Brandon Donnelly
Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
Brandon Donnelly
Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
On Saturday, Toronto closed a few of its major roads, including Lake Shore Boulevard West, to provide more space for outdoor activities and social distancing. A number of "quiet streets" were also created last week. These now only allow local vehicular traffic. This, of course, isn't anything novel. Most cities around the world have been reallocating their public space in the wake of this pandemic, with many hoping that some of these changes will stick.
I rode my bike out to the Humber Bay Shores on the weekend (where I took the above photo) and it was clearly the fix that we needed. Our current waterfront trails simply cannot safely accommodate the volume of people who are out right now on the weekends. I reckon that, under normal circumstances, a good percentage of these runners, cyclists, and rollerbladers would probably be on a patio drinking. That's not possible right now, so demand for outdoor activities is way up. (Entirely unproven theory.)
But as is always the case, changes like this make a lot of people grumpy. Traffic got backed up on Lake Shore and the regular "war against the car" narrative flared up. I'm not sure where all these cars were going, but they were out in the sunshine trying to go places. So we have a situation where the reallocation of public space has flipped the supply and demand imbalance to another user -- drivers. Now it's us versus them: "Isn't there already more than enough room on those big bike trails?"
I'm frankly tired of this never ending debate, which is why I have argued before that we could use better data and better metrics. How many people are we moving with the decisions we are making? How many people are we accommodating per square meter of space? Where are users of this public space coming from? What performance standards are we trying to meet and/or maintain? What is the most equitable allocation of a finite amount of space?
But perhaps I'm naive to think that people might listen to facts.
A new 280 acre park is currently under construction in an old quarry on the westside of Atlanta. It's called Westside Park. When it opens this spring (that's at least the target), it will be by far the largest park in the city. But already there are concerns that this investment in new public space could be triggering "rapid gentrification" in the surrounding area.
So earlier this month, the mayor's office issued an executive order that put in place a 6-month moratorium on all new construction permits in the communities surrounding the park. The order read like this: “...refuse to accept new applications for rezonings, building permits for new construction, land disturbance permits, special use permits, special administrative permits, subdivisions, replattings, and lot consolidations for non-public projects."
The objective is to avoid displacement. And since new development means change, this is a way to stop change. (Don't you just hate when things go and change?) The problem, of course, is that a moratorium on new housing doesn't stop change and it does nothing to address the desire to live next to this new amenity. It only stymies the supply of new housing to meet this demand. (It's also incongruent with the park investment being marketed as a "catalyst for new development.")
In fact, Joe Cortright (of City Observatory) and Jenny Schuetz (of the Brookings Institution) have both argued -- either directly or indirectly -- that the above move could actually increase displacement in the surrounding area; because the moratorium on new housing could simply redirect demand toward the existing housing stock. The order does seem to suggest that you can still renovate an existing property.
I wonder if any studies have been done on the externalities associated with temporary housing supply moratoriums. If so, I would be interested in reading them.
On Saturday, Toronto closed a few of its major roads, including Lake Shore Boulevard West, to provide more space for outdoor activities and social distancing. A number of "quiet streets" were also created last week. These now only allow local vehicular traffic. This, of course, isn't anything novel. Most cities around the world have been reallocating their public space in the wake of this pandemic, with many hoping that some of these changes will stick.
I rode my bike out to the Humber Bay Shores on the weekend (where I took the above photo) and it was clearly the fix that we needed. Our current waterfront trails simply cannot safely accommodate the volume of people who are out right now on the weekends. I reckon that, under normal circumstances, a good percentage of these runners, cyclists, and rollerbladers would probably be on a patio drinking. That's not possible right now, so demand for outdoor activities is way up. (Entirely unproven theory.)
But as is always the case, changes like this make a lot of people grumpy. Traffic got backed up on Lake Shore and the regular "war against the car" narrative flared up. I'm not sure where all these cars were going, but they were out in the sunshine trying to go places. So we have a situation where the reallocation of public space has flipped the supply and demand imbalance to another user -- drivers. Now it's us versus them: "Isn't there already more than enough room on those big bike trails?"
I'm frankly tired of this never ending debate, which is why I have argued before that we could use better data and better metrics. How many people are we moving with the decisions we are making? How many people are we accommodating per square meter of space? Where are users of this public space coming from? What performance standards are we trying to meet and/or maintain? What is the most equitable allocation of a finite amount of space?
But perhaps I'm naive to think that people might listen to facts.
A new 280 acre park is currently under construction in an old quarry on the westside of Atlanta. It's called Westside Park. When it opens this spring (that's at least the target), it will be by far the largest park in the city. But already there are concerns that this investment in new public space could be triggering "rapid gentrification" in the surrounding area.
So earlier this month, the mayor's office issued an executive order that put in place a 6-month moratorium on all new construction permits in the communities surrounding the park. The order read like this: “...refuse to accept new applications for rezonings, building permits for new construction, land disturbance permits, special use permits, special administrative permits, subdivisions, replattings, and lot consolidations for non-public projects."
The objective is to avoid displacement. And since new development means change, this is a way to stop change. (Don't you just hate when things go and change?) The problem, of course, is that a moratorium on new housing doesn't stop change and it does nothing to address the desire to live next to this new amenity. It only stymies the supply of new housing to meet this demand. (It's also incongruent with the park investment being marketed as a "catalyst for new development.")
In fact, Joe Cortright (of City Observatory) and Jenny Schuetz (of the Brookings Institution) have both argued -- either directly or indirectly -- that the above move could actually increase displacement in the surrounding area; because the moratorium on new housing could simply redirect demand toward the existing housing stock. The order does seem to suggest that you can still renovate an existing property.
I wonder if any studies have been done on the externalities associated with temporary housing supply moratoriums. If so, I would be interested in reading them.
One of my favorite things about Lisbon is the way in which life seems to happen publicly right on the street and in public squares. Its kiosks (or quiosque), like the one you see pictured above, play a major role in that. They are tiny; usually only run by one person. But they embody old world charm; usually with a dark green finish and some wrought iron flourishes. Supposedly these street anchors fell away during Portugal's authoritarian period (Estado Novo), as there was concern that this sort of urban fraternizing might lead to new, potentially radical, ideas. (That's usually a feature of cities.) Thankfully, Lisbon's kiosks have returned and they're as charming as ever. I like to think that city builders can workaround any type of climate. But the weather here certainly helps this public life. Lisbon is one of the sunniest cities in Europe.
One of my favorite things about Lisbon is the way in which life seems to happen publicly right on the street and in public squares. Its kiosks (or quiosque), like the one you see pictured above, play a major role in that. They are tiny; usually only run by one person. But they embody old world charm; usually with a dark green finish and some wrought iron flourishes. Supposedly these street anchors fell away during Portugal's authoritarian period (Estado Novo), as there was concern that this sort of urban fraternizing might lead to new, potentially radical, ideas. (That's usually a feature of cities.) Thankfully, Lisbon's kiosks have returned and they're as charming as ever. I like to think that city builders can workaround any type of climate. But the weather here certainly helps this public life. Lisbon is one of the sunniest cities in Europe.
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