchanged and no contracts were signed.

What’s so incredible about antiparochi is that it emerged spontaneously out of the housing crisis in Athens. “There was no specific law which told people ‘OK now you have the right to collaborate and build whatever you like’. It was the people themselves that found out this possibility,” says Panos Dragonas, professor of Architecture at the University of Patras.

Even more incredibly, the state completely accepted what its citizens had started doing, introducing only a few minor regulations, such as a maximum height for the apartment buildings – known as polykatoikies in Greek – and a ban on building over archaeological sites or on top of Athens’ seven historical hills. There were no property taxes – the state never made any direct income from antiparochi.

The elegance of antiparochi was that it appeared to solve all of Greece’s problems at once. It provided homeowners and home seekers with modern apartments, while creating enough profit for the contractors to continue investing in construction without state subsidies or bank loans.

Photo by Anastase Maragos on Unsplash

Let's say that we have a piece of development land worth $100. That is the market value of the land based on its highest and best use at this particular point in time. Now let's assume that the land was just encumbered with a new burden: inclusionary zoning. All of a sudden there is now a requirement to make available X% of any residential units built at 50% of average market rents for the area.

Technically, the land is now worth less than $100. And there is a school of thought out there that, in instances like this one, the price of all land should automatically reset downward to offset and account for the inclusionary zoning burden. But as I have argued before on the blog, land prices tend to be fairly sticky, unless the owner is distressed and really needs to sell.

So what can often happen is that the land owner will stubbornly cling to the original $100 number. The thinking being, "I was once told that my land is worth $100 and so that's the minimum price I'm willing to accept." In this scenario, you may need a broad increase in rents in order for a transaction to occur. This way the market rate units might be able to fully subsidize these new affordable units, preserving any margins and justifying the original $100 number.

Of course, the impact of inclusionary zoning is a hotly debated topic and there are a number of variables to consider. And so I will leave it at that for today. The real purpose of this post is to consider another permutation. Let's once again say that we have a piece of development land worth $100. But instead of being owned by 13 siblings -- and 3 cousins that live abroad and can't be reached other than by fax -- it's owned by the government.

In this case, the government wants to sell the land and is considering two options. It can either (1) sell it for $100 and maximize immediate taxpayer revenue or (2) it can sell it for $80 with the condition that the buyer agree to deliver X% of affordable units (and a bunch of other goodies and positive externalities). I would also add that this fictitious town is experiencing what some might call a housing crisis.

If you were a private sector actor, you would probably choose option 1. You would take the additional $20 and retire to Florida (I'm off by a few zeros). But this is the government we're talking about and presumably the government is thinking about the broader public good. Which option do you think is better at maximizing that?

In Athens, I have a learned, there is something known as antiparochi. The practice took hold in the middle of the 20th century at a time when Athens was in desperate need of new housing. Supposedly during the 1950s, an estimated 560,000 people came to Athens from the countryside in search of opportunity -- effectively doubling the population of the city. That was a bit of a problem for a city with no money to build new housing. So something needed to be done. The solution was a ground-up arrangement (i.e. it wasn't a government initiative) that allowed developers and contractors to increase the supply of new housing without having to ever pay for land. And given the time period in which this took hold, it also spurred quite the modernist building boom, leaving an architectural legacy that to this day continues to define Athens.

Here's an explanation of how antiparochi works (taken from this BBC article by Alex Sakalis):

Here’s how it worked: a contractor would approach the owner of a house and offer him a deal. He would knock down his house, and build a block of flats in its place. In return, the homeowner would be given a certain number of flats (usually two or three), while the contractor would then make his money by selling the remaining flats to Greeks who were seeking accommodation. Generally, no money was exchanged and no contracts were signed.

What’s so incredible about antiparochi is that it emerged spontaneously out of the housing crisis in Athens. “There was no specific law which told people ‘OK now you have the right to collaborate and build whatever you like’. It was the people themselves that found out this possibility,” says Panos Dragonas, professor of Architecture at the University of Patras.

Even more incredibly, the state completely accepted what its citizens had started doing, introducing only a few minor regulations, such as a maximum height for the apartment buildings – known as polykatoikies in Greek – and a ban on building over archaeological sites or on top of Athens’ seven historical hills. There were no property taxes – the state never made any direct income from antiparochi.

The elegance of antiparochi was that it appeared to solve all of Greece’s problems at once. It provided homeowners and home seekers with modern apartments, while creating enough profit for the contractors to continue investing in construction without state subsidies or bank loans.

Photo by Anastase Maragos on Unsplash

Let's say that we have a piece of development land worth $100. That is the market value of the land based on its highest and best use at this particular point in time. Now let's assume that the land was just encumbered with a new burden: inclusionary zoning. All of a sudden there is now a requirement to make available X% of any residential units built at 50% of average market rents for the area.

Technically, the land is now worth less than $100. And there is a school of thought out there that, in instances like this one, the price of all land should automatically reset downward to offset and account for the inclusionary zoning burden. But as I have argued before on the blog, land prices tend to be fairly sticky, unless the owner is distressed and really needs to sell.

So what can often happen is that the land owner will stubbornly cling to the original $100 number. The thinking being, "I was once told that my land is worth $100 and so that's the minimum price I'm willing to accept." In this scenario, you may need a broad increase in rents in order for a transaction to occur. This way the market rate units might be able to fully subsidize these new affordable units, preserving any margins and justifying the original $100 number.

Of course, the impact of inclusionary zoning is a hotly debated topic and there are a number of variables to consider. And so I will leave it at that for today. The real purpose of this post is to consider another permutation. Let's once again say that we have a piece of development land worth $100. But instead of being owned by 13 siblings -- and 3 cousins that live abroad and can't be reached other than by fax -- it's owned by the government.

In this case, the government wants to sell the land and is considering two options. It can either (1) sell it for $100 and maximize immediate taxpayer revenue or (2) it can sell it for $80 with the condition that the buyer agree to deliver X% of affordable units (and a bunch of other goodies and positive externalities). I would also add that this fictitious town is experiencing what some might call a housing crisis.

If you were a private sector actor, you would probably choose option 1. You would take the additional $20 and retire to Florida (I'm off by a few zeros). But this is the government we're talking about and presumably the government is thinking about the broader public good. Which option do you think is better at maximizing that?

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