If there was ever a clarion call for land use, Yes in God’s Backyard may be the most ethereal. In a riff on the pro-housing movement Yes in My Backyard, YIGBY advocates promote building housing on land owned by churches and other faith-based organizations. More than 100,000 U.S. churches will be closed over the next several years—an estimated one quarter of those in operation—according to the National Council of Churches. Even those that aren’t closing may be looking for new ways to generate income. The major culprit is a drop in attendance. Since these organizations often want to unload land and property, the YIGBY reasoning goes, why not seize the opportunity to convert these sites of houses of worship to include houses.

There is no nationwide analysis of how much religious-owned land might ultimately be available, but state-by-state analysis reveals significant potential. In California, the Terner Center at the University of California Berkeley estimates there are 47,000 acres of developable faith-based land. After filtering out land occupied by cemeteries and the like, Smart Growth Maryland estimates that more than 15,000 acres in that state could be the site of 6,200 new homes. In Massachusetts, the Lincoln Institute’s Center for Geospatial Solutions identified some 5,000 developable parcels totaling 20,000 acres—potentially the site of least 60,000 new homes—in a project with the Lynch Foundation. Most of those parcels had access to existing infrastructure like water and sewer, and were strategically located near transit.

Faced with severe housing shortages, state governments have been actively trying to encourage the conversions. Washington state led the way, followed by Maryland, Virginia, and California, which allowed religious organizations to build affordable housing on their properties by right–and extended the measure to apply to other nonprofit organizations, like veterans’ organizations and fraternal lodges, which face many of the same challenges as houses of worship. Local governments in Atlanta, San Antonio, and Seattle have also sought to streamline the process.

As is the case so often with government-owned parcels, land held by churches can rapidly become contested. When repurposing proposals roll out, neighborhood opposition has been common, manifesting in the original land use acronym that inspired YIMBY and YIGBY: NIMBY, or Not in My Back Yard. If a church property has been quiet for many years, nearby residents are worried about increased activity, parking, and traffic.

A redevelopment proposal for a Presbyterian church in Arlington, Virginia triggered a Change.org petition, Stop High Rises in Arlington Residential Neighborhoods, alleging that the project “will have serious detrimental effects on our community’s character, quality of life, and historical heritage.” In Colorado, YIGBY legislation was sidelined after local governments expressed a concern over loss of local control.

Still, with land in limited supply and restrictions on building so pervasive, an increasing number of communities are determined to seize the opportunity for infill redevelopment on church and nonprofit properties. The key is not to be overzealous, said Richard Reinhard, principal of Niagara Consulting Group, who has been advising cities and houses of worship on how best to proceed with reuse and redevelopment. “YIGBY is promising, but the notion that all surplus faith properties should become 100 percent affordable housing is carelessly simplistic,” he said. He suggests a “360-degree assessment” of each site, which may reveal potential for mixed-use development or a partial repurposing of the property, allowing faith-based organizations to continue operating in some form.

Much like publicly owned land that is being eyed for new uses, the emptying chapels and temples and rectories—not to mention the Knights of Columbus clubhouses or the YMCA gyms—await a new purpose that fulfills another mission of the community: the peaceful dwelling places and secure homes promised in the Bible.

Anthony Flint is a senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, host of the Land Matters podcast, and a contributing editor to Land Lines magazine.

Lead image: Site plan from a design charrette in Durham, North Carolina, led by the Faith-Based Housing Initiative. Credit: Faith-Based Housing Initiative.

Ballantyne, North Carolina, is a developing edge city along the south side of Charlotte. With good schools, a number of large employers, and a median household income about 50 percent higher than the national median, it is a desirable and growing area—and it needs more affordable housing.

In response to that need, the City of Charlotte took a new look at one of its most important assets: land. In 2023, the City agreed to lease a 3.4-acre parcel to CSE Communities, a division of the developer Crosland Southeast that specializes in residential mixed-income projects.

Under the lease terms, CSE Communities will pay $1 per year for 75 years and build Evoke Living at Ballantyne, a 60-unit development that will be affordable to low- and moderate-income households. The project will include 12 units affordable to very low-income residents earning 30 percent or less of the area median income (AMI), 32 units affordable to households earning 51 to 60 percent of AMI, and 16 units affordable to those earning 61 to 80 percent of AMI.

As Shawn Heath, the city’s deputy city manager, explained to the South Charlotte Weekly, the project is “a wonderful way to leverage city-owned land to get affordable housing in an area that could use it.” Heath drew special attention to the location of the lot, noting that “it is absolutely hands down in a phenomenal area for affordable housing. It checks all the boxes in terms of access to jobs, amenities, services, local public schools.”

With about a third of U.S. households now cost-burdened—spending more than 30 percent of income on housing and facing tough choices about how to stretch limited budgets—communities across the country are taking on the housing affordability crisis, using a resource they already own. Many are finding that urban sites like surface parking lots, vacant lots, institutional land, and government buildings can be used strategically to boost supply.

The current housing crisis stems from many factors, of course, including stagnant wages, elevated construction costs, and restrictive zoning. But ultimately, the problem comes down to this: the nation has a housing crisis because we don’t have enough housing, by millions of units.

As they seek to increase their stock by redeveloping public land for affordable housing, communities are taking different approaches. In the case of Charlotte, the municipality maintains ownership of the land and issues the developer a ground lease, which ensures that the city retains the land value. In other instances, city governments sell or donate their land.

Sometimes the municipality is actively engaged in the development project through a public-private partnership. Other times, its role is limited to holding the developer accountable to agreed-upon terms. In all cases, municipalities are capitalizing on the land’s potential to address a crucial housing need, and, in doing so, fulfilling the responsibility of government to maximize public assets for public good.

Legislating the Use of State and Local Land

According to an analysis by the Center for Geospatial Solutions (CGS) at the Lincoln Institute, the country has about 276,000 buildable acres of government-owned land that are in urban areas (read: places where people want to live and that already have public infrastructure), accessible to public transit (read: reduce traffic congestion and promote walkability), and are not a park, wetland, conservation easement, or anything else whose development would sacrifice open space. This acreage could support more than 6.9 million homes in places closer to jobs and schools than many traditional development sites tend to offer.

Much of this land is in states with exceptionally high housing costs, including Massachusetts (25,775 acres), Florida (20,800 acres), Washington (15,900 acres), Texas (15,000 acres), and California (14,600 acres). Because this list is a “who’s who” of expensive housing markets, it’s also a register of the places most in need of additional affordable housing.

Crucially, more than 98 percent of this acreage is held by state and local governments. The lack of a federal claim to the land not only helps to streamline and simplify the work of redeploying it, but also empowers state and local governments to determine its highest and best use. Some of it may be better suited for community benefits besides housing, such as open space, a rain garden or other green infrastructure, or recreational facilities.

One of the most important tools to support state and local governments as they seek to redeploy their land is legislation. There are two key functions that legislation plays in this context. The first is to establish the necessary conditions to enable these sorts of transactions. At the state level, this may include empowering local governments to sell or lease their property at below-market rates, which makes affordable housing developments pencil out.

An example of effective legislation is Washington, DC’s Disposition of District Land for Affordable Housing Amendment Act of 2014, which enables the city to transfer its property for less than the appraised value for affordable housing projects. Under the law, all new multifamily developments must include at least 20 to 30 percent of units affordable to households with annual incomes between 30 to 50 percent of area median. The percentage of units that must be affordable varies depending on the parcel’s location. The closer the parcel is to public transit, the higher the required percentage of affordable units.

Legislation can further promote efficient use of public land by requiring municipalities to include, or consider including, housing as part of publicly sponsored projects. In Montgomery County, Maryland, Bill 37-12 requires the County to assess the feasibility of including a “significant amount” of affordable housing in proposed capital improvement projects, such as libraries, recreation centers, and transit stations.

An added benefit of legislation is that it can help all stakeholders get on the same page about what is or is not allowed or required when repurposing publicly owned land. Given the multiple government entities that may be involved in such a transaction, this clarity is helpful in resolving confusion between and among agencies.

Nevertheless, some elected officials will inevitably hesitate to redeploy public land for housing because of the political risk, says George W. McCarthy, president and CEO of the Lincoln Institute. “Public land is really contested territory,” he notes. “Everybody has an opinion about how any piece of publicly owned land should be used. And anytime somebody allocates this land, somebody will be mad, and that somebody will use it as fuel to make sure that that decisionmaker doesn’t get reelected.”

But McCarthy, who oversaw the design and launch of the Lincoln Institute’s Community Land for Community Benefits campaign earlier this year, says that’s all the more reason to be strategic: “There are ways to release public land efficiently and effectively so that governments are really squeezing all the public benefit out of it.”

Identifying Suitable Parcels

Once a local government has confirmed that it has the legal right to redeploy its land for affordable housing or other community benefits, the question becomes how best to proceed. There are a number of considerations. The first is to identify all eligible parcels.

Determining exactly which public entity owns which piece of land can be difficult. Despite the numerous entities dedicated to overseeing land use in a given community—the zoning boards, the planning departments, the land use commissions—virtually every community lacks a structure that oversees use of the entire portfolio of the land it owns. Consequently, municipal governments usually don’t have a comprehensive, strategic plan for deploying their land. Instead, they typically take an ad hoc, parcel-by-parcel approach that doesn’t consider whether one piece of land is better suited than another for a certain type of redevelopment. The result can be a failure to maximize a parcel’s unique strengths and opportunities.

This is a solvable problem. It begins by inventorying a community’s publicly owned land. “You can’t come up with a good policy to convert land into housing or anything else if you don’t even know what’s out there,” explains Reina Chano Murray, associate director of CGS.

Conducting a complete land audit can be harder than it sounds. Public land can be owned by a range of public entities, such as a transit authority, a water or sewer district, or a parks department, some of whose names may have changed over time and through various mayoral administrations, creating a jumble of owners that must be unraveled.

Once ownership is established, there are the questions of suitable use. As Murray explains, “You need to know the condition of the land. What is its current zoning and the zoning of the surrounding area? Is the area already being supported for water and other utilities? Is it near public transit? This is important context in order to determine which sites are more appropriate for housing development versus some other public need.” CGS is working with communities in Colorado and elsewhere on this kind of land identification and cataloguing, helping communities find the right places to develop housing, implement nature-based solutions, and mitigate climate risks.

Once a local government has identified the parcels that are best suited for affordable housing, it can turn to project configuration. Key considerations include property interest, organizational structures, housing tenure, and affordability requirements. However, there is no universal formula for these transactions, but rather a range of options depending on a community’s assets, needs, and opportunities.

That said, there is one element that McCarthy considers a good idea for any government, regardless of size or circumstances: maintaining ownership. “We recommend not giving away the land if possible,” he advises. “The preferred idea is to lease it because it allows the government to maintain control. If the city owns the land, it can enforce its will. It can say, ‘These are the terms upon which we will give you this lease, and if you don’t comply, we will just take back the land.’”

Putting Policy into Practice

Cities and counties have long dedicated municipal land for purposes ranging from public parks, green infrastructure, and conservation areas to infrastructural needs like transit and utility corridors. But it has been less common for housing to be built on publicly owned land. Here’s how three cities are doing it.

Hamilton, Ontario

The City of Hamilton, Ontario, has been strategically deploying its land to facilitate the development of additional housing for about a decade. During that time, the City’s approach has changed, says Ray Kessler, who, as the City’s chief corporate real estate officer, manages the city’s portfolio of about 2,300 parcels of land. (In stark contrast to virtually every American city, Hamilton has an Office of Corporate Real Estate that is tasked with strategically managing all city-owned land as a single portfolio.)

“Initially, when we first began disposing of our land for housing in 2016, we were selling off properties, just like everyone else,” Kessler explains. “But more recently we have adopted what we call a ‘lease-first’ policy, where we prioritize leasing instead of selling our land, when possible.”

When leasing is determined to be a viable option, the City will offer a selected nonprofit housing organization a long-term ground lease, typically at least 40 years in duration, to build and/or operate affordable housing. The rent is nominal, and all approved projects must comply with the City’s Affordable Housing Supply Schedule, which outlines different guidelines depending on the specific piece of land.

In the case of the City-owned parcel at 1126 Garth Street, the Schedule requires that the units be either two- or three-bedroom townhouses, available for rent or purchase (though the developer may be able to build a multi-unit dwelling subject to rezoning). If the townhouses are for sale, at least 50 percent of them must be offered for no more than 90 percent of the average purchase price, and no more than 10 units can be built, per the zoning bylaw.

In the event the townhouses are for rent, at least 30 percent of the units must have a rent level that is no more than 80 percent of the average market rent. And, rents may only be increased annually, and must comply with the Provincial Rent Increase Guidelines, annual guidelines that cap maximum rent increases in Canada and vary by province. In 2026, for example, Ontario’s guideline is 2.1 percent, while it is 2.3 percent in British Columbia.

The City prefers to lease the property because it grants them more ability to ensure that the units are affordable over the long-term. As Kessler explains, “When you have a change of ownership, even if you put controls in place, you can’t guarantee compliance over the long term because you’ve lost the property. With a lease contract, we still own the land, and as long as that contract is written properly, those contractual obligations will give you a lot more power than relying on title-related instruments.”

Additionally, leasing creates economic opportunities for the City. “We haven’t done this yet, but with a lease, we may be able to generate revenues to reinvest into other affordable housing projects. Or, in a denser area like our downtown core, we may be able to sell development rights on, for example, land we own that has a performing arts center on it. That land is zoned by right for 30 stories, but it only has six stories, so if we can transfer some of the density to another site then we can harvest revenue that way.”

Boston, Massachusetts

As part of a larger push to redeploy underutilized public land for public benefit, in 2023 the City of Boston launched “Welcome Home, Boston,” a multi-phase initiative to repurpose city-owned land to build housing affordable to residents with low and moderate incomes. The program follows the completion of the 2022 Citywide Land Audit, an inventory of all property owned by the City—one of Boston’s largest real estate owners.

The audit identified 1,238 parcels totaling 9.5 million square feet of land (5.4 percent of total City holdings) that qualifies as either vacant or underutilized, including small parcels appropriate for infill. One hundred and fifty of these parcels have been made available for affordable homeownership opportunities under “Welcome Home, Boston,” which is funded with $58 million from the City’s American Rescue Plan (ARPA) allocation.

Since releasing its first Request for Proposals in June 2023, according to a spokesperson, the City of Boston has approved 10 proposals on 28 parcels that will produce 144 new units of housing affordable to residents with a household income between 80 percent and 100 percent of the area median. In the spring of 2026, the City will approve new proposals for 11 parcels that will produce approximately 40 units, targeting household incomes between 120 percent and 135 percent of the area median. An additional 30-plus parcels are in the planning stages and expected to begin the community engagement process this calendar year.

To help ensure that these affordability goals can be met, the City sells the parcels to the participating developers for a nominal fee. As Sheila A. Dillon, the City’s Chief of Housing, explains, “By making underutilized City parcels available for housing, we can support first-time homebuyers, strengthen neighborhoods, and ensure public land delivers lasting public benefit. In some cases, selling parcels with strong deed restrictions allows the homes to remain affordable for future buyers while reducing the long-term administrative burden of managing land leases. That approach helps the City focus more resources on creating and preserving affordable housing across Boston.”

For example, in 2024, the City sold four vacant lots totaling nearly 16,000 square feet in the Dorchester neighborhood, with an appraised value of $1.26 million for $400, to Norfolk Design & Construction LLC to build 20 affordable homes targeting first-time homebuyers.

“Welcome Home, Boston” is only one of multiple initiatives that the City uses to manage its land. Other larger parcels are moving through a community process to determine the best uses for development. One such parcel is the 18,915 square feet of city-owned land at 55-57 Hudson Street, in Chinatown. The City conveyed the land to the nonprofit Asian Community Development Corporation for a nominal land lease fee to build 110 units of affordable housing, including 66 rental units and 44 condominiums for purchase. The new building will also include a 17,000-square-foot permanent Chinatown branch of the Boston Public Library.

Atlanta, Georgia

As part of a goal to add 20,000 homes to the city’s affordable housing stock by 2030, the City of Atlanta is working to redevelop Fire Station 15, a 0.78-acre parcel of land with a market value of $14.1 million. Located in the popular Midtown neighborhood, the property currently houses a single-story building with a partial basement. Under the proposed redevelopment, a residential, mixed-income 21-story building will be constructed. The latest plans call for 21 stories with a three-story fire station and a five-story parking garage. The remaining floors will offer about 230 apartments, of which about a third will be affordable, a much-needed stock in the amenity-rich neighborhood where median household income is about 70 percent above that of the city at large, and rent is roughly 33 percent higher than the citywide median.

In this instance, the deal is a public-private partnership. The City of Atlanta will continue to own the ground rights and will grant an option to purchase the air rights above the fire station for a nominal fee (e.g., $1) to the Atlanta Urban Development Corporation (AUDC), a nonprofit organization created in 2023 by the City of Atlanta and the Housing Authority of the City of Atlanta (HA) to lead housing development on publicly owned land. AUDC is a subsidiary of the housing authority, effectively acting as a public development agency that is able to collaborate with private investors.

Once the property is redeveloped, AUDC will continue to hold the project (i.e. the land and improvements but not the fire station) in a long-term ground lease structure with the developer. It is expected that the City will own the permanent Fire Station 15.The remainder of the development will be owned by a joint venture between the selected developer partner and AUDC.

Under the proposed structure, AUDC will be the majority stakeholder, retaining at least 51 percent ownership, and will split the project cash flows with the developer, as described in a joint report by Drexel University’s Nowak Metro Finance Lab and Putting Assets to Work (PAW), a national incubator that helps state and local governments transform underutilized public properties into assets that generate long-term public value. As explained in the report, “The joint venture arrangement allows the developer to enjoy some upside from project cash flows with relatively low downside risk while ensuring long-term affordability, thanks to AUDC’s majority ownership.”

Fire Station 15 is part of the larger push by Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens to activate city-owned vacant land for housing. Parcels in the City’s diverse and growing portfolio are selected for redevelopment based on a comprehensive map of publicly owned assets that city officials created through participation in PAW’s incubator program in 2023.

Building Momentum

In the same way there is no single driver of the housing affordability crisis, there isn’t a single solution. Repurposing publicly owned hand for affordable housing is not a panacea. But it is an efficient, scalable solution that could make a massive dent in the problem. If the relevant governments developed the 276,000 buildable acres of publicly owned land identified in the CGS analysis, even to the low-density standards of seven units per acre, the nation could add more than 1.9 million new housing units. If ambitions were raised and developers built to higher-density standards of 25 units per acre, government-owned land could yield 6.9 million units of new housing.

Of course, not all public land should be developed by right. It’s still critically important for communities to protect open space, which has extensively documented benefits for public and planetary health, and to ensure that the intended use of a property aligns with its attributes.

But the momentum is building, at the state and municipal level. California has strengthened its Surplus Land Act, which requires local agencies to inventory available parcels, offer them first to affordable housing developers, and follow transparent, enforceable procedures. Massachusetts has identified a portfolio of surplus state parcels with the aim of producing thousands of homes. San Francisco’s Public Lands for Housing program is putting large, underperforming sites such as the 17-acre Balboa Reservoir to work for mixed-income housing, and Sound Transit in Washington state dedicates surplus properties for income-restricted housing near stations.

Through thoughtful and balanced strategies, communities can use the land they already own to provide affordable housing and adapt to climate change, and they can use the value derived from these arrangements—whether it comes in the form of lease payments, the purchase of development rights, or another mechanism—to finance infrastructure and social services. As communities like Charlotte, Hamilton, Boston, and Atlanta are demonstrating, public land is an essential component of 21st century policy solutions to our most serious societal challenges.

Loren Berlin is a writer and editor specializing in housing. Read more about her work at www.lorenberlin.com.

Lead image: A rendering of Evoke Living at Ballantyne, a 60-unit development that will be built on municipal land in Charlotte, North Carolina, and will include affordable units. Credit: Evoke Living at Ballantyne.

Musician Curtis Hunter approaches the world with a smile—even if the world doesn’t always return the gesture. But fate seemed to smile on Hunter last June, at least, when he moved into a new senior housing development built on county-owned land in Fairfax County, Virginia.

A few years before, at 58, Hunter had been assaulted near his old apartment building in Seven Corners, suffering a collapsed lung and broken bones. A difficult stretch followed, including a bout of homelessness and another violent attack. But last year, a Fairfax County caseworker suggested Hunter look into a new affordable housing development for seniors, called Belmont at One University. It’s one of several recent projects that have seen Fairfax County leverage the value of its publicly owned land to spur new affordable housing.

A former handyman and touring musician (he played guitar and harmonica in bands that opened for Los Lobos and Donovan, among other acts), Hunter now lives on disability income and says he’s grateful for his new home.

“I appreciate it so much, it’s a very wonderful thing. I really appreciate that they allow my pet,” he says. Unlike three of his former cats—who would accompany Hunter outside, perched on a carpeted platform he would attach to a backpack or bike rack—his latest cat, Sophie, is timid; adopted at nine and a half, she prefers lounging in the window, gazing at the nearby sports complex and neighbors walking along the bike path.

The field house across the street, where Hunter has taken in the occasional lacrosse or soccer game, is part of George Mason University, a public university with about 40,000 students.

One University is located next door to the college, on a 10.8-acre property owned by the Fairfax County Redevelopment and Housing Authority (FCRHA). The parcel previously held an FCRHA affordable housing complex of 46 townhomes, called Robinson Square. In 2021, those tenants were relocated to temporary housing until the new homes were ready—a step that was not without challenges or misgivings, but which allowed for a fivefold increase in the number of affordable housing units on site.

The property now comprises three new buildings: Robinson, named for the former townhome complex, which holds 120 affordable one- to four-bedroom units for all ages; Belmont, with 120 affordable one- and two-bedroom apartments reserved for seniors aged 62 and older; and Main on University, with over 300 market-rate student apartments.

The three buildings sit on county-owned land leased at a nominal rate for 99 years—the land added an estimated $12 million subsidy to help the projects get built. However, the buildings are privately owned and managed, and thus pay the county hundreds of thousands of dollars apiece in local property taxes.

This kind of arrangement—a ground lease that allows communities to hold onto their land while sharing in the revenue generated by development on that land—is one of several ways  communities are putting public land to use in order to expand affordable housing. And it’s providing new opportunities for tenants of all ages.

Hunter enjoys having college students next door and says some have helped organize social events for the senior residents, from game nights to group walks. “There’s one group, they come over, and they help with getting some of these things together—the art class and the open mic, and they have what’s called ‘Cups and Company,’ where they get people from the two buildings to come down and have tea and cookies together,” he explains. “I appreciate them being there, since I don’t have family and don’t get to see my nieces and nephews.”

This Land Is Your Land

In 2022, Fairfax County doubled its affordable housing target, committing to the addition of 10,000 new affordable units by 2034, with no net loss of existing affordable homes. The original goal of 5,000 affordable homes, set in 2019, was always intended to be “a floor, not a ceiling,” according to the advisory panel that issued the recommendation. While median household incomes are high in Fairfax, at more than $154,000 a year, median home values are more than double the national average, at $760,400, according to US Census data. The county has, in some cases, acquired new land in order to develop transit-oriented affordable housing. But lately, especially after the success of One University, the FCRHA is looking more closely at co-locating new affordable housing with existing public facilities on land it already owns or controls.

“We’re looking at a few public facilities, [including] two libraries,” says Anna Shapiro, deputy director for real estate development and finance at the FCRHA. The libraries’ large parking lots offer the potential to co-locate housing on county-owned sites that are “also really accessible in terms of transportation infrastructure and access to jobs and amenities,” she notes. “That piece is really important for us, because as we’re evaluating these properties, we want to make sure that we’re setting people up for success and not isolating people.”

Positioned on the edge of a college campus, One University is fairly walkable, about a mile from grocery stores and the city center. “I bought a little sit-down scooter that gets me up to the Giant and to the Safeway in Fairfax City,” Hunter says. A network of wide bike paths and sidewalks makes it easy to get around.

The county’s latest co-located affordable housing development, currently nearing completion, is also centrally located—on a pair of underutilized parking lots next to the county’s Government Center offices. Fairfax Crest, as it’s called, will hold 279 affordable units for renters earning 30 to 70 percent of the area median income (AMI). The project is actually a sequel of sorts: The nearby Residences at Government Center were completed almost a decade ago. However, Fairfax Crest includes more amenities, like a public plaza, 15,000 square feet of community space, and a childcare center.

The average two-bedroom apartment in Fairfax rents for more than $2,400 a month, according to Zillow and RentCafe estimates, while income-restricted two-bedroom apartments at Robinson and Belmont currently rent for $1,653 to $2,022 per month. Rents at Fairfax Crest have yet to be announced, but between the income-restricted rents and energy-efficient appliances and construction (including rooftop solar panels) that reduce utility costs, most tenants should not have to spend more than 30 percent of their gross income on housing expenses—relieving them of the “cost-burdened” status nearly half of US renters experience.

Shapiro was able to tour one of the Fairfax Crest buildings as construction was wrapping up. “We got to go up to one of the units, and I have to say, the views from the top floors of what is an affordable housing development are gorgeous,” she says. “The county has been very clear that just because it’s affordable housing, it shouldn’t look different than our other housing—and we do have pretty high expectations for what people deliver in our county.”

Building Support for Building

While the federal government owns plenty of land, much of it—from military bases to national parks and wildlife refuges—is not particularly sensible for residential development. States and municipalities, however, control over 250,000 acres of buildable land in high-demand, urban areas, according to a 2024 analysis by the Lincoln Institute’s Center for Geospatial Solutions. This includes surface parking lots, vacant lots, and shuttered municipal buildings in prime locations near jobs and public transit.

Still, it takes initiative and money—and, often, some political courage and leadership—to convert municipally owned land to affordable housing or other publicly beneficial uses.

Shapiro thinks the success of One University and other recent projects helped build the necessary confidence and support among county officials to pursue the Fairfax Crest project. “Seeing all those results, I think they said, ‘Okay, let’s do this in our front yard. Let’s make this really visible, and show our commitment very clearly to affordable housing,’” Shapiro says.

The County Board of Supervisors has been “critical in actually making this happen,” she adds, championing the housing affordability issue politically. “Not only do we have this goal of 10,000 net new units in the county, we’re also going to put our money where our mouth is and put our land where our mouth is.”

Fairfax Crest consists of two main buildings, each with its own cocktail of financing and tax credits. As with One University, the buildings are owned and operated by private companies, on land leased from the county for a 99-year term. “We are very, very concerned about keeping long-term control of our county,” Shapiro says, especially right next to the government offices. “We understood that the value of the land would really help to subsidize the development of the property.”

Each building combined a 4 percent low-income housing tax credit from Virginia Housing with an additional 9 percent tax credit won through a competitive process, in what Shapiro calls a “twinning” strategy. The FCRHA also issued a pair of bonds to help finance the development, totaling $23.5 million, as well as $25 million in loans from its Blueprint fund. “There are other sources in the deal, too—some other state funding and a grant for the daycare buildout,” Shapiro says. “We try to set up our underwriting criteria to really ensure that developers are going out and getting outside capital as well.”

Fairfax County’s decision to retain ownership of its land through ground leases is preferable to what many municipalities end up doing to spur affordable housing development: selling the lot for a dollar, granting a 20-year tax abatement, and “losing all of the value of the asset forever just to achieve the outcome,” says Robert ‘R.J.’ McGrail, director of the Lincoln Institute’s Accelerating Community Investment program.

Every incentive matters, McGrail notes, and each one “can be the difference between shovels in the ground and cranes in the air or not.” But surrendering future tax revenue risks degrading the public services that the new residents, from across the income spectrum, will rely on. “Losing pieces of that to get a deal done is a choice, one that jurisdictions make every day,” he says. “For me, optimizing the disposition strategy in a way that is least extractive of downstream public revenue makes a land activation housing affordability strategy also a municipal fiscal health strategy.”

As of early February, Fairfax County has delivered 1,373 new affordable units toward its goal, with another 2,470 units in 11 projects either under construction or in the pipeline, including Fairfax Crest, according to FCHRA’s affordable housing dashboard. In addition to the libraries Shapiro mentioned, the FCHRA is evaluating other county-owned sites for affordable housing potential, including a park-and-ride lot and a community center. And as the Town of Franconia prepares to move its government offices to a new campus, the county planning commission in February approved a proposal to build 120 units of new affordable housing on the vacated site, along with a district police station, museum, and expanded public library.

‘It Makes Me Smile Again’

What none of those numbers quite captures is the impact a welcoming, safe, affordable place to live can have on individuals and families—the friendships made, the worries dispelled.

Cheerful and outgoing, Hunter is something of a Belmont ambassador, recruiting residents to the building’s social events and classes, and suggesting new ones. He’d like to see parties held for people’s birthdays, for example. “I have a funny feeling that people might appreciate that,” he says. “People who don’t have family, who don’t have company coming all the time, who don’t get out as often … it’s probably pretty special for them.”

In his first-floor apartment, his instruments at hand, Hunter now plucks out a short melody; his cat, Sophie, makes for a captive if indifferent audience. “She’s my comfort animal, after what I’ve been through, and having pets all my life,” he says. “It was pets and music, those were my calming things.”

As the chords ring out over the jingle of a tambourine, Sophie lazes in the window. “She’s up there at least 10 and a half hours a day, sitting there just staring out that window,” Hunter says. “Right outside my window is the bike trail. So that’s where all the dogs from the neighborhood get walked … Every once in a while, a dog notices her and comes up to see her, and the same with people,” he adds.

“I’m glad I have this window; it’s important for me, too,” Hunter reflects. “I’m an extrovert, and watching people walk by, it makes me smile again to look at people. There are a few people who’ll look in the window to see if Sophie’s there today—that helps my soul.”

Jon Gorey is a staff writer at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.

Lead image: Part of the One University redevelopment on County-owned land in Fairfax County, Virginia. Credit: Hartman Design Group.

In 1974, Congress passed the National Manufactured Housing Construction and Safety Standards Act (HUD code), which requires manufactured homes to be built on a permanent steel chassis. A chassis is a 10-to 12-inch-deep metal frame under manufactured and mobile homes that enables easy transportation with a tow truck; however, it raises homes off the ground and creates difficulty adding a second story or basement. The requirement reflected past building norms and the fact that owners moved them frequently. Now, fewer than 5–7 percent of all manufactured homes are ever moved after initial placement. 

While the US Housing and Urban Development oversees the HUD Code and governs manufactured housing requirements, only an act of Congress can change the chassis requirement because of its Congressional origins. In late February 2026, the US Senate and House of Representatives approved legislation that would remove the requirement for manufactured homes to be built on a permanent steel chassis.  

What does chassis removal mean? 

Chassis removal is the process of removing the steel chassis from a manufactured home after the home is transported to its permanent site. With a chassis requirement change, owners could keep their chassis attached to the home, as with current policy mandates, or have it removed before home placement. Regardless, chassis would continue to transport manufactured houses to their placement location, and, if removed, the home manufacturers would likely reuse the chassis. The recycling and reusing of chassis, an expensive component of a manufactured home, would decrease material costs, allowing lower home prices. 

Chassis removal will not affect the stability of the manufactured homes, as stability rests on the foundation rather than on the chassis. Manufactured homes without chassis can continue to be placed on nonpermanent or permanent foundations, like site-built and modular homes. The placement requirements for installation would remain the same: Manufactured home foundations will continue to follow state and local building codes. However, if homeowners would like to get federally backed mortgages (like FHA, VA, and USDA), they would also have to continue to follow HUD’s Permanent Foundations Guide. 

How will chassis removal affect housing supply? 

While no studies have predicted how the proposed lifting of the requirement would change housing supply, chassis removal is expected to raise supply by lowering costs, increasing consumer demand, and expanding the overall availability of manufactured homes. According to the Niskanen Center, removing the chassis requirement could decrease manufactured home costs by $5,000–$10,000, up to 9 percent of the total average prices. With that reduced price point, the legal change could put homebuying within the reach of more people. 

In addition, changes to chassis requirements could prompt states and localities to reconsider zoning and land use restrictions that determine where manufactured homes can be placed. Currently, concerns about cohesive community design encourage bans on the homes. Chassis removal would allow the homes to be situated like site-built homes, allowing a more seamless integration into existing communities. This could lessen concerns about design and foster reform of land use ordinances. Such regulatory changes would expand supply by allowing manufactured homes in more areas. Further, the change would increase the types of manufactured homes constructed.  

Ultimately, the chassis debate is about whether federal rules written for a different era still make sense for today’s manufactured housing market, where roughly 95 percent of homes are never moved after their initial installation and become long-term residences. Removing the permanent chassis requirement would not change construction standards—homes would still have to meet the HUD Code, which calls for safe, installment compliant foundations; however, removing the requirement could expand what manufactured homes can be, where they can go, and who can afford them. If the projected cost savings materialize and the market responds with more design flexibility and broader acceptance by local jurisdictions, chassis policy reform could become a practical way to increase supply and widen access to stable homeownership, all while keeping the core promise of manufactured housing intact: delivering quality homes at lower costs. 

Arica Young is the director of housing access and affordability at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, and Bennie Chang is an intern at the Lincoln Institute and a student at Georgetown University. 

This article is reprinted with permission from Bloomberg CityLab, where it originally appeared.

Of all the society-shaping US Supreme Court decisions of the 20th century, from Brown v. Board of Education to Roe v. Wade and beyond, one lesser-known ruling has had the greatest impact on the American landscape—not only the physical character of growth and development, but how we live and work, the lengths of our commutes, and the affordability of homes.

In Village of Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co., a suburb just east of Cleveland barred a real estate company from using their land for industrial use; the developers sued and the case went all the way to the nation’s highest court, which affirmed that municipalities could impose zoning to organize development, as a police power.

The 1926 ruling—garnished by Justice George Sutherland’s comment that a factory shouldn’t be in a residential area any more than “a pig in the parlor”—gave constitutional blessing to the establishment of permissible uses on specific properties, seen in color-coded maps to this day. From then on, the template for the built environment was set: residential homes in one part of town, commercial and retail in another, and manufacturing and industrial uses in yet another.

Codifying this separation of uses led to the unique phenomenon of American suburban sprawl, essentially requiring the use of the automobile to get around as the areas for life’s functions spread further apart. It also locked in the hegemony of the single-family home, at the expense of more affordable multifamily housing.

Now, on the 100th anniversary of the decision, what has come to be known as Euclidian zoning is under siege. Progressives and pro-housing advocates in the Yes in My Backyard (or YIMBY) movement have joined defenders of property rights and free-market libertarians in declaring zoning as hopelessly outdated. This somewhat unlikely alliance blames local land use regulations for blocking apartment construction, exacerbating the housing crisis and perpetuating racial disparities in home ownership. Zoning is one of the big villains in Abundance, Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson’s call to reassess the regulations that hinder infrastructure projects.

Some 33 states have passed reforms to allow more density in zones once reserved for single-family homes only, according to the Mercatus Center at George Mason University, which co-hosted a symposium reevaluating the Euclid case last month, with the Pacific Legal Foundation and the Journal of Law, Economics and Policy. Thousands of communities have re-legalized mixed-use development as well, seeking to blend housing with shops and restaurants in walking distance—the kind of neighborhood that Euclid made illegal.

The message is clear: The rules haven’t kept up with the times. And for some, they weren’t such a good idea in the first place.

To be fair, things were pretty messy at the turn of the 20th century, prompting local governments to try to impose order. During the Industrial Revolution, manufacturing facilities were marbled into fast-growing cities like Pittsburgh and Cleveland, leaving smelters and tanneries and brickyards next to worker housing and residential neighborhoods. Immigration and a rural-to-urban migration filled urban neighborhoods with people crowded into tenement houses. Density and mixed-use became associated with dangers to public health.

Beginning in earnest around 1904, municipalities endeavored to tidy up—“a place for everything, and everything in its place,” said Dartmouth professor emeritus and keynote presenter William Fischel, whose 2015 book Zoning Rules! is cited in the early pages of Abundance. (A trivia fact for the next cocktail party: The basic framework of zoning was imported, like the delicatessen, from Germany.) At the same time, Henry Ford’s Model T opened up all kinds of land for different forms of development, Fischel said. The new frontier needed to be organized.

There were also pernicious motivations. As George Mason University professor Olivia Gonzalez pointed out, the Cleveland area in the 1920s was rife with racist policies, like covenants and sundown curfews, but also attempts to control who lived where, through local rules forbidding multifamily housing, small lots, and even alleys.

The fundamental appeal of zoning was that it served multiple aims. Progressives, putting their faith in experts, saw it as a way to make America healthy again, by spreading out and keeping polluting industries away from residential areas; even as that stirred up worries about planned societies and socialism, the US Chamber of Commerce and the commerce secretary and future president Herbert Hoover backed it as good for business.

Euclid wasn’t the first US city to implement zoning: New York City passed the first citywide ordinance in 1916. But the village was an especially enthusiastic early adopter. Its founders included a bunch of surveyors from Connecticut, who had a thing for geometrical arrangements and named the town after the Greek mathematician. Euclid’s response to Ambler’s lawsuit was that the local government was doing what everyone else was doing, guiding growth with practical principles.

Justice Sutherland agreed, characterizing an apartment building in a single-family neighborhood as a sinister “parasite”—a line that planted seeds for the bias and fear related to density that endures to this day. A central theme of NIMBYism, after all, is that new housing is a threat to community well-being, like soot from smokestacks.

With the Supreme Court’s endorsement, zoning was off and running, through the development of single-family suburbs like Levittown and beyond. Around 1970, as Fischel noted, land use regulation got another powerful ally in the form of the growth management movement, with its urban growth boundaries and elaborate environmental protocols aimed at preserving wetlands and open space.

Then zoning came face to face with affordability.

In my 2006 book This Land: The Battle over Sprawl and the Future of America, I predicted that compact, walkable neighborhoods would become more appealing as residents in far-flung, car-dependent subdivisions got tired of paying so much for gasoline. Today the more existential dilemma is that millions of people can’t afford a home or pay the rent. Desirable areas are dominated by single-family homes on large lots, fiercely defended by the current occupants against further development—those parasite apartment buildings—that could accommodate a wider range of incomes. In this view, Euclidian zoning has been weaponized as a tool to lock in the status quo.

In a reveal of how entrenched zoning has been, the regulatory regime has only recently been effectively challenged. Credit goes to YIMBYism and the abundance movement, as well as scholars like Harvard’s Edward Glaeser, who has documented how restrictive land use regulations are stifling urban economies, for finally bringing about what Charles Gardner, senior research fellow at the Mercatus Center, calls “the great land use realignment.”

In addition to the zoning and code reforms already enacted in those 33 states, some 200 more bills have been introduced so far this year, he said. The measures—allowing accessory dwelling units, reducing minimum parking requirements, banning single-family-only zoning, increasing density at transit stations, and streamlining permitting—are getting support in red and blue states alike, including Utah, Texas, Montana, and Indiana.

“It’s a genuine groundswell,” Gardner said, comparing zoning reform efforts to the growth management movement of the 1970s that Fischel referenced. “We might look back on this as a transformative time.”

George Washington University’s Sara Bronin, founder of the National Zoning Atlas, said the first step is to figure out what’s actually in place in the 9,000-plus jurisdictions her team has studied. “We now have the receipts,” she said. “Zoning is here to stay. Our question is how do you make it better.”

But free-market libertarians don’t want to just tweak zoning—they’d rather see Euclid overturned. (Mind you, this was a symposium that handed out keychains with a plastic cut-out likeness of Milton Friedman.) Just like some believe all zoning is racist, these property rights defenders say all zoning can be seen as a regulatory taking in violation of the 5th Amendment (“nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation”).

The standard established in the 1978 case Penn Central Transportation v. City of New York is that regulation of land and property is permissible as long as it is reasonable. But an increasingly conservative Supreme Court has been expanding the definition of what constitutes a taking, in cases like Nollan v. California Coastal Commission, Dolan v. City of Tigard, and Sheetz vs El Dorado County. A free-market dream would be a new legal challenge that would force local governments to broadly reimagine how they manage growth and development.

A seismic overturning may not be necessary. Legislative action is clearly prompting a major overhaul of Euclidian zoning, in a nice reflection of democracy’s push and pull. When it comes to land policy, a little fluidity is a virtue—an interplay between foundational principles and adjustments, given how times have changed. So keep the critiques of zoning coming. As a practical matter, a more perfect system awaits. It just might be a better version of everything in its place.

Anthony Flint is a senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, host of the Land Matters podcast, and a contributing editor of Land Lines.

Lead image: Kirkland Urban, a high-density, mixed-use development in Kirkland, Washington, where zoning reform has been a hot topic in recent elections. Credit: Colleen Michaels via iStock Editorial/Getty Images Plus.