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.

This is an excellent article by James Hamblin about the coronavirus. He believes, along with many epidemiologists, that the disease (COVID-19) is unlikely to be contained, and may become endemic:

The Harvard epidemiology professor Marc Lipsitch is exacting in his diction, even for an epidemiologist. Twice in our conversation he started to say something, then paused and said, “Actually, let me start again.” So it’s striking when one of the points he wanted to get exactly right was this: “I think the likely outcome is that it will ultimately not be containable.”

But here's the irony. It is unlikely to be containable because, comparatively speaking, the disease isn't as fatal as other coronaviruses. In James' words: The virus is deadly, but not too deadly.

As of right now, the fatality rate is believed to be less than 2%. SARS and MERS, on the other hand, were highly fatal to humans. H5N1 (avian flu), which emerged in the 90s, had/has a fatality rate of about 60%.

One of the problems with COVID-19 is that, for many people, the symptoms are mild or even non-existent. And that is precisely why it has been so difficult to pin down. If it affected everyone equally and as severely, then it would be far more containable.

But I am the furthest thing from an epidemiologist, so you should probably just go and read James' article over in The Atlantic.

John Hopkins University also has this live map showing total confirmed, total deaths, and total recovered. At the time of this post, the fatality rate looks to be about 3.4%. But if you believe that many people are asymptomatic, the denominator is probably understated.

Naturally, we are all taking precautions, doing what we can to make our communities safe, and trying to quash this virus. And that is what we should be doing. At the same time, I found James' article helpful at putting things into perspective.

There's an interesting debate happening online right now. A recent article by Derek Thompson (of the Atlantic) made the claim that today's urban renaissance is great for young college graduates, but not so good for kids.

Here’s a quick synopsis:

Cities have effectively traded away their children, swapping capital for kids. College graduates descend into cities, inhale fast-casual meals, emit the fumes of overwork, get washed, and bounce to smaller cities or the suburbs by the time their kids are old enough to spell.

Raising a family in the city [New York City] is just too hard. And the same could be said of pretty much every other dense and expensive urban area in the country.

Michael Lewyn (of the Touro Law Center) responded to this argument with a post titled "the myth of the childless city." While it is true that the US fertility rate is at an all-time low, the numbers -- at least some of them -- suggest that cities aren't all that childless:

Furthermore, not all urban cores are doing poorly in retaining children. Washington, D.C. had just under 32,000 children under 5 in 2010, and has over 45,000 today. In Philadelphia, the number of children under 5 increased from just over 101,000 in 2010 to 104,152 in 2018. Even in San Francisco (which, according to The Atlantic article, “has the lowest share of children of any of the largest 100 cities in the U.S.”), the number of under-5 children increased from 35,203 in 2010 to 39,722 in 2018.

What I would be curious to see is a more granular look at where children are being raised within specific cities, and how that may, or may not, be changing over time. City boundaries can be broad.

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.

This is an excellent article by James Hamblin about the coronavirus. He believes, along with many epidemiologists, that the disease (COVID-19) is unlikely to be contained, and may become endemic:

The Harvard epidemiology professor Marc Lipsitch is exacting in his diction, even for an epidemiologist. Twice in our conversation he started to say something, then paused and said, “Actually, let me start again.” So it’s striking when one of the points he wanted to get exactly right was this: “I think the likely outcome is that it will ultimately not be containable.”

But here's the irony. It is unlikely to be containable because, comparatively speaking, the disease isn't as fatal as other coronaviruses. In James' words: The virus is deadly, but not too deadly.

As of right now, the fatality rate is believed to be less than 2%. SARS and MERS, on the other hand, were highly fatal to humans. H5N1 (avian flu), which emerged in the 90s, had/has a fatality rate of about 60%.

One of the problems with COVID-19 is that, for many people, the symptoms are mild or even non-existent. And that is precisely why it has been so difficult to pin down. If it affected everyone equally and as severely, then it would be far more containable.

But I am the furthest thing from an epidemiologist, so you should probably just go and read James' article over in The Atlantic.

John Hopkins University also has this live map showing total confirmed, total deaths, and total recovered. At the time of this post, the fatality rate looks to be about 3.4%. But if you believe that many people are asymptomatic, the denominator is probably understated.

Naturally, we are all taking precautions, doing what we can to make our communities safe, and trying to quash this virus. And that is what we should be doing. At the same time, I found James' article helpful at putting things into perspective.

There's an interesting debate happening online right now. A recent article by Derek Thompson (of the Atlantic) made the claim that today's urban renaissance is great for young college graduates, but not so good for kids.

Here’s a quick synopsis:

Cities have effectively traded away their children, swapping capital for kids. College graduates descend into cities, inhale fast-casual meals, emit the fumes of overwork, get washed, and bounce to smaller cities or the suburbs by the time their kids are old enough to spell.

Raising a family in the city [New York City] is just too hard. And the same could be said of pretty much every other dense and expensive urban area in the country.

Michael Lewyn (of the Touro Law Center) responded to this argument with a post titled "the myth of the childless city." While it is true that the US fertility rate is at an all-time low, the numbers -- at least some of them -- suggest that cities aren't all that childless:

Furthermore, not all urban cores are doing poorly in retaining children. Washington, D.C. had just under 32,000 children under 5 in 2010, and has over 45,000 today. In Philadelphia, the number of children under 5 increased from just over 101,000 in 2010 to 104,152 in 2018. Even in San Francisco (which, according to The Atlantic article, “has the lowest share of children of any of the largest 100 cities in the U.S.”), the number of under-5 children increased from 35,203 in 2010 to 39,722 in 2018.

What I would be curious to see is a more granular look at where children are being raised within specific cities, and how that may, or may not, be changing over time. City boundaries can be broad.