Despite the engaging warmth in his voice, Jim Bennett is not what you’d call a people person. “I’m basically asocial, even though I worked retail—or maybe because I worked retail for so long,” he quips. It’s late fall when we speak, so he’s bracing for the chaotic social cyclone that is a big family Thanksgiving; his wife, Kathryn, is decidedly more enthusiastic about hosting everyone for dinner.

The couple certainly has room to entertain in the home they bought three years ago. The open kitchen and dining area is roughly 13 feet by 30 feet, and easily fits a pair of full-size tables. “We have 16 to 20 people over for Thanksgiving, and it’s not crowded,” Bennett says. What’s remarkable is that all that space—the big, blank canvas upon which the Bennetts plan to paint their golden years—was created on a factory floor, trucked up the highway, and now sits in a 55-and-over manufactured home community called Woodland Estates, about 50 miles northwest of Boston. With its open layout, spacious primary bedroom, office space, and two bathrooms, one with a roll-in shower, theirs is not the “mobile home” of yore.

Yet it was mobility, of a different sort, that inspired the couple to design and purchase the house. Bennett, 64, has been living with multiple sclerosis for over 20 years, and knows that he’s likely to face increasing difficulty getting around. “We were living in a 100-year-old, two-story home,” he says, and they needed a more practical setup.

Manufactured homes are perfectly suited to single-level living, almost by definition. And at Woodland Estates, the new homes are built with accessibility in mind. The Bennetts looked at some accessible apartments, but the rents were higher than the monthly installments they would end up paying on their home loan. “It just made so much sense in the long run with what I might have coming at me,” Bennett says—and he acknowledges that he’s even beginning to enjoy the sense of community he and his wife have found in their new neighborhood.

Increasingly, the Bennetts have company—and not just of the social variety. Homebuyers, local officials, and even the White House are coming to the same conclusion they did: manufactured housing can make a lot of sense, for a lot of people, and in a lot of places.

When it comes to manufactured housing, people tend to dwell on the “manufactured” part. That modest modifier carries with it a lot of cultural cargo and historical stigma. But as the home affordability crisis worsens, spreading from coastal cities to middle America, proponents of the industry say we ought to be focused on the second half of the phrase—because manufactured housing is, well, housing.

While outdated misperceptions of manufactured homes linger in the popular imagination—in the form of images of hurricane-battered mobile homes or poorly maintained trailer parks—the reality is that most modern manufactured homes, built to strict federal standards that supersede local building codes, are energy efficient, made of high-quality materials, and designed to be affordable. Although many are placed in dedicated communities like Woodland Estates, about half are on privately owned land, from rural areas to suburban subdivisions.

“We see manufactured housing as an important component to addressing the larger U.S. affordable housing crisis,” says Jim Gray, senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.

That’s one reason the Lincoln Institute now convenes the Innovations in Manufactured Homes (I’m HOME) Network, which for 20 years has been working with nonprofits, the private sector, and government agencies “to solve problems that are keeping manufactured housing from reaching its potential in the market,” says Gray, who led the Duty to Serve program at the Federal Housing Finance Agency (FHFA) before joining the Lincoln Institute.

Some 22 million Americans, most of whom earn less than $40,000 a year, already live in manufactured homes, making them the largest source of unsubsidized affordable housing in the country. The Housing Supply Action Plan released by the White House in May mentions manufactured housing several times, identifying it as one of a few housing types that “directly meet identified local needs . . . [and are] not sufficiently provided by the market.”

It’s almost literally an off-the-shelf solution, one that can provide safe, sustainable housing for millions of Americans and help combat our affordable housing crisis.

An Urgent Need for Affordable Housing

The United States does not have enough affordable housing for everyone who needs it. And that’s partly due to “severe underbuilding” of smaller, entry-level homes, the kind that would appeal to downsizing retirees or first-time homebuyers.

From 1976 to 1979, as baby boomers were entering their twenties and thirties, the construction of entry-level, single-family houses averaged 418,000 a year, and represented more than a third of all new homes built, according to a report by government-sponsored mortgage entity Freddie Mac. In the 2010s, as a similarly sized generational cohort of millennials entered their homebuying years, U.S. builders averaged just 55,000 starter homes per year, and their share of the new construction market fell to a 50-year low of around 7 percent.

That’s a market need that manufactured housing is well positioned to fill. New site-built homes tend to be quite large, averaging over 2,400 square feet for the past decade, but the average manufactured home is under 1,500 square feet, according to U.S. Census data.

That smaller size, coupled with lower production costs, helps manufactured homes deliver a one-two punch on pricing, says Rachel Siegel, senior officer on the home financing research team at the Pew Charitable Trusts. “Manufactured housing is a lot less expensive per square foot than a site-built home,” Siegel says. “So you have two benefits there in terms of affordability.”

Stacey Epperson, founder and chief executive of Next Step—a nonprofit member of the I’m HOME Network that helps families purchase high-quality, Energy Star–rated manufactured homes—says its homes can cost 20 percent less to build, per square foot, than site-built counterparts. (Editor’s note: Lincoln Institute CEO George W. McCarthy is a member of the Next Step board.)

These homes are typically multi-section homes with a site-built look, Epperson says; when you factor in the array of sizes and styles available, the savings can be even greater. According to the Manufactured Housing Institute (MHI 2022), factory-built homes cost an average of $72 per square foot industrywide, compared to $143 per square foot for site-built homes.

Some of the reasons for the savings are obvious—there are no weather delays inside a factory, for example, so labor, materials, and carrying costs are all more predictable. Efficiencies of scale bring down supply costs, too. “If I’m the largest manufacturer, Clayton Homes, building 25,000 to 30,000 homes a year,” Epperson says, “my purchasing power is far more than the guy in the pickup truck building 100 homes a year.”

And there are other savings when it comes to materials. Compared to the dumpster full of wood trimmings and drywall scraps left over from a typical site-built home, building a house in a factory generates almost no waste. Even conscientious homebuilders squander a staggering amount of resources during construction: a new 1,600-square-foot home can generate up to 6,720 pounds of construction waste and still earn green building credits toward LEED certification. Meanwhile, Epperson says, “the waste on a Next Step home can fit into a single trash can.” That’s good for the environment and the homebuyer, who doesn’t have to pay for all those unused materials.

At a time when Americans need housing relief fast, manufactured homes also offer a speed advantage. Between the lack of weather disruptions, the ability to extend the workday through rotating shifts, and the streamlined designs and federal standards—which were put in place by the Department of Housing and Urban Development in 1976 and revised in the 1990s—homebuilding goes faster in a factory: once production is underway, a manufactured house can be completed in just three weeks. While a home is being assembled on the factory floor, on-site crews can do things like grade the lot for the house and lay utility connections, further hastening the overall pace of construction.

The manufactured housing industry built nearly 106,000 homes in 2021, a 15-year high. Demand for the houses is growing, and Epperson says homebuilders are capable of producing far more. But for manufactured housing to truly take off, this sector and those advocating for it must address thorny challenges related to financing, land tenure, and zoning.

Using Auto Loans to Buy Houses

Despite the relative affordability of manufactured housing, financing can be a big hurdle for would-be homebuyers. About three quarters of manufactured homes are titled as personal property, not real estate, and therefore aren’t eligible for a mortgage. That leaves buyers relying on personal property (or “chattel”) loans, which are more akin to auto loans than to mortgages, and tend to come with higher interest rates, shorter loan terms, and fewer consumer protections.

And even those loans can be surprisingly difficult to obtain.

“Our research has found that denial rates [on manufactured home loans] are astronomically high,” Siegel says. About 7 percent of completed mortgage applications for traditional site-built homes get denied, she says, but the rejection rate for manufactured home loans is nearly eight times that, at 54 percent. Even mortgages for manufactured homes classified as real property—meaning, in most states, that they’re placed on a permanent foundation on owned land and titled as real estate—are denied 40 percent of the time.

That’s a big obstacle to getting people into a house, Siegel says. The average price of a new manufactured home, excluding land, transportation, and other setup costs, was $124,900 in May 2022, according to the most recent Census data. That’s less expensive than a typical house, but it’s not exactly pocket change.

So when buyers are denied adequate financing, they may be forced to continue renting, seek out riskier loans, or pay cash for an older, lower-quality mobile home (see sidebar). Even for those who do qualify, personal property loans offer far less protection than mortgages. “When someone defaults on their loan in a real estate situation, there’s a pretty detailed foreclosure process that is designed to take some time so that residents have a chance to refinance or make other arrangements,” Gray explains. “But with personal property and chattel lending, there’s no foreclosure protection, and it’s often as easy as repossessing a car to take someone’s home away from them.”

Manufactured, Mobile, or Modular?

When it comes to factory-built housing, the term “mobile home” is commonly used and widely recognized. But in fact, it’s one of several industry-specific terms:

Mobile home refers to manufactured houses built before the mid-1970s. These structures, also known as trailers, were designed to be portable and were frequently made of substandard materials. In 1976, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) adopted standards to improve their quality and durability, codifying factors including the materials used and the ability to withstand wind, rain, and snow.

Manufactured housing refers to structures built after 1976 that meet HUD’s strict federal standards, which were updated in the 1990s. Like mobile homes, today’s manufactured homes are fitted with a metal chassis that allows them to be transported to their ultimate destination, where they can be placed on a temporary or permanent foundation. Manufactured housing is exempt from local building codes.

Modular homes also begin in factories, but they are not built on a chassis. Their components are assembled on-site and are attached to a permanent foundation. Modular homes are built to state and local building codes, not federal standards.

The Lincoln Institute and other members of the I’m HOME Network have pushed for Freddie Mac and its fellow federal mortgage entity Fannie Mae to play a bigger role in the manufactured housing market, for both real estate and chattel loans. While Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac purchase some 62 percent of residential mortgages in the United States, they back less than a quarter of manufactured home mortgages. Such loans are still a tiny fraction of their business: they purchased 169,411 manufactured home mortgages in 2021, up 50 percent from 2017, according to mortgage data firm Recursion. But at $20.2 billion, those loans represented less than 1 percent of their $2.63 trillion in overall mortgage financing in 2021, according to the Urban Institute.

They are also virtually absent from the chattel loan market, leaving it anemic and uncompetitive. “Currently, neither Fannie Mae nor Freddie Mac is actually doing anything with the personal property loan space,” Siegel says. “Even though they’re working on providing more mortgages in this market, they’re still not even dipping their toes into a pilot for personal property loans.”

Increasing their participation in both markets, Gray says, “will tend to create more national standards, and national standards will help drive competition and terms that are more favorable to consumers.” Siegel agrees, noting that manufactured home loans backed by the Federal Housing Administration (FHA) and Veterans Administration through federal financing entity Ginnie Mae are denied far less often than conventional loans.

“This reinforces how important federally backed loan programs are as a source of financing for manufactured housing,” she says. The FHA does have a personal property loan designed for manufactured homes, called Title I, but it’s woefully out of date. While the FHA’s Title II mortgage program for single-family homes is updated annually, the loan terms and other requirements for Title I haven’t been revised since 2008, rendering the loans uncompetitive, Siegel says. Ginnie Mae backed more than 2,500 Title I manufactured home loans in 2009, totaling nearly $115 million, but only three such loans were issued in all of 2021, for a total of $101,500, across the entire country.

To its credit, the FHA is making an effort to resurrect the nearly defunct Title I program; both the Pew Charitable Trusts and the I’m HOME Network have submitted public comments with suggested improvements, such as better aligning Title I and Title II loans where sensible. “The current HUD leadership has really made a big priority of revising Title I and making it an effective program,” Gray says. “That’s definitely an important effort that is a complement to Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac getting into the market.”

Getting Grounded

Financing a manufactured home is the first challenge, but figuring out where to put it can be just as vexing. Roughly half of manufactured-home owners also own the land on which their house sits, but millions more do not. Instead, in addition to purchasing their home, they might lease a pad in a manufactured housing community, where monthly rent includes the use of the land beneath their house and basic services such as water, road maintenance, and trash pickup.

For decades, this has typically been a reliable, relatively affordable arrangement. But in recent years, corporate investors have discovered that such communities can be lucrative cash generators. “The number of investors looking for mobile home parks to purchase is unprecedented,” says Paul Bradley, president of New Hampshire–based ROC USA, a nonprofit member of the I’m HOME Network that helps communities form cooperatives to purchase the land beneath their homes. From 2010 to 2020, he notes, mobile home parks represented “the highest returning of all real estate asset classes—offices, commercial, industrial, storage units, parking garages, you name it—with a 22 percent annual compounded return.”

The investor playbook is simple: Purchase a park and then raise the rents. While annual lot rent increases averaged 4.2 percent nationwide in 2021, according to the Manufactured Housing Institute, residents from Michigan to California to Iowa have reported rent hikes of 10 to 15 percent, amounting to hundreds of dollars a month, after investors took over their parks.

The promise of that kind of profit has attracted a broad mix of investors to manufactured housing communities, from real estate investment trusts (REITs) to private equity firms to the sovereign wealth funds of foreign nations—like that of Singapore, which in 2017 invested nearly $1.5 billion to gain a majority ownership stake in 178 U.S. manufactured home communities.

In a typical rental market, tenants have enough options to keep rent hikes somewhat in check. But a manufactured home community isn’t a typical market. Despite the old moniker, a mobile home isn’t very “mobile”—it can cost upwards of $10,000 to move one. That can leave captive park residents under new ownership facing an impossible choice: either pay the jacked-up rents, spend thousands of dollars to relocate, or abandon their investment and home altogether.

This makes residents living on leased land particularly vulnerable, but there are simple and effective ways to stabilize these situations, Gray says. “Of course, the best solution is when people can own the land under their unit,” he says. In a manufactured home community, that takes some legwork, but it can be done. ROC USA has helped 303 communities in 21 states buy the land in their neighborhoods. Resident-owned communities can then elect their own boards and vote on everything from rent increases to community improvements.

The ROC USA model offers residents support in organizing a cooperative, as well as forgivable due diligence financing, so the newly formed co-op can hire a lawyer, engineer, and other professionals before making an informed offer. Their now tried-and-true approach creates a limited equity cooperative, which permanently preserves the community for affordable housing while allowing individual homeowners to build equity in their homes.

“We’re essentially helping low-income homeowners compete with deep-pocketed investors,” says Bradley. Six states have legislation that gives mobile home community residents the right of first refusal if their park’s owner decides to sell, Bradley says, allowing them time (albeit not a whole lot of it) to organize a cooperative, make a counteroffer, and secure financing. Colorado was the most recent to pass such legislation, joining Oregon, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island.

States can help in other ways, too, such as by ensuring certain minimum site-lease protections for residents of manufactured home communities, Gray says. Manufactured-home owners who rent space lack the full rights of a landowner, and they also enjoy fewer protections than a typical apartment tenant in most places. So under the FHFA’s Duty to Serve rule, enacted in 2016, anyone buying a manufactured housing community with Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac financing for the most part now offers some basic site-lease protections to its residents as a condition of their loan.

The protections include 30 days’ notice before a rent increase and the right to post a for-sale sign outside your unit—“things that most people would take for granted,” Gray says. But including them “has become maybe one of the biggest success stories of the Duty to Serve program thus far,” he says. States and localities need to expand upon those tenant protections, he adds, putting manufactured-home owners on equal footing with other tenants.

Zoning for Change

Next Step generally works with affordable housing developers who subdivide a parcel of land, install homes on permanent foundations, and sell the lots to individual buyers. The organization’s motto is “manufactured housing done right,” and Epperson believes land ownership is a crucial piece of that puzzle. “We want to work in an ecosystem where there are realtors, lenders, housing counselors, and affordable housing developers, just as there are for site-built homes,” she says.

There’s a demonstrated appetite for that kind of housing. Next Step partnered with IKEA to conduct a survey of first-time homebuyers and found that 45 percent of millennials would be open to buying a manufactured home. “That was more than we expected,” Epperson says, speculating that the attraction to tiny houses in popular culture may be shifting attitudes.

However, that enlightened perspective isn’t always shared among zoning officials, nor the general population of residents they serve. “In most places, we find that the local zoning code prohibits new manufactured housing, and that’s where we start from,” Epperson says. Because of outdated perceptions of the industry, she says, “it takes a lot of education, and we’ve seen different results.”

Some municipalities will permit a one-time variance for manufactured housing construction, she says, while others open up their zoning rules to allow more going forward. City officials in Hagerstown, Maryland, approved Next Step’s latest project in 2021, a 69-acre workforce housing development of 241 manufactured homes called Kilpatrick Woods. In 2022, Oakland, California, passed an ordinance allowing manufactured housing on any residential-zoned lot in the city.

In other places, it’s been more difficult to break through: “We’ve seen some cities that just can’t do it with the pressure they’re getting from not-in-my-backyard opponents,” Epperson says. Even in places like Oregon, which passed a statewide law in 2022 that puts manufactured housing on equal footing with site-built housing, she says, “you still have to do a lot of education with public officials to get everybody on the same page, even though it’s the law.”

The prominent inclusion of manufactured housing in the Housing Supply Action Plan released by the White House has added momentum to that effort, Epperson says. “We have more traction to help make change than we’ve ever had before,” she says, and cities are becoming more open to manufactured housing. The positive response is “’still relatively small for the size of the problem, but it’s better than I’ve seen in the last 15 years.”

Missed Perceptions

In a way, all these challenges come back to people’s perceptions—and misconceptions—of an industry that has evolved faster than public understanding. The fact is, many manufactured homes are nearly indistinguishable from their site-built brethren, and are constructed just as well or better. And research shows that when they are sited on owned land, these houses appreciate at roughly the same rate as site-built houses (Freddie Mac 2019).

“We say ‘a home is a home,’ so we’re out to change the image of manufactured housing,” Epperson says. That includes building Energy Star-rated homes that save homeowners at least 30 percent in utility costs compared to those of traditional homes. “We want to make sure that families can not only get into their home, but stay in their home long term, and that means controlling maintenance and operating costs,” Epperson says. “We have a vision that this could be the most sustainable and energy-efficient home in the marketplace, and the best way to deliver a zero-energy-ready home.”

Gray says today’s manufactured housing is also more durable than the poor-quality, pre-1976 mobile homes that tend to appear in the media after extreme weather events like hurricanes. “Contemporary manufactured housing is extremely strong and, I would argue, is even more resilient and better able to withstand storms than site-built housing.”

Buyers seem to be increasingly recognizing those benefits, whether they’ve had their curiosity piqued by a tiny-house show on HGTV, or they’re weary of house hunting in a ruthlessly scarce and competitive real estate market. Shipments of manufactured homes doubled between 2011 and 2021, increasing 12 percent between 2020 and 2021 alone (U.S. Department of Commerce 2022).

“There’s a huge demand for manufactured homes,” says JoAnne Hamberg, a real estate broker who sold her first mobile home to a local cable executive back in the 1980s and is now the owner and manager of Woodland Estates, the Boston-area community Jim and Kathryn Bennett now call home.

Hamberg says her brokerage, which specializes in manufactured homes, has a waiting list of buyers. “We get single professionals, young married couples, retirees, snowbirds, empty nesters—you name it,” she says. And the reason is simple: “People are realizing that manufactured homes are a great housing option.”

About the I’m HOME Network

The Innovations in Manufactured Homes (I’m HOME) Network was founded in 2005 to shift the public perception of manufactured housing, change public policy, and improve industry practices. The network, launched by Prosperity Now (formerly CFED), includes homeowners, advocates, academics, policy makers, lenders, manufacturers, developers, and others who, together, can effect change in the private sector and at all levels of government. In March 2022, the Lincoln Institute assumed stewardship of the I’m HOME Network. Convening the I’m HOME Network is an element of the Lincoln Institute’s larger effort to address the housing affordability crisis as part of its goal to reduce poverty and spatial inequality.

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

Lead image: A Next Step manufactured home in San Bernardino, California. Credit: Next Step.

When you think about innovations in development and construction, wood probably doesn’t leap to mind. It is, to put it mildly, an old-school material. But “mass-timber” construction—which involves wood panels, beams, and columns fabricated with modern manufacturing techniques and advanced digital design tools—is sprouting notable growth lately. Advocates point to its potential climate impact, among other attributes: using sustainably harvested mass timber can halve the carbon footprint of a comparable structure made of steel and concrete.  

According to wood trade group WoodWorks, more than 1,500 multifamily, commercial, or institutional mass-timber projects had either been built or were in design across all 50 states as of September 2022—an increase of well over 50 percent since 2020. The Wall Street Journal, citing U.S. Forest Service data, reports that since 2014 at least 18 mass-timber manufacturing plants have opened in Canada and the United States.

The building blocks of mass-timber construction are wood slabs, columns, and beams. These are much more substantial than, say, the familiar two-by-four, thanks to special processes used to chunk together smaller pieces of wood into precisely fabricated blocks. The end result includes glue-laminated (or “glulam”) columns and beams, and cross-laminated (or CLT) slab-like panels that can run a dozen feet wide and 60 feet long. The larger panels are mostly used for floors and ceilings, but also for walls. The upshot, as the online publication Vox put it, is “wood, but like Legos.” Major mass-timber projects tend to showcase the material, resulting in buildings whose structural elements offer a warmer, more organic aesthetic than do steel and concrete.

Both the process and interest in wood’s potential have been building momentum for a while. Pioneered in Austria and used elsewhere in Europe since the 1990s, the practice has gradually found its way to other parts of the world. In an often-cited 2013 TED Talk, Vancouver architect Michael Green made a case for this new-old material: “I feel there’s a role for wood to play in cities,” he argued, emphasizing mass timber’s carbon sequestration properties—a cubic meter of wood can store a ton of carbon dioxide; building a 20-story structure of concrete would emit more than 1,200 tons of carbon, while building it with wood would sequester over 3,000 tons. Plus, mass-timber structures can withstand earthquakes and fire.

When Green gave his TED talk in 2013, the tallest mass-timber structures were nine or 10 stories high. But Green argued this new fabrication process could be successfully used in structures two or three times that height. “This is the first new way to build a skyscraper in probably 100 years, or more,” he declared, adding that the engineering wouldn’t be as hard as changing the perception of wood’s potential. Lately that perception has been getting a fresh boost thanks to a spate of eye-catching projects—including a 25-story residential and retail complex in Milwaukee and a 20-story hotel in northeastern Sweden—and proposals for even taller mass-timber buildings.

Because mass timber is prefabricated in a factory and shipped to the site, unlike concrete structures made in place, the design details must be worked out precisely in advance, requiring intense digital planning and modeling. This can ultimately make construction processes more efficient, with fewer workers and less waste. Most mass-timber projects still incorporate other materials, notes Judith Sheine, an architecture professor at the University of Oregon (UO) and director of design for the TallWood Design Institute, a collaboration between UO’s College of Design and Oregon State University’s Colleges of Forestry and Engineering that focuses on advancing mass-timber innovation. “But mass timber can replace steel and concrete in many, many applications, and it’s becoming increasingly popular,” she says. “That’s due to new availability, but also to an interest in using materials that have low embodied carbon.” 

TallWood has run dozens of applied research projects and initiatives, addressing everything from code issues to supply chain challenges to building performance in an effort to help get more advanced and engineered timber into use. The institute is part of the Oregon Mass Timber Coalition, a partnership between research institutions and Oregon state agencies that was recently awarded $41.4 million from the U.S Economic Development Build Back Better Regional Challenge. That funding is meant to back “smart forestry” and other research initiatives tied to increasing the market for mass timber.

Of course, part of the newfangled material’s environmental promise depends on the back-end details, notably how and where the timber is harvested. Advocates of the sector argue that its expansion won’t cause undue pressure on forests, in part because mass-timber products can be made from “low-value” wood—smaller-diameter trees that are already being culled as part of wildfire mitigation, diseased trees, and potentially even scrap lumber.

Conservation groups and other forestry experts are proceeding a bit more cautiously. The Nature Conservancy undertook a multiyear global mass-timber impact assessment in 2018, researching the potential benefits and risks of increased demand for mass-timber products on forests, and is developing a set of global guiding principles for a “climate-smart forest economy”—best practices that will help protect biodiversity and ecosystems as the mass-timber market grows.

Often, builders and developers who specifically want to tout the use of mass-timber materials insist on sourcing that’s certified as sustainable, according to Stephen Shaler, professor of sustainable materials and technology in the University of Maine’s School of Forest Resources. “That demand is in the marketplace right now,” he says.

Beyond an interest in sustainability, there’s another reason for the proliferation of mass-timber projects: biophilia, or the human instinct to connect with nature. “Being in a wood building can just feel good,” Shaler says. That’s not just a subjective judgment; small studies have shown that wood interiors improve air quality, reduce blood pressure and heart rates, and can improve concentration and productivity.

The developers of the 25-story Milwaukee building, the Ascent, reportedly pursued the mass-timber approach largely for aesthetic reasons, and for the promotional value of its distinct look. Presumably the marketing payoff didn’t hurt: as the tallest wood skyscraper in the world, the Ascent has been a centerpiece of mass-timber press attention. But there’s another value to the public exposure: the 284-foot-high Ascent and other high-rise projects may not portend the future of all skyscrapers, but they demonstrate the possibility of safely building with mass timber at large scale. And that may help sway regulators and planners—particularly when it comes to approving the smaller-scale buildings that could be more important to proving mass timber’s real potential. “The majority of the use is likely going be in the mid-rise, six- to eight-story kind of project,” Shaler says.

The International Building Code permits wooden buildings up to 18 stories; the Ascent developers obtained a variance partly because their final design incorporated two concrete cores. As Sheine and Shaler both underscore, most mass-timber projects still incorporate at least some concrete, steel, or other materials. That’s just fine, Shaler says: mass timber should be viewed as a comparatively new option that can help improve carbon footprints, not as a full-on replacement for traditional materials. And new options are always useful—even when they’re as old-school as wood.

Rob Walker is a journalist covering design, technology, and other subjects. He is the author of The Art of Noticing. His newsletter is at robwalker.substack.com.

Image: Mass timber construction. Credit: Courtesy of ACSA.

Not that anyone needed more proof of how swiftly home prices have risen in the past two years, but here it is: Beginning in January, mortgages of up to $726,200 will be considered “conforming loans” in most parts of the United States, the Federal Housing Finance Agency announced in late November.

Known as the conforming loan limit, the cap is adjusted annually based on average home prices and represents the maximum single-unit home loan that government-sponsored entities Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac can purchase. The new limit is $79,000 more than the 2022 threshold of $647,200, which was an increase of nearly $100,000 over the 2021 cap of $548,250.  

“This in many ways represents what’s considered a modest home,” says Jim Gray, senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute. “Fannie and Freddie can’t purchase ‘jumbo’ loans,” he adds, referring to mortgages that exceed the conforming loan limit.

Conforming loans can be even higher in more expensive metros, and some will crest $1 million for the first time ever next year. Mortgages of up to $1,089,300 will count as conforming loans in the cities and suburbs of Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, and Washington, among other high-priced areas.

The updated loan limits reflect the reality of rapidly rising home prices, as tracked by the FHFA’s Housing Price Index, which jumped 18.1 percent in 2021 and another 12.2 percent this year.

In this new normal of housing finance—where a $725,000 mortgage on a $900,000 home can be considered a conventional loan in every U.S. county—one highly affordable housing option deserves more attention, according to a network convened by the Lincoln Institute.

“It is possible, in many U.S. markets, to acquire a very high-quality, energy-efficient, manufactured home, including land, for less than half of the conforming loan limit,” Gray says, citing research by the nonprofit organization Next Step. The Lincoln Institute and Next Step are both members of the Innovation in Manufactured Homes (I’m HOME) Network.

A new type of manufactured home that is virtually indistinguishable from a site-built home currently costs approximately $300,000 on average, including land, according to Next Step. Called a “CrossMod,” it’s manufactured in a factory, but incorporates design elements like pitched rooflines and is installed on a permanent foundation, allowing it to qualify for conventional financing.

Land prices vary dramatically, of course; the median cost of a building lot was $55,000 nationwide in 2021, according to the National Association of Homebuilders, but a typical single-family lot cost $143,000 on the West Coast and a record-high $200,000 in New England.

But even as the price of land increases for all housing types, in all regions, the cost efficiencies of manufactured housing can help create affordable homeownership opportunities.

Manufactured homes cost an average of $72 per square foot to build, according to the Manufactured Housing Institute, compared to $143 per square foot for a site-built home. That means a land-and-home mortgage on a newly built 1,800-square-foot manufactured house can easily come in at $100,000 less than one on a site-built house, regardless of land costs.

But such an arrangement isn’t as commonplace or accessible as members of the I’m HOME Network would hope. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac purchase some 62 percent of residential mortgages in the United States, but they back less than 25 percent of manufactured home mortgages—and those loans comprised less than 1 percent of Fannie and Freddie’s $2.63 trillion in overall mortgage financing in 2021, according to data from Recursion and the Urban Institute.

“Since Fannie and Freddie have a mission of trying to reach more Americans of modest incomes,” Gray says, “this further underscores why it’s so important that Fannie and Freddie make greater efforts to serve the manufactured housing market.”

Jon Gorey is a Lincoln Institute staff writer.

Image credit: Next Step.

Where should new multifamily housing go? This is a fundamental question facing 175 communities across eastern Massachusetts as they work to implement a new law intended to address the region’s housing shortage. The law requires cities and towns served by Greater Boston’s public transit agency, the MBTA (Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority), to enact zoning that allows multifamily housing near transit.  

If history is any indication, communities will seek to locate new housing away from existing residential neighborhoods. In recent decades, the largest portion of new housing in Greater Boston has been built in isolated areas on municipal and metropolitan peripheries. As an example, the town of Wellesley approved the construction of a 262-unit complex called The Nines—separated from almost all of the town by Interstate 95 and located on a spit of land tucked between the highway, state Route 9, and the Charles River. The towns of Needham and Stoneham permitted similar “across the interstate” developments, and other examples abound. 

The next largest portion of residential permitting has come in commercial areas.  As “smart growth” caught on in the new millennium, many cities and towns added one or two small- or medium-sized multifamily buildings to their downtowns. These properties are very close to residential neighborhoods, but not right in them. Zoning for mixed-use developments along decaying strip mall corridors has also been gaining support. Thus, we see projects on Newton’s Needham Street, Bedford’s Great Road, Salem’s Highland Avenue, Swampscott’s Vinnin Square, and many other less-than-loved “stroads.”  

For many communities, preserving the status quo of existing neighborhoods has been an explicit priority, even as the housing crunch has intensified. A few years ago, the city of Weymouth rezoned a commercial corridor for mixed-use multifamily housing, drawing the zoning district surgically to avoid development near existing residential neighborhoods. Wellesley’s 2018 Draft Unified Plan explains that participants in public meetings saw commercial, office, and industrial areas as the most acceptable locations for multifamily housing; not residential districts. In fact, my review of local master plans across 100 cities and towns showed no movement to upzone residential neighborhoods, other than by allowing accessory dwelling units (ADUs), which appear to have relatively popular support.  

Given the political resistance to changing residential neighborhoods, developing housing in other areas is not without merit. The Metropolitan Area Planning Council, the regional planning agency, recently analyzed more than 3,000 strip malls and shopping centers across Greater Boston, and estimated that such sites could accommodate 124,000 new homes. Between those areas and various office parks and industrial lands, Greater Boston could raise enough residential towers and townhouses to end bidding wars, giving renters and buyers the upper hand, without changing existing residential neighborhoods.   

However, the strategy of rezoning exclusively commercial and industrial areas assumes that the only goal is housing production. Metropolitan growth policy also needs to consider transportation, the environment, local economies, quality of life, and equity.  

The transit-oriented development (TOD) paradigm at the heart of Massachusetts’s new MBTA Communities Zoning Law imagines a region defined by a network of walkable, dense hubs that are well-connected by roads, walkways, bike lanes, bus lanes, train lines, and ferry routes. Under this scenario, people will spend less time in traffic; convenient region-wide mobility will be accessible to all residents, including those without cars; carbon emissions will go down; more people will have access to the region’s best opportunities; and our collective well-being and resilience will improve.  

One of Greater Boston’s most prominent strengths is that it was built as a network of urban villages well connected by trains and streetcars before automobiles began dominating urban design. The framework for the vision of well-connected “great neighborhoods” is already on the ground. The metropolitan area is crisscrossed with village centers and downtowns that contain pharmacies, libraries, restaurants, cafes, civic institutions, schools, playgrounds, public greens, quirky shops, and transit stops.  

If we write off as unchangeable all residential neighborhoods adjacent to these great hubs, then we make it harder to achieve the combined goals of an abundance of housing and sustainable, equitable settlement patterns. There is great demand in Greater Boston for “missing middle” housing that fits between single family-houses-with-yards and bigger apartment/condo complexes. For development of smaller scale multifamily housing to serve many people and make a difference in the market, it has to be allowed in more places.  

The project to create more housing in the Boston area will involve a combination of strategies, including significantly more building on main streets and the currently car-oriented corridors that radiate out from them; continued building on some isolated parcels on municipal edges; and incremental increases in density near connected, walkable hubs—i.e., in existing residential neighborhoods. Significant development on isolated parcels and strip mall corridors should be accompanied by infrastructure redesign to create connected, walkable hubs.   

As they consider different development scenarios that meet the requirements of the MBTA Communities zoning law, leaders and residents will need to weigh the politics and pros and cons of dense zoning in commercial and industrial areas, against zoning for small-scale multifamily housing in neighborhoods. Their deliberations will be part of a larger national debate about how regions should grow. 

Many people will be anxious about the possibility of multifamily development next to their homes. They’ll worry about traffic and parking, property values, architecture, noise, privacy, and all sorts of things. But we could just as well associate new housing with the chocolate chip cookies the future residents might bake for block parties, the leadership they might take on local issues, and the purple pansies they might plant out front in big happy planters. We could think of the joy, stability, and safety that new neighbors will gain in, and contribute to, our neighborhoods.  

Humans are perhaps wired to protect against threats more than to revel in visions of possibility, but we are also well equipped to plan ahead, together. We should plan for a just and sustainable future with abundant housing in wonderful, connected neighborhoods—and reform local zoning accordingly. 

Amy Dain is an independent consultant in public policy research and writing. Her focus is on urban and suburban planning and housing policy. She has conducted research for the Lincoln Institute on zoning and approval processes for multifamily housing in the Greater Boston area. 

Image: Construction in downtown Lynn, Massachusetts. Credit: Amy Dain.

A pesar de que la espera, Frances Acuña filtra mi llamada. “Me llaman muchas personas que quieren comprar mi casa”, explica cuando me devuelve la llamada. “A veces recibo cinco cartas por correo y hasta 10 llamadas”.  

El barrio Dove Springs en el sureste de Austin, Texas, donde Acuña lleva 25 años viviendo, se encuentra a 15 minutos del centro y en el límite de la última ola de aburguesamiento. Hace una década, dice, aquellos que no eran locales no querían involucrarse con la comunidad trabajadora de las casas de campo modestas: “Para ellos era una especie de gueto”.

En 2013, el arroyo Onion Creek desbordó, tras recibir casi 255 milímetros de lluvia en un solo día, e inundó las calles. Murieron cinco habitantes y se inundaron más de 500 viviendas. Dos años más tarde, se produjo otra inundación histórica. La ciudad de Austin, que ya había comenzado a comprar y demoler las viviendas de esta área baja con la ayuda de préstamos federales, aceleró sus esfuerzos y logró adquirir y demoler más de 800 casas.

Las propiedades adquiridas mediante programas de compra de viviendas financiados por la Agencia Federal para el Manejo de Emergencias (FEMA, por su sigla en inglés) deben permanecer “abiertas a perpetuidad”, para permitir que se inunden de manera segura en el futuro. En este caso, la ciudad transformó cientos de hectáreas de suelo abandonadas cerca de Dove Springs en un parque. Ahora, la zona cuenta con instalaciones atractivas: un área de recreación, un parque para perros, senderos y áreas con sombra para relajarse. Estas mejoras urbanas, impulsadas explícitamente por políticas de adaptación climáticas, hicieron que el área sea incluso más atractiva para los nuevos habitantes recién llegados (con un promedio de 180 recién llegados por día en 2020, Austin se encuentra entre las áreas metropolitanas de crecimiento más rápido del país).

Sin embargo, para Acuña el parque es un recordatorio doloroso de los vecinos que sufrieron pérdidas y de que incluso los esfuerzos bienintencionados de poner a salvo a las personas pueden causar daño. “Para mí no es un lugar alegre”, dice Acuña. “Quizás [los recién llegados] no lo saben porque solo ven un espacio verde”.

A medida que aumenta la magnitud de las inundaciones, los incendios, los huracanes y otras catástrofes naturales por el cambio climático, los expertos del Consejo para la Defensa de Recursos Naturales (NRDC, por su sigla en inglés) de la Oficina de Responsabilidad Gubernamental de los EE.UU. recomiendan enfáticamente que las municipalidades retiren las viviendas y la infraestructura de las zonas propensas a riesgos, a fin de ahorrar dinero y salvar vidas. Pero ¿cómo puede producirse la reubicación por el clima de forma que evite el aburguesamiento y el desplazamiento, honre la cultura y la historia de los habitantes originales, fomente el cambio de la planificación reactiva a la proactiva y garantice que aquellos que deben reubicarse puedan encontrar lugares seguros y asequibles para vivir?

Estas son las preguntas que Acuña y una creciente red de dirigentes, planificadores, investigadores, funcionarios de agencias y gestores de políticas locales buscan responder como parte de Climigration Network.

Fundada en 2016 por el Consensus Building Institute, Climigration Network busca posicionarse como la fuente central de información y apoyo para las comunidades de los EE.UU. que deben reubicarse o que lo están considerando debido a los riesgos climáticos. Más del 40 por ciento de los habitantes de los EE.UU., alrededor de 132 millones de personas, viven en un condado que padeció alguna condición climática extrema en 2021 (Kaplan y Tran, 2022). El crecimiento poblacional en las áreas propensas a incendios forestales se duplicó entre 1990 y 2010, y continúa creciendo. La FEMA dice que hay 13 millones de estadounidenses viviendo en zonas inundables para un período de retorno de 100 años (uno por ciento de probabilidad anual), mientras que al menos un estudio destacado indica que son 41 millones (Wing et al., 2018). 

Las Naciones Unidas, el Banco Mundial y los académicos admiten que la mayoría de las migraciones climáticas se producen dentro de los límites nacionales, no hacia afuera. Pero en los Estados Unidos, la conversación sobre los sistemas necesarios para apoyar la migración climática fluye lentamente, incluso a pesar de que el cambio climático redobla su impacto en las riberas, las costas y otras regiones vulnerables. Un informe publicado el año pasado por la Casa Blanca sobre el tema marcó, según su propio cálculo, “la primera vez que el gobierno de los EE.UU. informa oficialmente la relación entre el cambio climático y la migración” (Casa Blanca 2021). 

En la actualidad, la mayoría de las reubicaciones relacionadas con el clima en los Estados Unidos se producen del mismo modo que sucedió en Dove Springs. Luego de una catástrofe natural, se envía dinero federal para la recuperación, por lo general mediante la FEMA o el Departamento de Vivienda y Desarrollo Urbano de los Estados Unidos, a los estados y las municipalidades para comprar las viviendas dañadas. Los propietarios particulares le venden sus viviendas al gobierno al valor del mercado previo a la catástrofe natural y se mudan a otro sitio. Según el NRDC, la FEMA financió más de 40.000 compras en 49 estados desde la década de 1980.

Sin embargo, a pesar de los programas federales de compra establecidos hace décadas, no existe un conjunto de buenas prácticas o estándares oficiales. El tiempo promedio de compra es de cinco años. Mientras tanto, los costos de los arreglos y las viviendas temporales se acumulan. La orientación para los propietarios sobre cómo transitar el proceso de compra es confusa o casi inexistente, y las políticas y el financiamiento de la reubicación se centran en los casos particulares, no en los barrios o las comunidades que quieren permanecer juntas.  

A nivel local, las comunidades que evalúan la reubicación se enfrentan a varias barreras sociales y financieras. Las municipalidades no suelen fomentar la reubicación porque no quieren perder a la población ni la renta de los impuestos. Los habitantes, en especial aquellos que se enfrentan a una crisis, no suelen tener la capacidad y los recursos para encontrar un nuevo lugar seguro donde vivir, incluso aunque estén dispuestos a trasladarse.

A pesar de esos obstáculos, algunos pueblos pequeños diseñaron barrios nuevos e incluso pueblos nuevos a los que trasladarse. En la década de 1970, un par de pueblos del centro de los EE.UU. (Niobrara, Nebraska y Soldiers Grove, Wisonsin) iniciaron algunos de los primeros proyectos de reubicación de comunidades. En la década de 1990, Pattonsburg, Missouri y Valmeyer, Illinois, entre otros, se reubicaron a tierras más altas tras la Gran Inundación de 1993 sobre el río Misisipi. A medida que aumenta el impacto climático, los pueblos y los barrios, desde Carolina del Norte y del Sur hasta Alaska, desarrollan planes similares. Sin embargo, es poco frecuente que se compartan los conocimientos o que haya una coordinación que podría ayudar a las comunidades a ajustar o incluso rediseñar el proceso.

Climigration Network, en conjunto con el Instituto Lincoln y otros, conecta las comunidades afectadas por el clima entre sí y con profesionales que pueden ayudar. Una de las preocupaciones iniciales era cómo presentar el concepto de “retirada controlada” como opción de adaptación para las comunidades que se enfrentan a un riesgo importante. El término, pensado para referirse a movimientos estratégicos hacia fuera de las áreas propensas a catástrofes naturales, se volvió común en los debates sobre políticas que se produjeron tras huracanes y grandes inundaciones en la década pasada. ¿La ciudad de Nueva York debería analizar una retirada controlada de su costa, en lugar de invertir en paredes costosas y posiblemente ineficaces, tras el huracán Sandy? ¿Debería hacerlo Houston tras el huracán Harvey? Los gestores de políticas, los planificadores y los investigadores debatieron estas preguntas en profundidad, muchas veces sin la participación de las comunidades afectadas, que consideraron el término y el concepto alienantes.

Cuando Climigration Network comenzó su trabajo, en seguida quedó en evidencia que se necesitaba un tipo diferente de conversación, dice la directora Kristin Marcell. Con financiamiento de la fundación Doris Duke Charitable Foundation, la red creó un equipo creativo liderado por personas de color y originarios de pueblos indígenas; los miembros del equipo provienen de comunidades afectadas por la crisis climática. El equipo, dirigido por Scott Shigeoka y Mychal Estrada, propuso rediseñar el debate sobre el problema actual que enfrentan los pueblos y los barrios que deberían reubicarse.

Los dirigentes del proyecto invitaron a más de 40 dirigentes de primera línea para que compartan sus experiencias tras una catástrofe natural, y la red los compensó por ese trabajo. El resultado fue un conjunto de datos sobre el mundo real que ahora están recopilados en una guía sobre la reubicación climática.

Una conclusión clara es que, cuando se trata de la “retirada controlada”, hay más cuestiones involucradas que solo la mala publicidad. Los dirigentes de las comunidades les explicaron a los investigadores que la palabra “controlada” resuena a paternalismo y programas gubernamentales jerárquicos. En las comunidades de color, trae recuerdos no muy lejanos del desplazamiento forzoso: el comercio de esclavos, el Sendero de las Lágrimas, los campos de reclusión y prácticas discriminatorias. El concepto de “retirada” dejó muchas preguntas sin responder.

“Crea una idea negativa de que las personas están huyendo de algo, en lugar de trabajar para lograr un objetivo”, escribieron los investigadores en la guía. “La palabra comunica qué se debería hacer, pero no adónde ir o cómo hacerlo” (Climigration Network 2021). 

Ahora, Climigration Network aprovecha esa información en conversaciones con tres organizaciones comunitarias en el medio oeste, la costa del golfo de los EE.UU. y el Caribe que apoyan a los habitantes locales que analizan estrategias de adaptación, incluida la reubicación. Entre los socios que participan en estas conversaciones, se encuentran Anthropocene Alliance, una coalición de sobrevivientes de inundaciones y otras catástrofe naturales en los Estados Unidos, y Buy-In Community Planning, una organización sin fines de lucro que busca mejorar los procesos de compra de viviendas.

Los miembros de Climigration Network comenzaron a usar alternativas más inspiradoras a “retirada controlada”, incluidas “reubicación organizada por la comunidad” y “reubicación con apoyo”. Pero el objetivo no es encontrar un solo término nuevo o crear un plan estructurado que pueda adoptarse de forma universal. Como dice Marcell, puede ser “muy ofensivo” cuando personas externas se acercan a las comunidades con solo modelos y plantillas.

“No podemos ganarnos la confianza de una comunidad si no se empieza con una conversación abierta sobre cómo abordar el problema, porque [cada] contexto es único”, dice.

En cambio, la red busca cocrear con cada una de las organizaciones un método para identificar las necesidades y los objetivos específicos de cada lugar. Eso implica identificar y entrevistar a personas influyentes de la comunidad y, con la ayuda de Buy-In Community Planning, desarrollar preguntas para una encuesta puerta a puerta.

“Hay todavía mucho trabajo por hacer en la interacción y orientación individual con las personas que están en las peores situaciones del cambio climático”, dice Osamu Kumasaka de Buy-In Community Planning. Llegó a esta conclusión mientras trabajaba como mediador en el Consensus Building Institute en Piermont, Nueva York, en 2017. El pueblo ubicado sobre el río Hudson sufría el comienzo de lo que sería una inundación crónica: agua en los sótanos, patios traseros inundados, habitantes chapoteando en las calles de camino al trabajo. Piermont, un pueblo pequeño y rico con su propio comité de resiliencia ante inundaciones y acceso a datos de primer nivel sobre el riesgo de inundaciones, se vio invadido por la incertidumbre en cuanto a cómo proseguir.

“Nos costó definir cómo incluir todo el trabajo que debía hacerse con estos propietarios en reuniones públicas”, dice Kumasaka. Cada hogar tenía factores muy específicos que influenciaban la decisión de quedarse o irse: personas mayores con necesidades especiales, hijos a punto de terminar la secundaria, planes de jubilarse. Según Kumasaka, organizar encuestas, pequeños debates y evaluaciones de riesgos personalizadas fue un enfoque más eficaz para ayudar a la comunidad a entender mejor dónde estaba parada y cuáles eran sus objetivos.

En resumen, se espera que este tipo de trabajo ayude a determinar una estrategia comunitaria, desde identificar la tolerancia a riesgos hasta enviar una solicitud a un programa de compra. La red y sus socios esperan que este enfoque altamente personalizable ayude a las comunidades a superar las dificultades que otros ignoran.

Tal como hizo Climigration Network cuando recopiló información de los dirigentes de primera línea para su guía, Buy-In Community Planning compensa a los miembros de las tres organizaciones comunitarias por su tiempo y la información que brindan. Un elemento clave del proceso es ayudar a invertir una dinámica en la que las personas externas realizan una investigación general y brindan experiencia a una de colaboración real en la que se les paga a los habitantes locales y a los profesionales para lograr un objetivo en común.

La reubicación es un tema espinoso en las comunidades de ingresos bajos y mayoritariamente de color porque, históricamente, los habitantes no recibieron la misma protección contra las inundaciones que aquellos en áreas de mayores ingresos. En debates sobre la compra de viviendas, como indica Kumasaka, suele haber una “sensación de que no es justo pasar directamente a la reubicación”.

Es un argumento válido y representa un círculo vicioso. En 2020, el Consejo Asesor Nacional (NAC, por su sigla en inglés) de la FEMA respaldó los resultados de una investigación en la que se indicaba que “cuanto más dinero de la Agencia Federal para el Manejo de Emergencias recibe un condado, más aumenta la riqueza de los blancos y más disminuye la de las personas de color; lo demás se mantiene igual”. Dado que el financiamiento suele destinarse a las comunidades más grandes y mejor posicionadas para igualar y aceptar esos recursos, “las comunidades con menos recursos e ingresos no pueden acceder al financiamiento adecuado que les permitiría prepararse para una catástrofe natural, lo que desemboca en una respuesta y recuperación insuficientes, y pocas oportunidades de migrar. Durante todo el ciclo de catástrofes naturales, las comunidades que no recibieron apoyo no cuentan con recursos suficientes, por lo que sufren innecesaria e injustamente” (NAC de la FEMA, 2020).

El concepto de reubicación voluntaria está plagado de tensión, y los tres socios comunitarios de Climigration Network prefirieron que no se los entreviste ni identifique en este artículo. Hay mucho en juego a medida que la crisis internacional se hace presente a nivel local, y la participación dedicada puede hacer la diferencia entre mantener unida a una comunidad o no.

Con su enfoque en la opinión de la comunidad, un proyecto como este podría marcar un cambio radical en cómo los Estados Unidos abordan la migración climática, dice Harriet Festing, directora ejecutiva de Anthropocene Alliance. Festing, que ayudó a Climigration Network aestablecer relaciones con las tres organizaciones comunitarias que forman parte de la red de Anthropocene Alliance, destaca el tema que surge de este trabajo: “En realidad, las únicas personas que pueden cambiar la conversación [son] las víctimas del cambio climático”.

En Austin, Texas, Frances Acuña trabaja como organizadora en Go Austin/Vamos Austin (GAVA), una coalición de habitantes y dirigentes comunitarios que buscan apoyar una vida saludable y estabilidad barrial en Eastern Crescent, que incluye Dove Springs, en Austin. Una de sus funciones es ayudar a los vecinos a prepararse mejor para las catástrofes naturales de a poco, por ejemplo, mediante la contratación de un seguro contra inundaciones, charlas con los agentes de las aseguradoras y conocimiento de las rutas de evacuación. Juntó las pertenencias empapadas de los propietarios desplazados por las inundaciones, invitó a funcionarios de la ciudad a reunirse con los residentes locales en su sala de estar y analizó situaciones de emergencia, como cuando una pareja mayor que tuvo que evacuar tras una inundación se encontró con tres perros, dos gatos y sin lugar adonde ir. 

“Solían gustarme las tormentas con rayos, relámpagos y lluvia torrencial. Era como ver a Dios”, dice Acuña. Sin embargo, admite que ahora mira nerviosamente por la ventana al poco tiempo de que empieza una tormenta. 

El programa de compra de Austin en su área brinda ayuda de reubicación a los propietarios, que tuvieron la oportunidad de rechazar u oponerse a las ofertas de compra que recibieron. Muchos no querían marcharse y protestaron sin éxito para que la ciudad implemente soluciones, como un muro de contención contra inundaciones o la limpieza del canal. 

A pesar de las inundaciones cercanas y las llamadas y cartas que recibe de agentes y emprendedores inmobiliarios, Acuña no planea abandonar su vivienda en el futuro inmediato. Dice que participar en conversaciones de Climigration Network con otros dirigentes locales que guían a sus comunidades en inundaciones, incendios y sequías la ayudó mucho: “Al menos para mí, fue un proceso muy terapéutico”. 

Además de la guía, la información que brindaron esos dirigentes de primera línea (provenientes de 10 comunidades de color y latinas de bajos recursos desde Misisipi hasta Nebraska y Washington) derivó en una declaración que reconoce “la gran migración climática de los Estados Unidos” y que exige la creación de una agencia de migración climática que “ayude a planificar, facilite y apoye la migración en los Estados Unidos”. 

Muchas de las sugerencias del grupo, la mayoría de las cuales apuntan directamente a funcionarios gubernamentales, pueden ponerse en práctica de manera fácil, casi automática: brindar información clara. Se debe optimizar el proceso de compra de viviendas de la FEMA a fin de que los propietarios no tengan que esperar cinco años para recibir el dinero. Se deben reducir los requisitos para el otorgamiento local de préstamos federales en las comunidades pequeñas y con pocos recursos. 

Otra recomendación es abordar el contexto más amplio de la desigualdad racial y aceptar que se demostró que los programas de la FEMA benefician más a los propietarios ricos.

“Aquí la gente vive en tiendas de campaña”, dice un testigo en la declaración. “Miles aún no tienen vivienda desde las tormentas. Me frustra porque sé que el gobierno tiene el dinero y la capacidad de ayudarnos. La única razón por la que no podemos recibir los servicios que necesitamos es el código postal”.

Esta declaración presiona a las autoridades para que apoyen los planes que les permiten a las comunidades unidas reubicarse juntas, en lugar de separar a los propietarios.

Es una opción que Terri Straka de Carolina del Sur apreciaría. Como Acuña, es una dirigente activa en su comunidad que participó en conversaciones de Climigration Network y se unió al pedido de una oficina de migración climática nueva. Vive en Rosewood Estates, un barrio de trabajadores en Socastee, Carolina del Sur, sobre el Canal Intracostero del Atlántico, a las afueras de Myrtle Beach, desde hace casi 30 años. Durante mucho tiempo, las inundaciones no fueron un problema, pero eso cambió recientemente: en 2016, el condado de Straka se vio afectado por al menos 10 huracanes y tormentas tropicales. Los pagos nacionales promedio de los seguros contra inundaciones en esa zona quintuplicaron su valor en menos de una década, desde un poco menos de US$ 14.000 hasta US$ 70.000. En la inundación más reciente, la casa de campo de 120 metros cuadrados de Straka recibió 1,2 metros de agua que tardó dos semanas en desagotarse.

“No es fabulosa, pero es mi hogar”, dice Straka. “Crie a todos mis hijos aquí. Conozco a todos”. Sus padres viven en el barrio. Los adolescentes locales aprovechan las calles para aprender a conducir. “Vi a tantos niños crecer”.

Hoy en día, dice, “me llaman Terri Jean, la reina de Rosewood”. Es un nombre que se ganó tras las inundaciones del barrio, ya que representó a sus vecinos en visitas a las oficinas de vivienda del condado y la FEMA local, llamó por teléfono a funcionarios de recuperación estatales y organizó protestas en reuniones del consejo del condado. Muchos de los vecinos se habrían mudado después de las primeras inundaciones si hubiesen podido, dice Straka. Ella y otros presionaron para obtener un programa de compra, pero las ofertas con financiación federal eran muy bajas para cuando llegaron en 2021. Los miembros de la comunidad siguen presionando para obtener ofertas mejores. Muchos de sus vecinos proveen servicios en el pujante sector turístico de Myrtle Beach. Otros se jubilaron con un ingreso fijo. Muchos ya habían destinado dinero a las reparaciones de sus viviendas. Para otros, el dinero de la compra solo pagaría la hipoteca actual, por lo que no cubriría el monto necesario para comprar viviendas nuevas similares, y mucho menos el seguro contra inundaciones. “Si uno vive en las afueras de Myrtle Beach es porque, en primer lugar, no puede darse el lujo de vivir en Myrtle Beach”, dice Straka. “Incluso si tuviese la opción, si la compra fuese beneficiosa en términos económicos, ¿adónde iría? ¿Cómo lo haría?”.  

Climigration Network y sus socios están abordando estas preguntas desde distintos ángulos. Las tres organizaciones comunitarias que trabajan con la red están encaminadas para realizar sus propias encuestas y usar los resultados, a fin de comenzar a desarrollar estrategias locales este verano. La red espera crear un pequeño programa de subsidios que podría financiar esfuerzos similares en otras comunidades. Mientras tanto, los miembros formaron seis grupos de trabajo con expertos técnicos y dirigentes de la comunidad, con el objetivo de enfocarse en áreas diversas, desde políticas e investigación hasta la creación de historias y comunicados. Se reúnen periódicamente para debatir cómo identificar y abordar los desafíos a los que se enfrentan las comunidades. En conjunto, estos esfuerzos son un intento de sentar las bases para un nuevo panorama de adaptación al clima.

“No todos están haciendo el esfuerzo para construir un sistema que ayude a 13 millones de personas a mudarse en los próximos 50 años”, dice Kelly Leilani Main, directora ejecutiva de Buy-In Community Planning, presidenta del grupo Ecosistemas y Personas de Climigration Network y miembro de su Consejo interino. “Vamos trabajando sobre la marcha”.

Según Main y otros miembros de la red, hacerlo requiere que se sigan forjando vínculos de trabajo de confianza con los habitantes. Como Acuña, Straka dice que compartir sus propias experiencias con otros en Climigration Network fue un primer paso fundamental. “Cuando teníamos reuniones, era completamente honesta”, dice Straka. “Me daban la capacidad de ser vulnerable porque lo soy”. 

Agrega que el proceso completo estuvo muy lejos de sus experiencias chocándose contra paredes con funcionarios federales y estatales. Los funcionarios con los que trató “no lo entienden. Para ellos es trabajo. Van a la oficina y tienen que hacer estos proyectos”, dice ella. “Involucrarse a un nivel personal es lo que hará la gran diferencia. Eso es lo que necesitamos”.  

Alexandra Tempus está escribiendo un libro sobre la gran migración climática de los Estados Unidos para St. Martin’s Press. 

Imagen principal: Frances Acuña camina por el área de una cuenca de detención destinada a ayudar a proteger el barrio de Austin, Texas, en el que vive de las inundaciones. Crédito: Austin American-Statesman/USA TODAY Network.

Referencias 

Climigration Network. 2021. Lead with Listening: A Guidebook for Community Conversations on Climate Migration. https://www.climigration.org/guidebook.

FEMA NAC. 2020. “National Advisory Council Report to the Administrator”. Noviembre. Washington, DC: Agencia Federal para el Manejo de Emergencias.

Kaplan, Sarah y Andrew Ba Tran. 2022. “More Than 40 Percent of Americans Live in Counties Hit by Climate Disasters in 2021”. The Washington Post. 5 de enero.

La Casa Blanca. 2021. “Report on the Impact of Climate Change on Migration”. Octubre. Washington, DC: La Casa Blanca.

Wing, Oliver E.J., y Paul D. Bates, Andrew M. Smith, Christopher C. Sampson, Kris A. Johnson, Joseph Fargione y Philip Morefield. 2018. “Estimates of Current and Future Flood Risk in the Conterminous United States”. Environmental Research Letters 13(3). Febrero.

Zoning may not be something most people think about every day. But behind the scenes, local land use rules have been blocking affordable housing, hindering climate action, and exacerbating racial segregation, according to advocates for reform.

In this episode of the Land Matters podcast, city planner M. Nolan Gray, author of the recent book Arbitrary Lines: How Zoning Broke the American City and How to Fix It, and Sara Bronin, professor at Cornell University and founder of the National Zoning Atlas, talk about how zoning can be tweaked for better outcomes.

This conversation comes at a time when at least 10 states are moving forward to modify zoning at the local level—to remove restrictions on multifamily housing development near transit stations, for example. The rationale is that there’s not nearly enough affordable housing, and local land use regulations skew toward single-family homes on large lots, which are inevitably more expensive. That’s just one example of the kind of overhaul being proposed.

“I would argue that zoning is the most significant regulatory power of local government because it [not only] governs where we can put housing and factories and parks and shops . . . but it actually has significant impacts on the economy, and even I think the very structure of our society,” said Bronin, who has been a leader in a zoning reform effort called Desegregate Connecticut.

Why all the attention to zoning now? Gray, who has been active in the organization California YIMBY (Yes in My Back Yard), says many Americans are frustrated with the lack of affordable housing, and have been motivated to understand the factors behind that shortage.

“There’s a huge appetite from across the political spectrum for reform ideas here,” he said, as the affordability crisis intensifies not only in California but throughout the country.

The reform measures have included eliminating single-family-only zoning, clearing the path for modest increases in density where it is currently not allowed; lifting prohibitions on accessory dwelling units, such as carriage houses or apartments over garages; and reducing or eliminating excessive requirements to build parking at new developments, which drive up construction costs.

You can listen to the show and subscribe to Land Matters on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
 

Further Reading

Cancel Zoning: If We Want to Fix the Housing Affordability Crisis, Segregation, and Sprawl, Zoning Must Go (The Atlantic)

National Zoning Atlas (Cornell University)

President’s Message: Zoning’s Asteroid Moment (Land Lines)

Shifting Gears: Why Communities Are Eliminating Off-Street Parking Requirements—and What Comes Next (Land Lines)

Zoning Reform Creates New Model for Smart Growth in Walla Walla, Washington (Planning)

Zoning Rules! The Economics of Land Use Regulation (Lincoln Institute of Land Policy)
 

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.