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Las ciudades de América Latina han liderado la implementación de Sistemas de Transporte Público Masivo de Autobuses tipo BRT (llamados así por sus siglas en inglés por Bus Rapid Transit), un modo de transporte que generalmente se caracteriza por el desarrollo de infraestructura que dan prioridad al transporte público en relación con el transporte en otros tipos de vehículos, ofrece la posibilidad de pagar la tarifa antes de tomar el autobús y permite un rápido acceso al mismo. Más de 45 ciudades de América Latina han realizado inversiones en sistemas tipo BRT, lo que representa el 63,6 por ciento del número de pasajeros en sistemas tipo BRT a nivel mundial.
En Curitiba, Brasil, el sistema tipo BRT ha sido implementado como una herramienta para fomentar un proceso de desarrollo urbano que se caracteriza en apoyar y fortalecer el sistema de transporte público en general. En el año 1972, la ciudad incorporó una red de vías exclusivas para autobuses y estimuló a lo largo de los cinco ejes principales del sistema tipo desarrollos del suelo de alta densidad y usos mixtos, estos ejes estructurales han guiado el proceso de crecimiento urbano de Curitiba por décadas y convergen en el centro de la ciudad. La nueva línea verde de Curitiba se fundamenta en principios similares: fomentar el desarrollo urbano que mejora y facilita el uso del sistema de transporte público masivo. El caso de Curitiba sugiere que el éxito del sistema tipo BRT puede ser mayor a través de la concentración del desarrollo del suelo a lo largo del eje del sistema de transporte público masivo. En otros estudios, se ha investigado si el sistema tipo BRT puede realmente estimular el desarrollo del suelo.
El término “desarrollo orientado al tránsito” (DOT) –en inglés, Transit Oriented Development o TOD– se utiliza para describir el desarrollo urbano que se caracteriza por ser compacto con mezcla de usos del suelo, entre los cuales generalmente se encuentran los de tipo residencial, comercial y de oficinas, así como un entorno urbano de alta calidad para los peatones que efectivamente tienen acceso al transporte público. Se considera que dicho desarrollo urbano facilita o respalda el transporte público, ya que puede concentrar la demanda a lo largo de las troncales y/o corredores de transporte, equilibrar los flujos de pasajeros y generar oportunidades para garantizar viajes de carácter multimodal. La evidencia de la experiencia en los Estados Unidos en este tema sugiere que las personas que residen en áreas servidas por DOT utilizan más el transporte público en comparación con otros viajeros frecuentes. Aunque la mayoría de los DOT se han construido alrededor de los sistemas de transporte público sobre rieles, el concepto del desarrollo urbano orientado hacia el transporte público también puede constituirse en una estrategia para complementar y mejorar los sistemas tipo BRT.
Tipologías de DOT
Tanto investigadores como profesionales han desarrollado una variedad de tipologías de desarrollo urbano orientado al transporte público DOT, aunque ninguna de ellas se ha enfocado específicamente en los sistemas tipo BRT. El tipo de desarrollo urbano que podría darse en torno a las estaciones de los sistemas tipo BRT es un factor fundamental para la planificación del desarrollo alrededor de las estaciones o terminales, comprender de qué manera el DOT es adecuado dentro de una estrategia de crecimiento regional, crear conciencia y fomentar la participación del público en general en el desarrollo urbano y, finalmente, aumentar las posibilidades de éxito del sistema.
La literatura acerca de los DOT sugiere la existencia de diferencias importantes en relación con las características y los tipos de este desarrollo urbano. Una aproximación se sustenta en la experiencia de los planificadores, arquitectos y urbanistas. Peter Calthorpe (1993) utilizó el concepto de urbanización para identificar los DOT de carácter urbano y de escala barrial con características tales como la calidad del servicio de transporte público, los usos del suelo, la intensidad del desarrollo y el carácter del diseño urbano. La localización geográfica de estos DOT varía desde áreas de desarrollo con terrenos aún no urbanizados hasta áreas de redesarrollo y renovación urbana. Una tipología similar desarrollada en el estado de Florida (Estados Unidos) en el año 2011 no sólo se enfocó en la escala y tamaño del centro de actividades (regional, comunitario o barrial), sino también incluyó otra dimensión relacionada con los modo de transporte (Renaissance Planning Group, 2011).
Dittmar y Poticha (2004) combinaron los conceptos de localización geográfica y urbanización en la definición de tipologías DOT, las cuales están denominadas como centro urbano, barrio urbano, centro suburbano, barrio suburbano, zona de tránsito a escala barrial y ciudad dormitorio. Se ha establecido el mismo enfoque en aplicaciones más recientes de tipologías de DOT. Por ejemplo, la ciudad de Sacramento, California definió las tipologías de DOT como núcleo o centro urbano, centro de empleo, centro residencial, centro dormitorio y troncal de autobuses con mejoras (Steer Davies Gleave, 2009). La organización Reconnecting America desarrolló las siguientes tipologías para el área de la Bahía de San Francisco, California: centro regional, centro urbano, centro suburbano, centro de ciudad de tránsito, barrio urbano, barrio de tránsito y corredor de uso mixto (Comisión Metropolitana de Planificación 2007). En Denver, Colorado, el Centro para el Desarrollo Urbano Orientado hacia el Transporte Público (Center for Transit Oriented Development – CTOD por sus siglas en inglés, 2008) desarrolló una guía para la planificación de áreas alrededor de estaciones de transporte público que incorporó una tipología adicional definida como usos especiales y/o distrito de empleo.
Una aproximación alternativa para identificar tipologías a priori consiste en utilizar técnicas de agrupación de datos con el fin de examinar los mismos y la evidencia recolectada de un entorno urbano determinado. Por ejemplo, las tipologías de desarrollo urbano del entorno de 25 estaciones de metro que tuvieron un desarrollo integrado en Hong Kong se componen de cinco tipos: edificios de oficinas de gran altura, edificios residenciales de gran altura, desarrollos residenciales a gran escala, desarrollos de uso mixto a gran escala y edificios residenciales de mediana altura (Cervero y Murakami, 2009). En otro estudio se utilizó el análisis de conglomerados con el objetivo de desarrollar una definición espacio-funcional de tipologías de las áreas del entorno urbano de las estaciones del tren ligero de Phoenix, Arizona (Atkinson-Palombo y Kuby, 2011). Las tipologías identificadas en el estudio fueron las siguientes: centros de empleo, áreas de uso mixto de medianos ingresos, nodos de estacionamiento para pasajeros frecuentes, áreas de alta densidad poblacional o alta presencia de zonas de alquiler, y áreas que presentan concentración de pobreza urbana.
Un último conjunto de tipologías emergentes elaborado por el CTOD representa el entorno urbano construido introduciendo una dimensión de implementación o desempeño. Por lo general, estas tipologías se convierten en una matriz de dos dimensiones, donde los tipos del entorno urbano construido se encuentran en un eje y las medidas de implementación y disponibilidad en el otro. Estas tipologías, que se desarrollaron para Portland, Oregón y Baltimore, Maryland, en los Estados Unidos, se utilizan con el fin de guiar inversiones de capital y promover cambios de política; además, resultan particularmente útiles para generar conciencia en el público en general con respecto a los beneficios en términos de viajes y desplazamientos que ofrece el desarrollo urbano orientado hacia el transporte público – DOT (Deng y Nelson, 2012).
Ciudades estudiadas y recolección de datos
Con el objetivo de discernir la condición del desarrollo urbano orientado a los sistemas tipo BRT en América Latina, el estudio que llevamos a cabo investigó el entorno urbano construido que caracteriza las estaciones y terminales de sistemas tipo BRT en siete ciudades (tabla 1). Para ello, identificamos grandes ciudades en la región donde sistemas tipo BRT han estado en operación durante por lo menos cinco años: Bogotá (Colombia); Curitiba (Brasil); Goiânia (Brasil); Ciudad de Guatemala (Guatemala); Guayaquil (Ecuador); Quito (Ecuador); y el área metropolitana de São Paulo (Brasil), específicamente la troncal “ABD”. En conjunto, estas ciudades representan el 16 por ciento del número de pasajeros en sistemas tipo BRT a nivel mundial, y el 31 por ciento del número de pasajeros en sistemas tipo BRT en América Latina. El estudio incluyó dos tipos de paradas: estaciones, es decir, las paradas comunes del sistema BRT, y terminales, es decir, las paradas que se encuentran al final de una troncal o aquellas en donde se realizan transbordos importantes de una troncal del sistema BRT a otra. Con el apoyo de planificadores urbanos en las ciudades seleccionadas, identificamos un grupo de estaciones y terminales específicas representativas del sistema BRT al interior de cada ciudad, independientemente de que el desarrollo urbano estuviera orientado al sistema tipo BRT o no. En definitiva, 51 estaciones y 31 terminales fueron identificadas para adelantar la investigación.
Debido a la falta de datos en común con una alta definición espacial entre las ciudades, fue necesario recolectar datos in situ utilizando un formato de recolección diseñado para obtener información de las características del entorno urbano en dos niveles: calles (segmentos compuestos por una manzana o cuadra) y manzanas o cuadras urbanas. El término “segmento” se definió como el tramo de una calle entre dos intersecciones. El formato de recolección se estructura en los siguientes campos acerca del entorno urbano:
Con respecto a las estaciones, estudiamos segmentos de calles al interior de un radio de 250 metros, tomando como centro la estación del sistema tipo BRT. Para las terminales, estudiamos el área comprendida en un radio de 500 metros tomando como centro la terminal del BRT. En siete casos en la Ciudad de Guatemala y un caso en Goiânia, estudiamos dos estaciones (en lugar de sólo una) debido a que el sistema de autobuses se dividió en dos calles paralelas, cada una de sentido único, lo cual implica la localización de estaciones paralelas o “hermanas” que se complementan al brindar acceso al sistema en ambos sentidos. En estos casos, el área que se analizó es un poco mayor al radio de 250 metros. Además de los datos recolectados en campo, utilizamos datos secundarios suministrados por parte de las autoridades municipales, tales como la población censada dentro del área de estudio y la distancia de las estaciones y terminales a los principales centros de actividades en cada ciudad.
Estudiamos en total 10.632 segmentos y 2.963 manzanas alrededor de 82 estaciones y terminales de los sistemas tipo BRT en las siete ciudades. Debido a que la superficie de las estaciones estudiadas era similar, la comparación entre segmentos y manzanas por estación/terminal ofrece información acerca de qué tan compactas son dichas áreas en cada ciudad y su nivel de conectividad. Una estación en Guayaquil presentó la mayor cantidad de segmentos (102,1), mientras que las estaciones en São Paulo (Corredor ABD) presentaron la menor cantidad de segmentos (43,1). Detectamos un patrón similar al examinar los segmentos por manzana.
Todos los datos fueron agregados al nivel de estación/terminal. Los datos recolectados a nivel de segmento se agregaron con el fin de medir en porcentajes la presencia o ausencia de una o varias características del entorno urbano de cada estación/terminal. Los datos recolectados al nivel de manzana se agregaron con el fin de medir con respecto al área bruta la densidad de las características en el entorno urbano de la estación/terminal. Finalmente, calculamos 38 variables que caracterizan el entorno urbano construido alrededor de cada estación/terminal.
Tipologías de estaciones identificadas en los sistemas tipo BRT
Debido a la gran cantidad de variables (38) y el número relativamente bajo de observaciones (82), llevamos a cabo un análisis de factores a nivel exploratorio con el fin de generar un subconjunto de variables y estimar sus puntajes factoriales. El análisis de factores se basa en la correlación de los datos para identificar grupos de variables que son más similares entre sí. Las 38 variables se redujeron a 9 factores para su posterior análisis:
Al examinar los factores y sus estadísticas descriptivas, surgieron varias observaciones. En primer lugar, la intensidad del desarrollo alrededor de las estaciones y terminales tiende a ser relativamente baja. Por ejemplo, sólo el 8 por ciento de los segmentos posee desarrollos de alta densidad, mientras que el 31 por ciento de los segmentos presenta un desarrollo de baja densidad. En segundo lugar, el redesarrollo como estrategia para fomentar el desarrollo urbano orientado al sistema tipo BRT parece ser fundamental en las ciudades estudiadas. Solamente el 8 por ciento de los segmentos muestran bajos niveles de consolidación, mientras que el 11 por ciento de los mismos presentan lotes vacantes. En contraste, casi la mitad de los segmentos muestran desarrollos con un alto nivel de consolidación. Este resultado sugiere que existen pocas oportunidades para que los desarrollos orientados hacia el sistema tipo BRT se lleven a cabo en suelos vacantes o por desarrollar. En tercer lugar, en relación con el estacionamiento de vehículos, cabe destacar que en el 26 por ciento de los segmentos encontramos estacionamiento de vehículos sobre la calle, mientras que el 30 por ciento de segmentos muestran algún tipo de actividad comercial y de venta minorista con estacionamiento para vehículos particulares (fuera de la vía pública). Este hecho pone de manifiesto el desafío de administrar la oferta (y la demanda) de espacios de estacionamiento y, asimismo, podría indicar que el entorno urbano alrededor de las estaciones de los sistemas tipo BRT por lo general no resulta tan apto para los peatones y usuarios del sistema como debería.
El funcionamiento de cada estación en relación con los nueve factores se combinó con la densidad poblacional y con tres variables adicionales que no presentaron correlación alguna de las demás variables en el análisis de factores. Con estos nueve factores y las cuatro variables adicionales llevamos a cabo un análisis de conglomerados con el fin de determinar cuáles eran las estaciones y terminales que podrían agruparse. El análisis de conglomerados se utilizó como base para definir la tipología, análisis a través del cual se identificaron 10 tipos de desarrollo urbano en torno a las paradas de los sistemas tipo BRT (tabla 2).
Al examinar la tipología por ciudad, descubrimos que dos tipos de paradas capturan factores específicos de dos ciudades: el centro histórico de Quito y varias estaciones características de Ciudad de Guatemala (ciudad que posee el sistema tipo BRT más reciente entre los sistemas estudiados). El hecho de que sea nuevo y de que funciona en partes de la ciudad bastante consolidadas podría explicar por qué las estaciones se agrupan en el análisis de conglomerados. Los ocho tipos de estaciones restantes representan un amplio rango de estaciones entre varias ciudades.
Cinco atributos parecen diferenciar las distintas estaciones: (1) desarrollos multifamiliares con y sin orientación hacia el sistema tipo BRT ; (2) viviendas unifamiliares adosadas que, en algunos casos, se construyen de manera informal y tienen acceso a algunas actividades comerciales, generalmente lejos de los centros de mayor actividad de la ciudad; (3) alta densidad poblacional, infraestructura para peatones y acceso a parques y espacios verdes, generalmente lejos de los centros de mayor actividad de la ciudad; (4) estaciones con la presencia de equipamientos de uso institucional y espacios verdes, no necesariamente abiertos al público; y (5) estaciones con barreras físicas por la convergencia de varias calles y avenidas con un gran volumen de tráfico.
Las tipologías de desarrollo urbano identificadas comprenden una amplia gama de posibles entornos urbanos construidos alrededor de las estaciones de los sistemas tipo BRT. La tipología de desarrollo denominado centro satélite orientado hacia el sistema tipo BRT, que ilustramos con el caso de Bogotá, presenta un nivel importante de actividades comerciales, instalaciones públicas, parques e infraestructura para peatones, y a su vez presenta una mezcla de viviendas residenciales multifamiliares y viviendas unifamiliares adosadas (figura 1). Tomadas en conjunto, estas características se acercan mucho al ideal de un desarrollo urbano orientado al transporte público – DOT. De manera similar, la tipología representada por la estación del centro histórico de la ciudad de Quito posee también muchos atributos de un desarrollo urbano orientado al transporte público – DOT. La cuestión sobre si la presencia de estas tipologías se traduce en una mayor cantidad de pasajeros en el sistema tipo BRT continúa siendo una pregunta de investigación empírica por examinar.
Las estaciones dentro de las tipologías centro comunitario y centro barrial parecen ajustarse apropiadamente con la definición de Calthorpe (1993) acerca de DOT comunitarios y barriales. Entre los casos analizados, las estaciones en la tipología centro comunitario presentan algunas viviendas unifamiliares adosadas y usos mixtos, tales como usos institucionales que, por lo general, están destinados a funcionar en áreas próximas a la ciudad. Las estaciones en la tipología centro barrial presentan una mayor intensidad de desarrollos residenciales, específicamente viviendas unifamiliares adosadas. Las estaciones que se encuentran dentro de las tipologías definidas como corredores parecen coincidir con el concepto de mejoramiento urbano de los corredores de autobús desarrollado en Sacramento y San Francisco, California, aunque en nuestros datos podemos distinguir claramente entre corredores dominados por usos institucionales y corredores que simplemente presentan una amplia gama de usos mixtos.
A través de las tipologías también identificamos desafíos y oportunidades para mejorar la capacidad de un desarrollo urbano orientado al sistema tipo BRT. Sólo las estaciones dentro de las tipologías centro de ciudad y centro satélite orientados al BRT presentaron una integración adecuada entre el entorno peatonal y el transporte público. La tipología centro urbano, como por ejemplo el de Curitiba, está listo para el mejoramiento en su integración con el sistema tipo BRT, ya que posee las densidades y los usos mixtos apropiados para promoverlo (figura 2). La tipología conformada por las estaciones Nexo, tal como se presenta en Goiânia, representa un desafío frecuente para los planificadores urbanos municipales (figura 3). Estas estaciones y terminales deberían ubicarse de manera que faciliten los transbordos intermodales, aunque esto por lo general implica sacrificar el acceso de los usuarios a cada lugar y la orientación del desarrollo hacia el transporte público en la estación y/o terminal.
En comparación con otras tipologías, no encontramos evidencia sólida de estaciones relacionadas con centros de empleo o pasajeros frecuentes. Esto puede ser resultado del precario papel que juegan los usos mixtos del suelo entre las estaciones y terminales, ya que los usos del suelo cumplen un papel importante en otras tipologías. Una explicación por este fenómeno podría ser el alto nivel de usos mixtos que habitualmente se encuentran en las ciudades de América Latina, lo que contribuye a un bajo nivel de variación entre las diferentes áreas de las estaciones y terminales estudiadas.
En cuanto a las políticas de vivienda, las tipologías correspondientes al centro barrial y áreas verdes presentan una combinación interesante de distancia a los centros de mayor actividad en la ciudad y presencia de viviendas para hogares de bajos recursos. Dado que las paradas se encuentran lejos de los centros de mayor actividad, es mucho más probable que presenten espacios verdes, viviendas de interés social y, en algunos casos, viviendas informales. Las ciudades de América Latina suelen exhibir un gradiente de precios del suelo bastante pronunciado, donde las áreas con acceso privilegiado a los centros de mayor actividad tienen precios más altos que las áreas periféricas. Estas dos tipologías de estación del sistema tipo BRT plantean preguntas sobre las posibles consecuencias que pueda tener el sistema tipo BRT en cuanto a incrementar la segregación de viviendas y la carga financiera en términos de movilidad para las personas de bajos recursos.
Análisis de las tipologías de estación y prospectiva de la planificación
Nuestro análisis de 82 paradas de los sistemas tipo BRT en siete ciudades de América Latina reveló una variedad de patrones de desarrollo urbano. Algunas tipologías poseen atributos que son coherentes con los principios del desarrollo urbano orientado hacia el transporte público – DOT. Otras tipologías presentan una gran cantidad de usos del suelo, vías e infraestructura, así como características de desarrollo que no promueven un desarrollo urbano orientado hacia el sistema tipo BRT. No obstante, otras tipologías muestran un proceso de desarrollo aún en curso, con una cantidad importante de terrenos vacantes y desarrollos todavía en proceso de consolidación. Finalmente, algunas estaciones parecen captar las condiciones urbanas que surgen en muchas ciudades latinoamericanas: presencia de viviendas informales que se encuentran lejos de los centros de mayor actividad; desarrollos comerciales a gran escala, generalmente del tipo centro comercial o grandes superficies, los cuales generan espacios privados para el comercio y, en algunos casos, espacios de uso público; y una relativa carencia de espacios públicos al aire libre. Esta información es útil para facilitar procesos de planificación de un desarrollo urbano orientados hacia los sistemas tipo BRT, dado el rápido crecimiento de sistemas tipo BRT en las últimas dos décadas. Unas 146 ciudades en todo el mundo presentan en la actualidad algún tipo de sistema tipo con prioridad para autobuses.
Comprender el tipo de desarrollo urbano que podría generarse en el entorno de las estaciones de sistemas tipo BRT es fundamental para planificar las áreas de las estaciones e identificar de qué manera el desarrollo urbano orientado hacia el transporte público – DOT encaja dentro de una estrategia de crecimiento regional. Robert Cervero (1998) sostiene que toda inversión en transporte debe estar precedida y dirigida por una visión de desarrollo urbano exitosa, y esta planificación es necesaria si se van a generar subcentros alrededor de las estaciones de los sistemas de transporte. Cervero refuerza su argumento con la notable experiencia y hallazgos obtenidos en Copenhague, Estocolmo y Singapur, y sugiere que es fundamental tomar medidas para desarrollar visiones tanto a escala regional como de las estaciones de los sistemas de transporte (entorno urbano alrededor de las estaciones) para garantizar el éxito hacia futuro del desarrollo urbano orientado a los sistemas de transporte público – DOT. De hecho, las tipologías de DOT en vías de expansión en los Estados Unidos están basadas en parte en su capacidad de sostener una planificación del DOT a largo plazo. Por ejemplo, la tipología de Denver, Colorado resultó de vital importancia a la hora de crear una visión del uso y la planificación del suelo para las áreas de las estaciones del tren ligero, tanto las existentes como las futuras.
Las visiones acerca de qué tipos de desarrollo urbano pueden darse en el futuro y dónde tendrían lugar son fundamentales en el proceso de planificación y, con frecuencia, hacen parte de los escenarios definidos en ejercicios de prospectiva, en los cuales estas tipologías deben ser tenidas en cuenta por parte de los tomadores de decisiones, los planificadores y el público en general. La visión en prospectiva en el proceso de planificación es, por lo general, una condición previa para que cualquier ejercicio de planificación de las áreas de las estaciones de sistemas tipo definidas como DOT pueda ser efectivo. El Centro para el Desarrollo Urbano Orientado hacia el Transporte Público (Center for Transit Oriented Development – CTOD por sus siglas en inglés) sugiere la elaboración de un plan que incluya la participación ciudadana, la comercialización del proyecto y la creación de una estrategia regional de DOT. Para poder lograr todos estos aspectos, se necesita una visión acerca del tipo de desarrollo urbano que puede generarse en el área que es objeto del proceso de planificación. Las visiones son particularmente predominantes a la hora de involucrar al público en general, ya que pueden presentar de manera tangible los posibles resultados del proceso de planificación, lo cual permite tener una mayor comprensión del impacto de las decisiones acerca de la densidad, la mezcla de usos del suelo y las áreas de acceso a las estaciones.
El próximo paso en nuestra investigación será determinar las causas de los diferentes patrones de desarrollo urbano que hemos identificado. En algunos casos, el entorno urbano ha cambiado de forma radical con las inversiones de los sistemas tipo BRT, mientras que en otros casos no se han producido mayores cambios. Aquí entran en juego tanto las fuerzas de mercado como la regulación del desarrollo urbano, los cuales determinan en gran medida el resultado del desarrollo y la revitalización. Algunas de las medidas para liberar el potencial de desarrollo de los predios y áreas cercanas a las estaciones de los sistemas tipo BRT consisten en cambiar la regulación de los usos del suelo, flexibilizar los límites de densidad o reducir los requisitos de estacionamiento de vehículos. Esta estrategia coordinada entre la planificación del uso del suelo y el sector transporte es la piedra angular del desarrollo urbano orientado hacia el transporte público – DOT.
Sobre los autores
Daniel A. Rodríguez es profesor de Planificación Urbana y Regional, profesor asociado adjunto de Epidemiología y director del Programa de Transporte Carolina de la Universidad de Carolina del Norte en Chapel Hill. Su área de investigación se enfoca en la relación recíproca entre el medio ambiente construido (que incluye los sistemas tipo BRT) y el comportamiento de los pasajeros.
Erik Vergel tovar es becario Fulbright y estudiante de doctorado en Planificación Urbana y Regional en la Universidad de Carolina del Norte en Chapel Hill. Arquitecto con estudios de maestría en Gestión, Planificación y Desarrollo Urbano (grado con honores) en el Instituto de Estudios de Vivienda y Desarrollo Urbano (IHS) de la Universidad Erasmus de Rotterdam, Países Bajos. Su área de investigación se enfoca en las relaciones entre el transporte urbano (en particular, los sistemas tipo BRT), las políticas de suelo, desarrollo urbano y vivienda para grupos de bajos ingresos.
Referencias
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Deng, T. y J. D. Nelson. 2013. “Bus rapid transit implementation in Beijing: An evaluation of performance and impacts”. En Research in Transportation Economics 39(1): 108–113.
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Steer Davies Gleave. 2009. “Sacramento regional transit: A transit action plan”. Sacramento, CA: Sacramento Regional Transit.
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Han transcurrido más de 20 años desde que un megaproyecto impulsado por el gobierno comenzó a transformar a Puerto Madero, el sector más antiguo del distrito portuario que se encuentra en la desembocadura del Río de la Plata en Buenos Aires, Argentina. Habiendo sido anteriormente un centro de decadencia que fomentaba el deterioro del centro adyacente, Puerto Madero es, hoy en día, un ícono turístico y un centro de progreso, ya que atrae tanto a la población local como a los visitantes hacia sus parques y actividades culturales. En Puerto Madero viven aproximadamente 5.000 habitantes nuevos y ha generado 45.000 puestos de trabajo en el área de servicios. Alberga numerosos referentes arquitectónicos nuevos, incluyendo el Puente de la Mujer, de Santiago Calatrava, y la casa matriz de YPF, obra de César Pelli. Además, el redesarrollo al que se sometió el puerto ha contribuido a la reactivación del centro de la ciudad, influyendo en las tendencias de desarrollo en toda la capital argentina.
Puerto Madero abarca 170 hectáreas en la zona cercana a la casa de gobierno (la Casa Rosada) en el centro y fue uno de los primeros proyectos urbanos de reacondicionamiento en América Latina a esta escala y nivel de complejidad. Fue un proyecto concebido como parte de una estrategia de desarrollo más amplia en todo el centro de la ciudad, que también incluía cambios en las normas sobre el uso del suelo, el reacondicionamiento de edificios y la construcción de viviendas de interés social en áreas tradicionales. En el presente artículo se analizan dos décadas de evidencias y experiencias respecto de este proyecto a fin de examinar hasta qué punto Puerto Madero ha logrado sus objetivos principales: contribuir a la reducción de patrones de desarrollo no deseados en la ciudad, afirmar a esta zona como el principal centro de la ciudad de Buenos Aires, estimular la economía de la ciudad y mejorar las condiciones de vida de todos los porteños.
El puerto en crisis
Puerto Madero fue abandonado como puerto a principios del siglo XX cuando todas las operaciones se transfirieron al Puerto Nuevo. Hacia fines de la década de 1980, Puerto Madero había sufrido varias décadas de abandono y desuso. Los terrenos eran propiedad de la Administración General de Puertos federal, pero tanto el gobierno de la ciudad como el gobierno nacional tenían jurisdicción sobre la planificación de esta zona. De manera similar, el Gran Buenos Aires, que aloja al 35 por ciento de la población argentina y produce el 46 por ciento del PIB, se encuentra gobernado por una superposición de instituciones que, con frecuencia, enfrentan problemas para trabajar en forma coordinada. Con el fin de simplificar este gobierno interjurisdiccional, se constituyó una empresa pública para gestionar el proyecto, cuyas acciones se dividen equitativamente entre el gobierno nacional y el gobierno de la ciudad. En 1989, el gobierno federal transfirió la propiedad de este sector del puerto a la nueva sociedad, la Corporación Antiguo Puerto Madero (CAPM).
Una vez recibida la transferencia de los terrenos del gobierno federal, el rol de la CAPM consistió en desarrollar el plan para este sector, definir un modelo financiero autofinanciado, encargarse de las mejoras por realizar en el sector asociadas con el proyecto, comercializar los terrenos y supervisar el proceso de desarrollo de acuerdo con los plazos y las pautas establecidas en el plan maestro. A diferencia de lo que ocurre con otras empresas similares en otras partes del mundo, que generalmente cuentan con un sustancial financiamiento público o acceso al crédito, la CAPM, por decreto, no recibiría recurso público alguno aparte de la transferencia de los terrenos y generaría sus propios ingresos para cubrir los costos operativos. El redesarrollo del puerto no podría haberse llevado a cabo de otra manera, ya que el gobierno federal estaba abocado a la recuperación fiscal y la creación de puestos de trabajo en medio de una crisis económica nacional.
Contexto y cronología del megaproyecto
Tal como ocurre en la mayoría de las ciudades latinoamericanas, el desplazamiento de actividades del centro tradicional de la ciudad de Buenos Aires había reducido el uso del sistema de transporte público y había dado como resultado un lento deterioro de los edificios del patrimonio histórico, muchos de los cuales se habían convertido en edificios de viviendas subestándar. La propuesta de redesarrollo de Puerto Madero fue parte de una estrategia más amplia concebida por la ciudad para proteger el patrimonio, promover el desarrollo en el centro, estimular la economía de la zona y contribuir a la reducción de estos patrones de asentamiento no deseados.
El desarrollo tuvo lugar en cuatro etapas. Durante la primera etapa (1989–1992), la CAPM vendió las antiguas propiedades que se encontraban en el extremo oeste del puerto, con lo que se inició así el proceso de redesarrollo y se cubrieron los costos iniciales del proyecto. En 1991, el gobierno de la ciudad y la Sociedad de Arquitectos firmaron un convenio para facilitar el Concurso Nacional de Ideas para Puerto Madero.
En el año 1992, los tres equipos ganadores trabajaron en colaboración para desarrollar el Proyecto Urbano Preliminar de Puerto Madero. El redesarrollo requirió una nueva geometría de subdivisión que permitiera llevar a cabo la con-strucción sin la necesidad de demoler las valiosas estructuras históricas. Muchos de los edificios históricos del puerto, tales como los depósitos, se restaurarían para darles nuevas funciones, con lo que se combinaría el valioso patrimonio histórico con el nuevo desarrollo.
Durante la segunda etapa (1993–1995), se otorgó el contrato del plan maestro a los ganadores del Concurso de Ideas. La propuesta original consistía en el desarrollo de 1,5 millones de metros cuadrados de superficie construida, concentrados en una ubicación central, con el fin de reactivar el centro de la ciudad. El plan, que contemplaba un horizonte de 20 años, comprendía actividades comerciales, establecimientos culturales y recreativos, cafés, restaurantes, servicios, estudios profesionales y actividades comerciales de mediana envergadura (tales como imprentas y empresas dedicadas a embalaje y depósito), que podrían ubicarse adecuadamente en los 16 antiguos depósitos portuarios renovados. A fin de compensar una evidente falta de espacios verdes en los alrededores del centro de la ciudad, se propusieron espacios verdes, tales como un parque central metropolitano, una reserva ecológica y la rehabilitación de la Costanera Sur. Dado el supuesto original de que predominarían los edificios de oficinas, la cantidad de unidades habitacionales prevista fue de menos de 3.000 (sin embargo, el uso residencial experimentó una mayor demanda, por lo que, en la actualidad, existen aproximadamente 11.000 unidades habitacionales).
Durante la tercera etapa (1996–2000), se realizó la mayor parte de las obras públicas y los gastos del proyecto aumentaron en gran manera junto con las ventas de terrenos. A lo largo de esta etapa, el costo por metro cuadrado de construcción no varió en forma significativa, ya que osciló entre 150 y 300 dólares por metro cuadrado hasta finales de la década (todos los precios mencionados se refieren a dólares estadounidenses). En esta tercera etapa, el perfil de los inversores había evolucionado de un grupo pionero inicial formado por pequeñas y medianas empresas que enfrentaban altos niveles de riesgo (1989–1993) a grandes firmas que invertían en productos de eficacia comprobada. Para el año 2001, quedaban pocos terrenos públicos para vender y la empresa pública poseía suficientes activos líquidos para finalizar las obras públicas necesarias para el proyecto. La cuarta etapa del desarrollo incluye dos fases: de 2001 a 2003, y de 2004 a la actualidad. Al principio, el proyecto sufrió las turbulencias económicas, financieras y políticas asociadas con la crisis fiscal de 2001, impulsada por la falta de pago del gobierno respecto de su deuda externa. Durante todo este período, la CAPM enfrentó altos niveles de incertidumbre gubernamental, por lo que las ventas de terrenos se detuvieron. No obstante, con posterioridad a las elecciones presidenciales del año 2003, el país retomó las negociaciones internacionales, reestructuró su deuda externa y mejoró significativamente sus condiciones económicas.
Al mismo tiempo, la CAPM pudo resolver ciertos litigios que existían sobre algunos terrenos, que posteriormente vendió y con cuyos ingresos pudo completar las obras públicas necesarias en el lugar.
A medida que los terrenos disponibles en Puerto Madero se volvían escasos, los desarrolladores recurrieron a las áreas que rodeaban el centro de la ciudad a modo de sitios alternativos para la inversión. La escala y complejidad del redesarrollo del puerto atrajo inversores que poseían conexiones más estrechas con los mercados financieros, tanto nacionales como internacionales. Muchos desarrolladores decidieron invertir en el centro en lugar de los suburbios. De esta manera, el proyecto tuvo éxito al redireccionar las tendencias del mercado para alinearlas con las prioridades de las políticas urbanas, un cambio que no hubiera existido sin la intervención del estado.
Logros del proyecto
En la actualidad, el proyecto se encuentra casi completo, con aproximadamente 1,5 millones de metros cuadrados de superficie construida, según lo planificado. Desde el comienzo hasta su finalización, los fondos para el proyecto provinieron completamente de la venta de terrenos y concesiones.
Para el año 2011, la CAPM había vendido aproximadamente 257,7 millones de dólares en propiedades, invertido 113 millones de dólares en obras públicas, e incurrido en unos gastos generales de cerca de 92 millones de dólares, entre honorarios de gestión y otros gastos operativos. Los precios inmobiliarios aumentaron de 150 dólares el metro cuadrado a principios de la década de 1990 a 1.200 dólares el metro cuadrado en la actualidad. El proyecto atrajo una cantidad considerable de inversiones del sector privado, además de la transferencia de terrenos del estado.
El proyecto agregó cuatro masas de agua de grandes dimensiones (por un total de 39 hectáreas) y 28 hectáreas de espacios verdes al sistema de parques de la ciudad. También se facilitó la apertura de la reserva ecológica y se renovó el acceso a la explanada sur, conocida como la Costanera Sur, diseñada a principios del siglo XX por Jean-Claude Nicolas Forestier, quien también diseñó el Paseo del Prado en La Habana, Cuba. El centro adyacente representa nuevamente el punto de referencia indiscutido de la actividad pública, administrativa, financiera y comercial de alto nivel.
Puerto Madero fomentó además el crecimiento económico de la zona que, en última instancia, se tradujo en una mayor recaudación impositiva. Como iniciativa estatal, desencadenó más de 2,5 mil millones de dólares en inversiones privadas, con un valor actual de más de 6 mil millones de dólares. Aunque no tenemos a disposición datos contables completos, los ingresos derivados del impuesto a las ganancias societario se estiman en 158 millones de dólares, y los impuestos pagados por la empresa pública ascienden a 19,86 millones de dólares. Los nuevos propietarios de los inmuebles pagan aproximadamente 12,4 millones de dólares al año en concepto de impuestos inmobiliarios al gobierno de la ciudad. Una vez que haya finalizado la construcción, se calcula que los ingresos por impuestos inmobiliarios alcanzarán 24,3 millones de dólares al año.
El proyecto también estimuló el crecimiento del mercado laboral. Al día de hoy, las construcciones privadas en Puerto Madero comprendieron cerca de 450 millones de dólares en costos laborales, es decir, el equivalente a 900.000 meses de trabajo o 3.750 empleos por año, distribuidos en 20 años. Las inversiones del proyecto en obras públicas generaron 313 empleos por año durante 20 años, además de 26.777 empleos administrativos para el año 2006 y 45.281 empleos en el área de servicios para el año 2010. Estas cifras demuestran el papel vital que este proyecto ha representado en la estimulación de la economía de la ciudad.
Reducción de la rentabilidad
A pesar del éxito general de Puerto Madero, para muchos observadores, los resultados sociales no fueron satisfactorios. La causa principal fue la rápida venta de grandes parcelas de terreno durante el período de venta más dinámico, es decir, de 1996 a 1999. Algunas de estas parcelas tenían el tamaño de una cuadra completa del centro y, en la actualidad, se encuentran ocupadas por torres que funcionan, de alguna manera, como comunidades verticales cerradas. Además, resultó necesario que las empresas de mayor envergadura y mejor equipadas se encargaran de los enormes volúmenes de construcción, lo que excluyó a las pequeñas y medianas empresas. Así, la morfología de las grandes parcelas de terreno definió esencialmente los tipos de empresa y los tipos de producto que se ofrecerían y el perfil social de los posibles compradores.
Además, la estrategia de comercialización de los desarrolladores privados influenció el discurso general del proyecto, diluyendo así los objetivos de inclusión social de la gestión pública con el fin de favorecer la creación de un barrio de características exclusivas. Los ciudadanos con alto poder adquisitivo y los empresarios de alta gama codician los espacios residenciales y comerciales de Puerto Madero. A la CAPM le resulta difícil proteger el carácter público aun de los nuevos espacios abiertos del distrito, como por ejemplo la reserva ecológica, debido a que los residentes del distrito portuario con alto poder adquisitivo desalientan en gran manera la realización de actividades recreativas y deportivas que pudieran atraer a los porteños provenientes de toda la ciudad. En este sentido, la CAPM se limitó a articular los intereses de los empresarios privados y los residentes existentes, ignorando las políticas diseñadas para el beneficio de muchos habitantes de la ciudad. Las viviendas económicas y otros elementos que hubieran garantizado la diversidad en la demografía residencial de la zona no formaban parte de la tarea encomendada a la CAPM. Se planificaron varios programas sociales con este objetivo como parte de la estrategia más amplia para el centro de la ciudad, pero estos programas nunca se materializaron, lo que generó el aislamiento de Puerto Madero como un área de desarrollo para una elite.
La escala del proyecto de Puerto Madero, que hubiera sido imposible de gestionar y demasiado riesgosa para los inversores privados en ese momento, demuestra que el sector público es capaz de asumir un papel de liderazgo en el desarrollo de la ciudad. Sin embargo, también demuestra que los estándares socialmente progresivos son difíciles de mantener una vez que el proyecto se vuelve prestigioso y los crecientes valores inmobiliarios aumentan la presión impuesta por los desarrolladores privados. La capacidad de Puerto Madero de autofinanciarse representó una espada de doble filo. Por un lado, permitió que se llevara a cabo un proceso de desarrollo dirigido por el estado sin incurrir en costos del gobierno. Debido a que la empresa pública podía diferir el pago de dividendos a sus accionistas, fue capaz de capitalizar las ganancias obtenidas por las ventas de los terrenos y reinvertirlas en obras y servicios públicos destinados a la zona. El barrio abierto y accesible, dotado de obras de infraestructura pública y espacios abiertos, protegía en gran medida el interés público. Asimismo, el proyecto estimuló la actividad económica y contribuyó a un patrón de desarrollo general más eficiente en toda la ciudad, los cuales representan dos objetivos importantes de la gestión pública.
Sin embargo, los resultados habrían sido mejores si hubiera existido un apoyo financiero proveniente de préstamos de agencias multilaterales a fin de coordinar en forma óptima el ritmo de las ventas y tomar mejores decisiones a largo plazo que impulsaran el beneficio público del proyecto. La flexibilización de los requisitos de licitación sobre lotes de grandes dimensiones durante la segunda mitad de la década de 1990 aumentó las ventas, aunque provocó que la mayor parte de la plusvalía de los terrenos derivada del último aumento de precios inmobiliarios se devengara a favor de los grandes inversores que se habían comprometido en primera instancia.
En el año 2011, la CAPM transfirió el mantenimiento de todas las áreas desarrolladas a la ciudad y se comprometió a finalizar las restantes obras públicas para el año 2013. En la actualidad, los ingresos y los gastos de la CAPM están equilibrados. Los ingresos se ven limitados al alquiler de los diques y los lugares de estacionamiento. Los bienes de la CAPM consisten en varias propiedades (oficinas, lotes), cuyo producto constituye las ganancias de la empresa y cuyo valor de mercado se calcula en aproximadamente 50 millones de dólares. Estas ganancias podrían servir para iniciar nuevos emprendimientos de capital, o podrían transferirse a los accionistas cuando decidan disolver la CAPM. La solidez de los estados contables de la CAPM es una realidad, aunque la crítica de las que fue objeto durante el desarrollo de Puerto Madero podría constituir un obstáculo al acceso del gobierno a nuevos emprendimientos.
La inversión pública inicial en Puerto Madero fue de 120 millones de dólares, conformada por el terreno (tasado originalmente en 60 millones de dólares) y un conjunto de servicios intangibles, tales como el diseño del proyecto, la reconocida experiencia y la consultoría. Las ventas totales de terrenos ascendieron a 257,7 millones de dólares, con un costo general (administración, impuestos) de cerca de 92 millones de dólares (sin contar los costos de puesta en marcha, que no implicaron operaciones monetarias), lo que deja una modesta tasa de retorno. Aunque los precios deberían haber sido promocionales durante la etapa inicial del desarrollo, los valores de venta podrían haberse aumentado al transcurrir el tiempo si dichas ventas se hubieran programado con el fin de aprovechar el aumento de los precios de mercado. Para obtener tasas de retorno más altas, hubiera sido necesario un valor de venta promedio más alto, una mejor programación de la venta de los terrenos y un compromiso más modesto en cuanto a las obras públicas, tales como la infraestructura, el espacio público y los parques. La CAPM podría haber ahorrado una cantidad considerable si la construcción de puentes y pasarelas no se hubieran extendido más allá del perímetro del proyecto, bajo la jurisdicción municipal.
Los resultados del proyecto hubieran sido muy diferentes si los terrenos se hubieran vendido sin mejoras o si el proyecto hubiera estado en manos de desarrolladores privados. En este sentido, resulta importante destacar que, al momento de esbozar el proyecto, el riesgo se consideraba, en general, alto, y la escala de inversión superaba la capacidad de los inversores privados locales. De manera similar, los inversores internacionales no hubieran estado dispuestos a asumir este nivel tan alto de riesgo sin mayores concesiones de parte del gobierno. Además, los desarrolladores privados estaban interesados en promover proyectos de gran envergadura con acceso restringido casi exclusivamente a los propietarios. Mediante el control ejercido por el gobierno a través de la empresa pública se garan-tizaron ciertos atributos finales del proyecto, tales como el aporte de espacios públicos y el carácter holístico del desarrollo, con el fin de asegurar los beneficios para la comunidad.
Conclusión
Podría decirse que los objetivos originales del proyecto (estimular la actividad económica, afirmar el rol del centro de la ciudad, contribuir a la reducción de patrones de desarrollo no deseados y mejorar las condiciones de vida) se han cumplido. El proyecto de Puerto Madero generó empleos, estimuló la economía de la ciudad, atrajo grandes niveles de inversiones y sumó complejidad al centro de la ciudad, lo que contribuyó a su preeminencia y dio como resultado mejoras en las áreas circundantes. Creó además espacios abiertos de alta calidad, renovó el sistema metropolitano de parques y mejoró el patrón general de desarrollo en Buenos Aires.
No obstante, la relajación de los controles de calidad, el amplio alcance de los proyectos y la rapidez con que se han vendido los terrenos en ciertos momentos provocaron una reducción de los posibles ingresos que el proyecto hubiera podido devengar en beneficio del sector público y redundaron en una disminución de la capacidad de redistribución de esta iniciativa. El acceso al crédito hubiera fortalecido la posición de la CAPM y permitido una programación cuidadosa de las ventas de los terrenos y de las mejoras en la zona. Resulta alentador que la ocupación residencial haya excedido en gran medida las proyecciones originales, con lo que se consolidó una tendencia de repoblar el centro de la ciudad, aunque el proyecto debería haber incluido un porcentaje de viviendas económicas.
Estos resultados revelan la complejidad de llevar a cabo múltiples iniciativas con el fin de obtener un resultado social equilibrado. Puerto Madero no logró incorporar una mayor combinación social, debido a que no se llevaron a cabo otras estrategias para el centro de la ciudad, como por ejemplo la recuperación de edificios del patrimonio histórico. Las futuras iniciativas de gestión de proyectos urbanos deberían contemplar factores que aseguraran la continuidad de las políticas. Dentro de este marco, resulta importante impulsar la participación entre los beneficiarios de intervenciones específicas, tales como las viviendas económicas, ya que su participación y compromiso representan la garantía más sólida para la continuidad de las políticas.
Finalmente, el proyecto de Puerto Madero señala la capacidad que el estado ha demostrado tener al tomar la iniciativa de dirigir el proceso de desarrollo urbano. En este caso, el estado dejó a un lado su rol normativo y se hizo cargo de una iniciativa de redesarrollo importantísima. La CAPM demostró su capacidad de sustentar un complejo proyecto de regeneración urbana durante un tiempo prolongado y de mantenerse a flote en medio de un clima político turbulento y una grave crisis económica. La constitución de la empresa pública representa una innovación creativa en cuanto a la gestión urbana, ya que ofrece un claro ejemplo de cómo lograr el auto-financiamiento de un proyecto y la cooperación interjurisdiccional respecto del gobierno urbano. En este sentido, la experiencia de Puerto Madero sirve como un modelo convincente para la gestión urbana interjurisdiccional y reafirma el rol positivo que puede representar el estado en las iniciativas de planificación de la ciudad.
Sobre los autores
Alfredo Garay fue secretario de planificación en Buenos Aires cuando comenzó el megaproyecto Puerto Madero, y todavía se desempeña en el directorio de la CAPM. Arquitecto y catedrático en la Universidad de Buenos Aires, Garay ha recibido numerosos premios nacionales e internacionales en los campos de gestión urbana y organización de intervenciones de gran envergadura..
Laura Wainer es arquitecta y planificadora urbana en Buenos Aires. En el año 2012, recibió la beca Fulbright, la beca internacional de investigación Delta Kappa Gamma y la beca del presidente de la New School de Nueva York.
Hayley Henderson se ha desempeñado como planificadora urbana en Buenos Aires y en Brisbane, Australia. En la actualidad, es candidata a un doctorado en planificación urbana en la Universidad de Melbourne, Australia.
Demian Rotbart es arquitecto, planificador urbano y profesor adjunto de planificación urbana en la Universidad de Buenos Aires.
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Liz Wood wanted to buy a house. It was 2006, she had been renting for A decade, and her monthly payments were getting high. She was 43 and steadily employed, earning $34,000 annually plus benefits as a family educator. She didn’t want anything fancy, just a place where she could “gather love and bring stability.” She would stay within her means.
Nonetheless, the math was tricky. Wood lives in Duvall, Washington, a town of roughly 7,500 in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. Steeped in lush forest, Duvall is about 30 miles from Seattle and a mere eight miles from the City of Redmond, the headquarters for Microsoft. The median income in Duvall is nearly twice that of the state of Washington, and homes in this area are expensive. In 2010, the median value of owner-occupied homes in Duvall was $373,500, compared to $262,100 for the state, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.
With few options, Wood eventually decided on a used factory-built home (also known as manufactured housing) for $55,000 in Duvall Riverside Village, a four-acre community of 25 manufactured homes in the middle of downtown Duvall. “It’s amazing here,” she says. “I live on riverfront property, so when I walk out my door I see water, pine trees, and a walking trail that goes from my house to the next town. I wake up in the morning hearing birds. I know all my neighbors; I’m connected to my community. I’m a block from the police station. I feel safe.”
But it was still difficult. Wood owned her house, but not the land on which it sits. Instead, she rented the plot for $450 a month, plus water and utilities, as did the other residents of Duvall Riverside Village. As a result, Wood and her neighbors remained largely at the mercy of the property owner, their landlord, and forfeited much of the autonomy and security associated with more traditional home ownership models.
Their landlord prohibited garages, leaving residents limited storage options. He charged them $25 a month per additional car or adult beyond those registered at the time of move-in. He charged $5 a month for every pet and required dogs to be leashed at all times. There was a $5 monthly fee for every extra half-cord of firewood, which Wood needed to fuel her stove. Though he employed a groundskeeper, he didn’t install outdoor lights, nor did he maintain the community roads, which were pocked and cracked.
In 2012, Wood and her neighbors received a written notice that the owner was selling the land. Unlike many owners, who prefer to sell their properties to a developer, this landlord was open to selling to residents. He had agreed to host a meeting between the tenants, a real estate broker, and the Northwest Cooperative Development Center, a nonprofit that supports cooperatives. The parties discussed the possibility of establishing a nonprofit, resident-owned cooperative to purchase the property. In doing so, they would conserve the land for manufactured housing, continue living there as a community, and collectively manage it to guarantee a safe, affordable, high-quality experience.
The residents voted to go for it. The landlord had two demands. He wanted fair market value, and he wanted to complete the sale by the end of the year. It was already August. They had five months.
In addition to the collaboration with Northwest Cooperative Development Center, the residents also began working with ROC USA, a New Hampshire–based nonprofit organization that offers residents of manufactured housing communities a mix of technical assistance and affordable financing to purchase their rented land when it becomes available for sale. Since its establishment in 2008, ROC USA has successfully facilitated 80 of these transactions nationally and secured more than $175 million in financing for them.
ROC USA works with a network of eight regional affiliates, including the Northwest Cooperative Development Center. In Duvall, the nonprofits worked together with the residents to assess the economics of a possible deal and to confirm that the community was a good fit for resident ownership. Next, the organizations helped the residents to hire a third-party lawyer and establish their cooperative, which would operate as a democracy with residents elected into leadership positions by fellow residents. ROC USA assisted the residents to hire an independent engineer and conduct due diligence of the property; secure financing through ROC USA’s lending subsidiary, ROC USA Capital, to purchase the property and undertake critical repairs; and organize the real estate transfer.
On December 27 of that year, the newly formed cooperative bought the Duvall Riverside Village with $1.3 million in purchase financing from ROC USA Capital, granting Wood and her fellow home owners control over their living arrangements, and permanently preserving 25 affordable homes in a town where such housing stock is scarce.
The residents continue to pay $450 a month to rent the land, but now they vote to determine community rules, and use the rent to make improvements and to pay the community’s mortgage, taxes, and expenses.
“Now, you can have a garage if you want,” explains Wood, who is president of the Duvall residents’ cooperative and a ROC USA board member. “And we spent $35,000 to fix the roads. We don’t have to live in fear anymore, so people are willing to invest in their homes. We have annual meetings to vote in projects. We can lower the monthly rent if we are over-budgeting for things we don’t need. The bottom line is that we are in control of our own destiny.”
Upon completing the sale, ROC USA and the Northwest Cooperative Development Center have continued providing the residents with technical support to ensure smooth operations.
“If they had just lent us the money and said, ‘these are the guidelines, here’s what you need to do, have at it,’ we would have failed,” explains Wood. “But they are an ongoing resource. They help us with tough situations, or when we don’t know how to do something legally. The goal is for us to become independent and to be able to run our community like a business. Pay your bills, and your house can stay where it is. Period. Forever.”
Benefits
Across the United States, more than 18 million Americans live in factory-built homes, which represent 5 percent of the nation’s housing stock in metro areas, and 15 percent in rural communities. They range significantly in quality. Roughly 25 percent of today’s manufactured housing stock is the stereotyped, rickety trailers of the 1960s and early 1970s, produced before the federal government introduced quality controls in 1976. The remaining 75 percent complies with the federal standards, and includes charming, energy-efficient homes, indistinguishable to the untrained eye from their site-built counterparts. Though manufactured homes have long been cast aside as a housing choice of last resort, today’s models are robust, efficient, and inviting, with the potential to help alleviate the nation’s shortage of safe, affordable housing.
Modern manufactured homes cost approximately half as much as their site-built counterparts and can be built five times faster, making them a genuinely viable option for low-income consumers. The production process is less wasteful, and models that comply with the federal government’s Energy Star standards offer home owners meaningful energy savings. And they are durable. Whereas manufactured homes built prior to the 1976 regulations were made to be portable, like recreational vehicles, modern models are built with stronger materials and designed to be permanent. Today’s manufactured homes can sit on any foundation that would otherwise accommodate a site-built structure, creating the flexibility to use the housing in a wide range of geographies and environments.
“The manufactured housing stock is a critical component of the nation’s affordable housing,” says George McCarthy, president and CEO of the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. “It easily outnumbers our subsidized stock two or three times in almost every market.”
Manufactured homes are cheaper to produce than site-built houses because of the manufacturing process. As Andrea Levere, president of the Corporation for Enterprise Development, writes in the Huffington Post, the “term ‘manufactured housing’ itself has less to do with quality and more to do with the production process, which is a derivative of Ford’s assembly lines. This model allows manufactured homes to be built in a more controlled work environment, translating into predictable costs, increased efficiencies, and reduced waste” (Levere 2013).
In 2013, a new, energy-efficient manufactured home cost $64,000, compared to $324,500 for a new, site-built one, according to the U.S. Census, though the price for the latter includes the land. Even after stripping out the land costs, manufactured homes are still significantly less expensive, averaging $44 per square foot, versus $94 per square foot for site-built homes. And they are unsubsidized, which is a boon given the extremely short supply of subsidized housing compared to demand. Currently, only one in four income-qualified families receives a housing subsidy according to the Bipartisan Policy Commission, leaving the remaining 75 percent in need of an affordable, unsubsidized alternative. By helping to fill that gap, manufactured housing can relieve some of the demand for subsidized housing that state and federal governments are struggling to supply in the face of shrinking budgets. “The majority of families who live in manufactured housing would qualify for subsidized housing, but instead they choose this less expensive and unsubsidized option,” says McCarthy.
The stock is also very versatile, argues McCarthy, who cites its role in housing people during the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. “Recovery workers got 17 manufactured homes on the ground in New Jersey within weeks of the hurricane—permanent homes for displaced renters, not the problematic ‘Katrina trailers.’ And they did it before most organizations even had a housing plan. This speaks to the efficiency and nimbleness of building manufactured housing. The production times are about 80 percent shorter than for site-built homes, making them the best housing option for disaster response.”
Nevertheless, manufactured housing often gets a bad rap, due largely to the widespread misperception that today’s models are the same as the earliest generations of mobile homes built prior to the introduction of quality control standards by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development in 1976. Today, there are roughly 2 million of these pre-1976 homes; many are barely hanging together and house the nation’s most vulnerable populations, including the elderly and disabled. Though the pre-1976 stock is virtually unrelated to its present-day counterpart, these older, dilapidated dwellings dominate the general public perception of manufactured homes in the United States.
The housing stock’s reputation is further diminished by the vulnerabilities facing home owners who do not own the land on which they live. Roughly 3 million people live in one of the nation’s 50,000 manufactured housing communities, while another 3 million rent on private property. There are manufactured housing communities in every state in the country. Like Duvall Riverside Village, many of them are on prime real estate, and the landowners routinely receive purchase offers from developers.
Advocates working to improve the manufactured home ownership experience, and to promote the stock’s viability as affordable housing, are focusing on three critical areas of innovation: conserving mobile-home parks; replacing pre-1976 units with modern, energy-efficient homes; and increasing access to affordable financing for potential buyers, which is virtually unavailable in the current market and is imperative to building equity and preserving a home’s resale value.
Conserving Manufactured Housing Communities
The conversion of Duvall Riverside Village from a privately owned mobile home community to a resident-owned cooperative is not common. For every community available for purchase that is successfully preserved as affordable housing, there are many more that end up sold for redevelopment, displacing residents who may lack good alternatives.
“It’s not as simple as just moving the home,” says Ishbel Dickens, president of the National Manufactured Home Owners Association. “First, there’s the question of whether the home can even be moved. It may be too old or unstable to survive a move. And even if it can be moved, it’s expensive to do so, and very hard to find a space in another community. In most instances, when a park closes, the residents are probably going to lose the home and all their equity in it. In all likelihood, they will never own a home again. They’ll likely end up on a wait list for subsidized housing, or may even end up homeless.”
To some degree, it’s an accident of history that so many of today’s mobile home parks occupy plots of coveted real estate, says Paul Bradley, president of ROC USA. As he explains it, in the late 1950s and 1960s, Americans began to embrace transportable trailers and campers, in part because of a cultural shift toward outdoor recreation, and in part because post–World War II factories began producing them to utilize excess manufacturing capacity, making them widely available and affordable. As the units grew in popularity, they transitioned from temporary structures to permanent ones, and people began adding makeshift carports and sunrooms. At the time, urban planners accepted the evolution toward permanency. As they saw it, most of the trailers were on land that no one else was using in outer-circle developments. Why not let these campers stay for awhile, until the cities expanded to meet them, at which point the land would be redeveloped?
“These original communities were built with a plan to close them,” says Bradley. “Back then, no one contemplated the full implications of creating a housing stock for which home owners lacked control of the underlying land. No one anticipated that these communities would be full of low- and moderate-income home owners who spent their own money to buy these homes and had few alternatives. And that’s what we are still grappling with today. That lack of control of the land means that home owners live with a deep sense of insecurity and the feeling that it’s irrational to make investments in their properties because they won’t get it back. What’s the implication for home owners who cannot rationally argue for investing in their home? What does that mean for the housing stock? For neighborhoods?”
Short-sighted land use policies are not the only challenge to preserving manufactured housing communities. An equally onerous obstacle is the lack of legal protections afforded to residents. In 34 states and the District of Columbia, the landowner can sell the property without giving residents the opportunity to purchase it. In fact, in most states, the landowner doesn’t have to notify residents that the community is for sale; the landowner can wait until the property has been sold to inform residents of the transaction, suddenly leaving them in a tenuous position. Even the 16 states that require the owner of a manufactured housing community to provide residents advance notice of a sale do not necessarily afford tenants the necessary protections. “In most of the states with advance notice, there are so many limitations on the notice requirements that it is rarely of any use to residents,” says Carolyn Carter, director of advocacy at the National Consumer Law Center.
To better protect residents, advocates support legislative reforms to state laws and tax incentives for landowners who sell to residents. The most effective of these strategies are state laws requiring a landowner to give residents both advance notice of the sale—ideally 60 days—and the opportunity to purchase the property, argues Carter. According to her, there are six states with laws that “work on the ground and provide effective opportunities for residents to purchase their communities,” including New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Florida, Vermont, and Delaware. She says Oregon passed promising legislation in January 2015.
“In those states with effective notice and opportunity to purchase laws, resident ownership takes off,” Carter explains. Roughly 46 percent of the 80 communities that ROC USA supports are in either New Hampshire or Massachusetts—two small states with some of the nation’s strongest resident protections. There are an additional 89 resident-owned cooperatives in New Hampshire that predate ROC USA’s launch.
To understand the value of strong consumer laws for residents, consider the story of Ryder Woods, a 174-unit mobile home park in Milford, Connecticut, 11 miles south of New Haven, just off a major thoroughfare. Connecticut is one of 19 states that either offer tax incentives or provide residents “some” protections when a community is sold, but also contain “significant gaps,” according to Carter.
In 1998, Ryder Woods’ landowner sold the property to developers. He informed the residents via eviction notices, in violation of state laws requiring him both to give them advance notice of the pending sale and to provide them the right of first refusal to purchase the land. Ryder Woods had an active home owners association, and very quickly they organized protests and petitions and lobbied the state legislature to reverse the sale. Eventually, the local news picked up their story, at which point a Milford-based attorney volunteered her services to help them. As she dug into the case, she realized that the law was on the side of the residents and that the community needed more legal support than she alone could offer. She enlisted help from a friend and fellow attorney—a partner at a prominent, Hartford-based firm—who agreed to take the case pro bono and assigned it a team of attorneys. The case ended up going to trial, eventually making its way to the state’s highest court. Uninterested in the unfolding legal headache, the original buyer resold the property to a second developer.
Four years after the original sale, the courts ruled in favor of the residents. In an unprecedented deal, and as required as part of the settlement, the second developer purchased a new piece of land a mile from the original parcel and completely rebuilt the community there. The developer purchased 174 new mobile homes and sold them to the residents at significantly reduced prices with more favorable mortgage terms than any available in the conventional financing market. He built a community center and a pond, complete with swans. And, as required by their agreement, he provided the residents the opportunity to form a cooperative and buy the land, which they did in 2009 with $5.4 million in purchase financing from ROC USA Capital. They closed on their purchase in the offices of the Hartford firm, which had continued to volunteer its services to the residents through the sale’s completion. Today, there is a Walmart on the land that housed the original Ryder Woods community.
“Sometimes, when we look back, we think it was crazy. We chartered a bus, went to Hartford, spoke to the legislature, and just fought it. We stuck together and won against two big-time, billion-dollar developers,” explains Lynn Nugent, 68, a part-time merchandise associate at Sears, and one of the residents who helped organize the campaign, along with her husband, a retired locksmith. “Now I always say, ‘Somebody else used to own us, and now we own ourselves.’”
Improving Access to Quality, Affordable Manufactured Homes
Unlike the residents of Ryder Woods, many owners of manufactured homes struggle to secure a quality unit with affordable financing. Here again, legislation is a primary culprit. Under federal law, manufactured homes are considered personal property, like a car or a boat, opposed to the real property designation assigned to traditional homes. Consequently, buyers cannot access mortgage loans. Instead, financing is available in the form of personal “chattel” loans. More expensive than mortgage loans, they average an additional 50 to 500 basis points and provide fewer consumer protections. More than 70 percent of purchase loans for manufactured homes are these higher-cost loans, which are considered a proxy for subprime products.
“This second-tier status is one of the biggest limitations to increasing the stock of permanently affordable manufactured homes,” says McCarthy. “It makes financing the homes more challenging and expensive than it should be, and it diminishes the homes’ wealth-building potential because it reduces effective demand for existing units.”
While the dream fix would be to change federal titling laws, such revisions are not forthcoming. Instead, Next Step, a Kentucky-based nonprofit organization, has established “Manufactured Housing Done Right (MHDR).” This innovative strategy works to make high-quality, affordable manufactured homes—and financing—available to low- and moderate-income consumers through a combination of energy-efficient homes, home buyer education, and affordable financing. Here’s how it works.
First, Next Step gives low-income buyers access to high-quality manufactured homes. The organization created a portfolio of models that are both robust and affordable. Each Next Step home meets or exceeds Energy Star standards, reducing utility costs for the home owner and shrinking the environmental footprint. According to Next Step, testing has shown these homes to be 30 percent more efficient than a baseline code home and 10 to 15 percent more efficient than a baseline Energy Star home. On average, this results in $1,800 in energy savings each year for every pre-1976 mobile home replacement and $360 each year for every new home placement.
Additionally, Next Step homes are “value engineered to ensure affordability while upholding quality standards.” They are installed on permanent foundations, providing for greater structural support against wind and reducing settling issues. The homes contain high-quality flooring and insulation, which helps to increase durability and reduce energy costs. And because water is the number one problem for foundations, Next Step homes contain additional safeguards to protect against moisture.
Improving Access to Sustainable Financing
Next Step also makes sure the home buyers can secure sustainable, affordable financing. “One of the problems facing the industry is that the capital markets don’t participate in a big way,” explains Stacey Epperson, CEO of Next Step. “The secondary market is not there in any meaningful way, so there are very few lenders in this marketplace and very few options for buyers. Our solution is to prepare our borrowers for home ownership, and then bring them good loans.”
Next Step works with a mix of nonprofit and for-profit lenders, vetted by the organization, to provide safe, reasonably priced financing. In return, Next Step reduces the lenders’ risk. The homes are designed to meet the lenders’ requirements, and the home buyers receive comprehensive financial education so that they are equipped to succeed as home buyers. Consequently, Next Step home buyers not only secure a better initial mortgage, but also have the capacity to build equity and obtain a good resale price for the home should they decide to sell it one day.
Importantly, each Next Step home is placed on a permanent foundation in order to qualify the home owner for certain government-backed mortgage programs, which are less expensive than a chattel product. Next Step estimates it has saved its 173 home buyers approximately $16.1 million in interest payments.
“Right now, close to 75 percent of all financing for manufactured housing is going out as chattel. But 70 percent of new manufactured homes are going out on private land where, in many cases, the home could be put on a permanent foundation, and the owner could get a mortgage with a lower interest rate and a longer term,” says Epperson.
The MHDR model is innovative in part because it is scalable. Next Step trains and relies on a membership network of nonprofit organizations to implement the model in their respective communities. Next Step sells the homes to members at competitive prices, and then member organizations oversee the process of identifying and educating buyers, assisting them to secure the loan, and managing the installation.
“The way the industry works, there has never really been a way for a nonprofit to buy a manufactured home at wholesale prices. That’s what we’ve engineered, and that’s what makes these homes a lot more affordable than if the nonprofit or home owner tried to buy them on their own,” explains Kevin Clayton, president and CEO of Clayton Homes, one of the nation’s largest producers of manufactured housing, and one of Next Step’s long-time supporters.
“The Next Step program works because it sets people up for success,” says Clayton. “Next Step takes them through home ownership counseling, and supports home owners if they have a hardship down the road. They get to buy the house for a lot less than they otherwise could have, build equity in the home, and have a low monthly loan payment and energy costs.”
Cyndee Curtis, a Next Step home owner, agrees. Curtis was 27, single, and pregnant when she purchased a used, 1971 Fleetwood mobile home for $5,000 in 2001. She put it on the lot she owned just outside the town of Great Falls, Montana.
“I didn’t have money, I didn’t have a degree, and I didn’t have choices,” says Curtis. “The old steel septic tank was a ticking time bomb, with rust holes. The carpet was worn through, the linoleum underneath had burn spots on it, and the ceiling leaked where an addition had been added. Every year, I would buy construction books, go to Home Depot, and ask how to fix that leak. And every year I ended up there by myself, trying to fix it. There was mold on the doorway from that leak, and I had a newborn in there.”
In 2005, Curtis went back to school for two years, obtained her nursing degree, and began working as a licensed practical nurse, earning $28,500 a year. “I figured now I am earning a livable wage and can explore my options,” says the single mother of two. “I wanted something that my kids could grow up in and be proud of, and to make the most of owning the lot I lived on.”
But her credit was poor, and eventually she ended up at NeighborWorks Montana, a nonprofit Next Step Network member that told her about the Next Step program. Over the next two and a half years, Curtis worked with the staff of NeighborWorks Montana to repair her credit. With their assistance, she secured a mortgage and purchased a Next Step home for $102,000, which included not only the house but also the removal, disposal, and replacement of her old septic system. Because the Next Step home is on a permanent foundation that meets certain qualifications—and because of Curtis’s improved credit history, income, and geography—she qualified for a mortgage from the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Rural Development program, which was significantly less expensive than the more common chattel products. Additionally, whereas Curtis’s previous mobile home was titled like a car, her Next Step home is deeded like a site-built house. Consequently, a future buyer will also be eligible to apply for a traditional mortgage.
Curtis says her Next Step home has provided her significant energy savings. “I have 400 square feet more now than I had previously. I went from having one bathroom to two. And still both my gas and power bills have been cut by about two-thirds.”
She continues. “My house is a thousand percent better than what I lived in before. If a person goes inside my house, they can’t tell it’s a manufactured home. It has nice doorways, nice walls that are textured. It looks like any new home you would want to live in.”
“Sometimes people think they have to suffer with poor housing conditions. I know how it is, and I want them to know that if you put in some hard work, you can make a difference for yourself and your family.”
Loren Berlin is a writer and communications consultant based in Greater Chicago.
References
Levere, Andrea. 2013. “Hurricane Sandy and the Merits of Manufactured Housing.” Huffington Post. January 8. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/andrea-levere/hurricane-sandy-manufactured-housing_b_2426797.html
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Boulder, Colorado, has developed a national reputation for having dealt creatively with growth management issues. The city has developed a 27,000-acre greenbelt, a system for controlling the rate of population growth by limiting building permits, and a defined urban growth boundary managed in cooperation with Boulder County. Boulder’s approach to urban growth boundaries, called the service area concept, offers important lessons for controlling sprawl, preserving rural land uses outside the city, and extending urban services in a rational manner.
Located 27 miles northwest of Denver at the base of the Rocky Mountains, Boulder is a home-rule city of approximately 96,000 people. It is the Boulder County seat, the home of the University of Colorado, and a regional employment center with approximately 86,000 jobs. Its strong economy is founded on the university, federal laboratories, regional and local retail, and a dynamic industrial sector concentrated in the high tech industry and business services.
Colorado has no statewide, mandated planning program. Statutory and home-rule cities and counties are granted land use planning and regulatory powers directly by the state. The Denver Regional Council of Governments engages in general planning, clearinghouse, and federal funding allocation activities, but there is no real, effective regional planning effort. As a result, sprawling development, undifferentiated between cities and unincorporated areas of counties, is typical along most of Colorado’s Front Range.
In the decade of the 1950s, Boulder’s population grew from 25,000 to 37,000 and during the 1960s it grew by a whopping 29,000 to reach 66,000. Some initial efforts to manage this growth included the “Blue Line,” a citizen-initiated amendment to Boulder’s charter in 1959 that restricted the extension of city water service above an elevation of 5,750 feet. It was later extended by ordinance to sewer service. While a few exceptions have been granted at the ballot box, the effect of this measure was to limit the city from extending water service to properties along the mountain backdrop. Property owners can still develop in the county, but at much lower densities than is typical in the city and only with individual water and septic systems.
Another important growth management program began in 1967, when Boulder became the first city in the United States to pass a tax specifically dedicated to preserve open space. This open space system forms the outer extent of the Boulder Valley, a joint planning area between the city and county.
Boulder’s Service Area Concept
A concern that unwanted development was continuing to take place outside city limits in the county, sometimes with city water and sewer service, led to the implementation of Boulder’s urban growth boundary. In 1970 the city and county adopted a joint comprehensive plan that defined the intended geographic extent of city expansion into the plains. This plan was further refined in 1978 to limit the city from extending water and sewer services outside city service area boundaries and to limit the county from approving new subdivisions that would need “urban” levels of services and facilities.
What specifically does the service area boundary do? It defines that part of the Boulder Valley planning area where the City of Boulder either already provides a full range of urban services to annexed properties or will provide services upon annexation. Land outside the service area boundary remains in the county at rural densities until the city and county jointly agree to bring the property into the service area. Land can also be “moved” out of the service area.
The 1978 plan, thus, protected the city against development just outside its boundaries that would put demands on city services without the ability to collect taxes to finance those services. It was also aimed at controlling sprawl, protecting sensitive environmental areas and rural land uses, and planning, financing and providing urban services in a more rational way. By adopting the plan through an intergovernmental agreement, both the city and county gained better control over urban development and service provision, while accomplishing many other conservation objectives. This approach owes much to the phased growth control ordinance pioneered in 1969 by the Township of Ramapo, New York.
What Are the Benefits?
What Are the Pitfalls?
Is that good or bad? On the good side, it has allowed Boulder to determine its own ideal city size, with consideration of how much congestion is tolerable, what sized city leads to a high quality of life, and what is sustainable over time. On the bad size, it holds Boulder back from capturing some of the benefits that additional development could bring, such as more affordable housing and less dependence on the automobile by building mixed use, transit-oriented neighborhood centers.
There is no real ending to this story. Land use planning is a major fixation for Boulder, and these issues are continuously analyzed, discussed, and often hotly debated. Nevertheless, Boulder has maintained a central vision of a compact city with a clear identity in the midst of a rural area. The growth management techniques used in Boulder may vary from those used by other cities, and they may be changed from time to time to meet local conditions, but the vision has remained intact.
Peter Pollock, AICP, is the director of the Community Planning Division for the City of Boulder, Colorado. This year he is a Loeb Fellow at the Harvard University Graduate School of Design and a visiting fellow at the Lincoln Institute. This article is based in part on his presentation of the Fourth Annual David R. Fullmer Lecture, “Tools and Techniques for Managing Growth in the Boulder Region,” at the Institute in October 1997.
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A TDR Parable: It’s simple. You just go to the farmer whose land you’re trying to preserve and tell him that he can’t develop his land because it is a “sending area” for your new Transfer of Developments Rights (TDR) program. At first, he’s a bit upset. But as town planner you assure him that everything is OK because you’ve found a developer who will pay him for the development potential of his property in order to build a block of new houses on small lots in the quaint village center nearby. Everybody wins! It’s easy, isn’t it?
Well, not really. The farmer has been offered a lot more money by another developer who wants to build the kind of low-density gated community that professional refugees from the city really want. The farmer decides to sue you and the town, claiming that by depriving him of the right to develop his land there has been a “taking.” Also, the villagers have decided that their community is dense enough and they would like you to find a different “receiving area.”
Meanwhile, the original developer has figured out that he can use his development rights to build a new strip mall on a greenfield site outside of town. This was a site you had hoped he would not use, although you had to include it as a receiving area in order to be sure the farmer’s development rights had somewhere to go.
This parable is clearly an oversimplification, but it illustrates many of the challenges that TDR programs face. The allure of the TDR model is its seemingly simple ability to accomplish in one transaction two complementary goals: open space preservation and compact, centered development. However, the promise of TDR has been stalled by a variety of political, economic and administrative obstacles.
The Lincoln Institute and Regional Plan Association (RPA) cosponsored a two-day conference in October 1997 to explore the potential and the limitations of using TDR programs. While the conference addressed a number of legal and planning issues, one of the central questions asked by the group was, “How can TDR programs be used to influence settlement patterns, not only to protect open space, but also to promote compact development?”
A presentation of research by the American Farmland Trust revealed that the use of TDR has expanded tremendously, and many programs are considered successful even though the overall picture is ambiguous. The list of success stories is still dominated by such well-known programs as Montgomery County, Maryland (1980) and the New Jersey Pinelands (1981). A number of more recent programs showing early potential are the Long Island Central Pine Barrens, New York (1995), Bucks County, Pennsylvania (1994) and Dade County, Florida, where TDRs are helping to preserve more than 100,000 acres of everglades ecosystems outside of the Everglades National Park.
Obstacles and Opportunities
Regardless of how many programs may be considered successful, the conference revealed that there are still many obstacles to establishing a working TDR program. Among them are:
Impacts on Receiving Areas
The first half of the TDR equation (agreement on the resource to be protected) is generally not difficult. However, the second half (agreement on where the transferred development is to go and how it should be configured) has been extremely problematic.
Conference participants acknowledged that while the goal of transferring density away from preservation areas and into growth areas was being accomplished by a number of TDR programs, the programs have not been effective in influencing the design and character of development in the receiving areas. Local municipalities are, or at least should be, obligated to identify sites for increased density, but the use of that density may not be constrained beyond the existing town zoning bylaws. The unfortunate result is that the increased density is as likely to be used for a suburban strip development as for compact, centered development, thus creating localized sprawl within the receiving area.
In the case of the Long Island Pine Barrens, some towns intentionally spread out their receiving areas to avoid the political fallout of higher-density development. When the TDR program was being developed, the Pine Barrens Commission was working on design guidelines meant to promote compact town planning. However, this layer of complexity and restriction was too burdensome to be incorporated into each of the local town plans.
While there is broad agreement that controlling the character of development in receiving areas is a desirable idea, it also raises a number of questions. First, the administrating agency may not be able to deal with the additional complexity that design controls would bring. Second, the market for new development in the receiving areas may not be strong enough to support the additional burden of cluster design. The need to guarantee a market for the transfer rights also works against the creation of controls that would concentrate development. An advantageous ratio of receiving areas to sending areas (as high as 2.5:1) tends to create large receiving areas.
Conference participants from around the country also confirmed what they perceive as a knee-jerk reaction against higher density. Despite the influences of New Urbanism and neo-traditional planning, the general public and the marketplace do not value centered development. Residents of fast-growing communities might be more receptive to clustered residential designs if they could understand what different types of development would look like by reviewing three-dimensional representations in drawings and models.
Land use attorney Charles Siemon suggested that many town planners seem to want compact, centered development, but are not willing to acknowledge that it can be more expensive to private developers. Perhaps another approach, one that is outside of the TDR marketplace, is needed, such as a fund that buys the development rights and agrees to sell them to developers at a discount if they build in town centers. Lexington, Kentucky, is experimenting with this kind of arrangement.
Evaluating TDR
How do you measure the success of a TDR program? By the amount of open space preserved? The number of acres kept in farming? The number of transactions? The quality of development in the receiving areas? And, over what time period? Charles Siemon suggested that a TDR program might be considered a success even if no transactions take place. How? Because, in the context of a larger land use plan, the TDR program can make a preservation program more palatable by providing the landowner with additional options.
It became clear during the conference that the perceived success or failure of TDR programs was colored by excessive expectations. The notion that a TDR program would, by itself, protect open space, preserve activities such as farming, help create appealing village centers, and do all of this simply by offering a mechanism for moving development around is simply not realistic. Some participants asked, “Why should a TDR program be expected to accomplish more than any other single land use tool, such as zoning?”
This question reflected the most fundamental conclusion of the conference: TDR programs work only when they are part of a larger, long-term land use plan that has the commitment and political will of the community behind it. This commitment to the larger goals of the plan and to the particular resource being protected is the real answer to legal and other challenges. A comprehensive plan is more likely to accommodate multiple avenues of relief for landowners who feel unfairly treated. TDR programs that are created within the context of a comprehensive plan are much more likely to be tailored to the specific political, economic and geographic circumstances of their location. Finally, in terms of creating balanced and centered development, it is within a land use plan that the design guidelines and other controls that result in the best town planning principles may reside.
Robert Lane is director of the Regional Design Program at the Regional Plan Association in New York.
Notes:
1. James Tripp and Daniel J. Dudek, “Institutional Guidelines for Designing Successful Transferable Rights Programs,” Yale Journal on Regulation (Summer 1989).
2. In the summer of 1997, the U.S. Supreme Court heard Suitum v Tahoe, a challenge to a TDR program. Although some of the justices took the opportunity to talk about various legal dimensions of TDR, the case did not address the fundamental legality of TDR. Instead, it focused on the “ripeness issue.” Did Mrs. Suitum have to try to sell her rights through the program before challenging its legitimacy? The Court ruled that she did not. The conference participants felt that in the short term the case may create pressure for TDR programs to assign real dollar values to the rights or credits that are being transferred. This is consistent with the finding that a TDR bank, capable of assigning such values, can play an important role in the success of a TDR program.
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A critical aspect of the property tax, but one that is rarely addressed in public debate, is its “economic incidence,” or who actually bears the burden of the tax, as opposed to its statutory incidence, or who literally pays the tax. For example, a landlord might pay a property tax bill, but if some of the tax is offset with a rent increase, then the tenant bears that part of the tax burden. Not surprisingly, estimates of the economic incidence of taxes depend on the relative responsiveness of supply and demand to tax-induced price changes—factors that explain the extent to which consumers and businesses can change their behavior to avoid the tax.
The economic incidence of a tax is also affected by the phenomenon of “capitalization”—changes in asset prices that reflect the discounted present values of the economic effects of future tax and/or public expenditure changes. For example, an increase in property taxes, holding expenditures constant, might be capitalized into land or house values. The prices of these assets might fall by the present value of the projected increase in future taxes, whereas increases in expenditures, holding property taxes constant, might have offsetting effects.
These capitalization effects should include the effects of other tax-induced price changes, such as changes in future housing or land rents. In principle, the economic incidence of all of these capitalization effects is on the owners of land and housing at the time of the imposition of the tax, when the effects are “capitalized” as one-time changes in the prices of these assets. These price changes also significantly affect the ultimate economic burden of the tax on subsequent purchasers.
Benefit Tax versus Capital Tax Views
The complexity of measuring all of these effects implies that determining the economic incidence of taxes is one of the most difficult problems in public finance, and the property tax is no exception. Indeed, the debate over the incidence of the residential property tax has raged for at least the last thirty years, and is still far from resolved. Professional opinion on the incidence of the tax is generally divided between the “benefit tax” view and the “new” or “capital tax” view (Zodrow 2001).
Under the benefit tax view, the property tax is considered a user charge for public services received. It thus serves the function of a local head tax or benefit tax as envisioned by Tiebout (1956) in his celebrated analysis of how interjurisdictional competition coupled with consumer mobility can lead to the efficient provision of local public services. The implications for taxpayers are threefold. First, as a benefit tax the property tax is simply a payment for public services received, analogous to purchases of goods and services for private markets. Second, because the property tax functions as a market price, its use implies that local public services are provided efficiently. Third, the property tax, like all benefit taxes, results in no redistribution of income across households and thus has no impact on the distribution of income.
By comparison, under the capital tax view derived by Mieszkowski (1972) and elaborated by Zodrow and Mieszkowski (1986b), the property tax is a tax on the use of capital and thus inefficiently distorts resource allocation by driving capital investment out of high tax jurisdictions and into low tax jurisdictions. The capital tax view divides the incidence of the property tax into two components. The national average tax burden is in effect a “profits tax” borne by all capital owners, including homeowners, businesses, and investors. The local or “excise tax” components of property tax rates that fall above or below the national average are borne locally through changes in land rents, wages, or housing prices.
The incidence effects of local taxes that are higher and lower than the national average tend to cancel one another in the aggregate. Therefore, the profits tax effect is the main factor determining the incidence and distributional effects of the property tax. From the perspective of any single taxing jurisdiction, however, the burden of local expenditures financed by the property tax tends to be borne primarily by local residents.
The capital tax view has different implications for taxpayers in all three of the areas noted above for the benefit tax view. First, the tax has some significant benefit aspects in that local tax increases tend to be borne by local residents. Second, the tax inefficiently distorts housing consumption decisions; moreover, use of the local property tax can also lead to inefficient underprovision of local public services if government officials, concerned about tax-induced loss of investment, then reduce the level of public services (Zodrow and Mieszkowski 1986a). Third, because the primary effect of nationwide use of the property tax is a reduction in after-tax returns to capital owners, it is a highly progressive tax. Nevertheless, from the perspective of a single taxing jurisdiction, the local tax is not borne by capital owners as a whole but rather by local residents and is a roughly proportional tax. (See Table 1 for a summary of these two views.)
Capitalization and the Incidence of the Property Tax
My recent research sponsored by the Lincoln Institute has focused on a single but critical aspect of this long-standing debate. Dating back to the seminal work of Oates (1969), empirical evidence of the interjurisdictional capitalization of the discounted values of local property taxes and public services into house prices has been interpreted as offering support for the idea that property taxes can be viewed as payments for local public services received, consistent with the benefit tax view.
This notion was extended to the case of intrajurisdictional capitalization in the pathbreaking work of Hamilton (1976). In this model, which is characterized by perfectly mobile households with heterogeneous demands for housing and fixed housing supplies, intrajurisdictional fiscal capitalization converts the local property tax into a pure benefit tax, even though all houses are not identical. Specifically, high-value homes sell at a discount that reflects the capitalized present value of their “fiscal differential”—the present value of the excess of future taxes paid relative to public services received.
Similarly, low-value homes should sell at a premium that reflects the capitalized present value of the extent to which future taxes paid are less than the value of public services received. As a result, all households “pay for what they get” in public services, and the property tax is an efficient benefit tax. Capitalization thus implies that it is futile to follow the conventional strategy of buying a low-value home in a high-value community in order to receive local services at relatively low cost.
In supporting the idea that the combination of strict zoning regulations and fiscal capitalization converts the property tax into a benefit tax, Fischel (2001) interprets the extensive literature on the capitalization of property taxes and public services as demonstrating that fiscal “capitalization is everywhere.” He concludes that empirical support of fiscal capitalization provides compelling evidence that the benefit tax view accurately describes the effects of the property tax. Fischel makes this argument in the context of a model in which local governments are analogous to municipal corporations that maximize the house values of “homeowner-voter shareholders” who strive to protect their housing investments.
The central result of my research is that even if empirical evidence of the phenomenon of fiscal capitalization implies that it is indeed “everywhere,” such evidence does not establish the validity of the benefit tax view. Rather, my model shows that if one adopts all of the admittedly stringent assumptions of the benefit tax view, complete intrajurisdictional land value fiscal capitalization is also entirely consistent with, and indeed predicted by, the capital tax view of the property tax.
When combined with earlier results that demonstrate that interjurisdictional capitalization is also consistent with the capital tax view, my research results imply that the widely observed phenomenon of property tax capitalization provides little if any grounds for distinguishing between the capital tax and benefit tax views. That is, capitalization does not tell us whether the property tax should be viewed primarily as a progressive tax on all capital that inefficiently distorts decisions regarding housing consumption (the capital tax view), or an efficient user charge that has no effects on the distribution of income (the benefit tax view).
A Reconstruction of the Benefit Tax View
My research begins by reconstructing the Tiebout-Hamilton benefit tax view within the context of a partial equilibrium version of the standard differential tax incidence model, which focuses on the effects of use of the property tax in a single taxing jurisdiction. This approach is necessary because the derivations of the benefit tax and capital tax views of the property tax are based on somewhat different theoretical approaches.
Hamilton’s benefit tax view model characterizes the properties of an economy in equilibrium, with local public services financed by residential property taxes rather than the head taxes assumed by Tiebout. In contrast, the derivations of the capital tax view, such as those in Mieszkowski (1972) and Zodrow and Mieszkowski (1986b), are based on the differential tax incidence analysis pioneered by Harberger (1962). Under this approach, the effects of the property tax are analyzed by first constructing an initial equilibrium with either no taxes or only nondistortionary lump-sum taxes, and then introducing property taxes and analyzing their effects.
To facilitate a comparison of the two views, my analysis begins by deriving all of the benefit tax view results obtained in Hamilton’s model of intrajurisdictional fiscal capitalization within the context of a differential tax incidence model, one that is typical of the capital tax view but nevertheless makes the essential—and admittedly rather stringent—assumptions characteristic of derivations of the benefit tax view. In particular, households are perfectly mobile across competing local jurisdictions with an exogenous source of income, and there are a sufficient number of jurisdictions to satisfy all tastes for local public services.
Following Hamilton, the model has two different types of households, one of which demands relatively larger houses. Initially, the local economy is assumed to be in a Tiebout equilibrium, with local public services as well as housing and the composite good provided at efficient levels, and with local public services being financed by uniform head taxes per household. The fixed supply of land within a jurisdiction is used either for large houses for “high demanders” or small houses for “low demanders.”
Property taxes on all land and capital within the jurisdiction are then introduced into the model, with the revenues used to reduce the level of head taxation while holding the level of public services per capita fixed. Zoning is also introduced, by assuming that the amounts of land used for large and small houses are fixed. This is a weak version of the approach followed by Hamilton, who assumes fully developed communities and thus precludes any change in land or capital allocated to the two types of housing. Indeed, some form of land use zoning is required for any capitalization to occur since, in the absence of zoning, all land within the jurisdiction would in the long run sell for the same price and there would be no capitalization (Ross and Yinger 1999). In this derivation of the benefit view, housing capital is also assumed to be fixed, as in Hamilton’s analysis.
The effects of introducing property taxes on both housing capital and land in this initial equilibrium are identical to those predicted by Hamilton. First, for large homes, which experience a disproportionately larger increase in property taxes, the resulting negative fiscal differential is fully capitalized into lower housing prices. Similarly, small houses sell at a premium that exactly reflects the negative fiscal differential between total property taxes paid and the associated benefits of the tax change as measured by the reduction in head taxes.
Second, the net change in land values due to capitalization in a heterogeneous jurisdiction is zero; that is, the aggregate amount of the discount in land prices for larger homes equals the aggregate amount of the premium in land prices for smaller homes. Third, the price of each type of housing rises by just enough to offset the cost of the public services that must be financed with property taxes.
To sum up, all of the benefit tax view results obtained by Hamilton are obtained within the context of a partial equilibrium differential tax incidence model of a single taxing jurisdiction that is comprised of households that are homogeneous with respect to demands for public services, but heterogeneous with respect to demands for housing. Once again, capitalization implies that the property tax is a benefit tax. Accordingly, the combination of property tax payments and capitalization effects implies that (1) taxpayers pay for all their local public services; (2) both housing and local public services are consumed at efficient levels; and (3) the property tax results in no redistribution of income.
Capitalization Under the Capital Tax View
Converting this model to accommodate a version of the capital tax view is straightforward. Recall, however, that this approach considers the effects of the property tax from the perspective of a single taxing jurisdiction, which is modeled as a small open economy that faces a perfectly elastic supply of capital. Since the net rate of return to capital is fixed by assumption, the effect of nationwide use of the property tax on the return to capital cannot be analyzed. Nevertheless, within the single taxing jurisdiction framework the effects of the property tax on the allocation of housing capital, as well as the effects of this tax-induced reallocation on all other variables, including the changes in land prices that are the focus of the analysis, can still be derived.
The key distinction between the benefit tax and capital tax views of the property tax is that under the latter approach the stocks of housing capital are not assumed to be fixed (although the zoning assumption of fixed land supplies for the two types of housing is maintained). That is, under the capital tax view, which clearly reflects a relatively long-run view of incidence, households can reduce their housing consumption in response to an increase in the property tax.
Given these assumptions, the implications of the capital tax version of the model are as follows. First, capital flows out of the production of large houses where property taxes are high relative to benefits received, and into the production of smaller homes where the property tax bill is low relative to benefits received. This reallocation of housing capital is an important factor in determining incidence—who ultimately pays the property tax. The analysis shows that land rents unambiguously increase for land used for small houses and decrease for land used for large houses, and it is these changes in land rents that are capitalized into land prices. The key result is that these land value capitalization effects under the capital tax view are precisely the same as those calculated previously under the benefit tax view. Thus, the existence of capitalization does not help resolve the critical issue of whether the benefit view or the capital tax view more accurately describes the incidence and economic effects of the property tax.
The other results derived in Hamilton’s model obtain in this capital tax model as well. The net effect of property tax capitalization on aggregate land value within the taxing jurisdiction is zero. Similarly, the effects of the property tax on housing prices—which rise by an amount just sufficient to offset the value of public services received—are also identical under the two models, implying that housing prices for smaller homes increase proportionately more than prices for larger homes.
Despite this distortion of the allocation of housing capital under the capital tax view, the local effects of use of the property tax still have some very important features that are characteristic of a benefit tax. For example, residents pay for net local public services received (those not financed with head taxes) in the form of higher housing prices. Simultaneously, fiscal differentials are capitalized into land values, so that the net effect of the property tax burden and land value capitalization is that future purchasers of both types of houses effectively pay for what they get in public services.
Thus, the essential difference between the two views of the property tax is that, under the capital tax view, land value capitalization occurs due to capital reallocations across housing types, implying inefficiency in the housing market. Under the benefit tax view, capitalization occurs with respect to fixed housing capital stocks, and there is no distortion of the allocation of housing capital. For example, if a local government finances an increase in public expenditures with additional property taxes, the resulting capitalization effects are the same under both views (and cause the same gains and losses at the time of implementation). However, the capital tax view implies that in the long run housing demands will decline, while housing consumption remains unchanged under the benefit tax view.
My model also shows that under the capital tax view per capita housing consumption declines unambiguously for both types of households, which is the standard result that the property tax causes an inefficient reduction in housing consumption. In addition, the number of households that purchase small houses unambiguously increases, while the net effect on the number of households that purchase large houses is theoretically ambiguous, and the total population in the jurisdiction increases.
Conclusion
This analysis shows that, within the context of a partial equilibrium analytical framework characterized by assumptions typical of the benefit view of the property tax, intrajurisdictional capitalization into land values of fiscal differentials is entirely consistent with, and indeed predicted by, the capital tax view of the property tax. Earlier results demonstrate that interjurisdictional capitalization is also consistent with the capital tax view (Kotlikoff and Summers 1987). Together, these results suggest, counter to the claims of benefit tax proponents, that empirical evidence supporting full capitalization of property taxes in land values—either within or across jurisdictions—provides little if any evidence that allows researchers to distinguish between the capital tax and benefit tax views.
Instead, the key issue is whether the zoning restrictions or other mechanisms stressed by proponents of the benefit tax view are sufficiently binding to preclude the long-run adjustments in housing capital predicted by the capital tax view. This issue promises to be a fertile topic for future research, which may help clarify the answer to the long-standing and critical question of who pays the residential property tax.
George R. Zodrow is professor of economics and Rice Scholar in the Tax and Expenditure Policy Program of the Baker Institute for Public Policy at Rice University in Houston, Texas.
References
Fischel, William A. 2001. Municipal corporations, homeowners and the benefit view of the property tax. In Property taxation and local government finance, Wallace E. Oates, ed., 33–77. Cambridge MA: Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.
Hamilton, Bruce W. 1976. Capitalization of intrajurisdictional differences in local tax prices. American Economic Review, 66 (5): 743–753.
Harberger, Arnold C. 1962. The incidence of the corporate income tax. Journal of Political Economy, 70 (3): 215–240.
Kotlikoff, Laurence J., and Lawrence H. Summers. 1987. Tax incidence. In Handbook of Public Economics, Volume I, Alan J. Auerbach and Martin S. Feldstein, eds., 1043–1092. Amsterdam: North Holland.
Mieszkowski, Peter. 1972. The property tax: An excise tax or a profits tax? Journal of Public Economics 1 (1): 73–96.
Oates, Wallace E. 1969. The effects of property taxes and local public spending on property values: An empirical study of tax capitalization and the Tiebout hypothesis. Journal of Political Economy, 77 (6): 957–961.
Ross, Stephen, and John Yinger. 1999. Sorting and voting: A review of the literature on urban public finance. In Handbook of Regional and Urban Economics, Volume 3, Paul Cheshire and Edwin S. Mills, eds., 2001–2060. Amsterdam: North Holland.
Tiebout, Charles M. 1956. A pure theory of local expenditures. Journal of Political Economy, 64 (5): 416–424.
Zodrow, George R. 2001. Reflections on the new view and the benefit view of the property tax. In Property taxation and local government finance, Wallace E. Oates, ed., 79–111. Cambridge MA: Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.
Zodrow, George R. and Peter Mieszkowski. 1986a. Pigou, Tiebout, property taxation and the under-provision of local public goods. Journal of Urban Economics, 19 (3): 356–370.
———. 1986b. The new view of the property tax: A reformulation. Regional Science and Urban Economics, 16 (3): 309–327
Editor’s note: The Lincoln Institute published a new report on tax increment financing in September, 2018.
Tax increment financing (TIF) is an alluring tool that allows municipalities to promote economic development by earmarking property tax revenue from increases in assessed values within a designated TIF district. Proponents point to evidence that assessed property value within TIF districts generally grows much faster than in the rest of the municipality and infer that TIF benefits the entire municipality. Our own empirical analysis, using data from Illinois, suggests to the contrary that the non-TIF areas of municipalities that use TIF grow no more rapidly, and perhaps more slowly, than similar municipalities that do not use TIF. An important finding is that TIF has different impacts when land use is considered. For example, commercial TIF districts tend to decrease commercial development in the non-TIF portion of the municipality.
Designating a TIF District
The rules for tax increment financing, and even its name, vary across the 48 states in which the practice is authorized. The designation usually requires a finding that an area is “blighted” or “underdeveloped” and that development would not take place “but for” the public expenditure or subsidy. It is only a bit of an overstatement to characterize the “blight” and “but for” findings as merely pro forma exercises, since specialized consultants can produce the needed evidence in almost all cases. In most states, the requirement for these findings does little to restrict the location of TIF districts.
TIF expenditures are often debt financed in anticipation of future tax revenues. The practice dates to California in 1952, where it started as an innovative way of raising local matching funds for federal grants. TIF became increasingly popular in the 1980s and 1990s, when there were declines in subsidies for local economic development from federal grants, state grants, and federal tax subsidies (especially industrial development bonds). In many cases TIF is “the only game in town” for financing local economic development.
The basic rules of the game are illustrated in Figure 1. The top panel shows a land area view of a hypothetical municipality. The area on the western border is designated a TIF district and its assessed value is measured. The lower panel of Figure 1 shows the base-year property values in the TIF (B) and the non-TIF (N) areas. At a later point in time, assessed property values have grown to include the increment (I) in the TIF district and growth (G) in the non-TIF area of the municipality.
Tax increment financing carves out the increment (I) and reserves it for the exclusive use of the economic development authority, while the base-year assessed value (B) stays in the local government tax base. Thus,
Impacts on Overlapping Governments and Non-TIF Areas
The value increment (I) is the tax base of the TIF district. In most states (like Illinois, but unlike Massachusetts) there are multiple overlapping local governments, e.g., the municipality, school district, community college district, county, township, park district, library district, and other special districts. Figure 2 illustrates this situation with the school district representing all the nonmunicipal governments. To understand the economics and politics of TIF, it is crucial to note that while the municipality makes the TIF adoption decision, the TIF area value is part of the tax base of the school district and other local governments as well. Moreover, the TIF district gets revenues from the increment times the combined tax rate for all local governments together. The following hypothetical tax rates for a group of local governments overlapping a TIF district are close to the average proportions in Illinois.
Municipal tax rate = 0.15 %
School district tax rate = 0.60 %
Other governments’ tax rate = 0.25 %
Combined tax rate = 1.00 %
For each 15 cents of its own would-be tax revenues the municipality puts on the line, the school district and other local governments contribute another 85 cents. Thus, there may be an incentive for municipalities to “capture” revenue from growth that would have occurred in the absence of TIF (to collect taxes that would have gone to school districts). Or, municipal decision makers may favor inefficient economic development strategies that do not result in public benefits worth the full cost, since their own cost is only 15 cents on the dollar. TIF proponents would counter that nothing is captured, because the increment to the tax base would not exist “but for” the TIF authority expenditure. That argument, of course, turns on what would have happened to property values in the absence of TIF.
If, as municipalities are often required to assert when they adopt TIF, all of the increment is attributable to the activities of the TIF development authority, then TIF is fair, in that the school district is not giving up any would-be revenues. If, as critics of TIF sometimes assert or assume, none of the increment is attributable to the TIF and all of the new property value growth would have occurred anyway, then the result is just a reallocation of tax revenues by which municipalities win and school districts lose.
The impact of TIF on growth in property values requires a careful reading of the evidence. It is wrong, as those who look only at growth within the TIF district in effect do, to assume to know the answer. Part of the solution is to use appropriate tools to statistically control for other determinants of growth.
It is also necessary to take into account the potential for reverse causality. We want to know the extent to which TIF adoption causes growth. But the causation could go the other way; anticipated growth in property values could lead to TIF adoption if municipalities attempt to capture revenues from overlapping governments. Or there could be reverse causation bias if TIF is adopted in desperation by municipal decision makers in areas where low growth is anticipated. Either way we should ask: Are the municipalities that adopt TIF systematically different from those that do not? If the municipalities are systematically different, we must statistically disentangle the effect of that difference from the effect of the TIF using a technique that corrects for what economists call “sample selection bias.”
Impacts on Growth and Property Values
There are two sides to any government budget: revenues and expenditures. As a revenue-side mechanism, TIF is a way of earmarking tax revenues for a particular purpose, in this case local economic development. The effectiveness of economic development expenditures depends on opportunities, incentives, and planning skills that are specific to each local area and each project. By combining data from a large number of TIF and non-TIF municipalities, we can ask: On average and overall, is TIF adoption associated with increased growth in municipal property values? We have addressed this question in two research studies, both of which use statistical controls for the other determinants of growth and for reverse causation due to sample selection bias.
The first study (Dye and Merriman 2000) uses data from 235 Chicago area municipalities and covers preadoption, TIF adoption (or not), and postadoption time periods. We control for the selection bias (reverse causation) problem by first predicting which municipalities adopt TIF and then using that information (a statistic called the inverse Mills ratio) when estimating the effect of TIF adoption on property values in a second stage. Use of selection bias correction was first applied to the study of TIF by John Anderson (1990) and is now standard practice.
Our estimates of the impact of TIF have a number of additional variables controlling for home-rule status, the combined tax rate, population, income per capita, poverty rate, nonresidential share of equalized assessed value (EAV), EAV per square mile, distance to the Chicago loop, and county of location. We found that property values in TIF-adopting municipalities grew at the same rate as or even less rapidly than in nonadopting municipalities. The study design did not get at this directly, but the offset seemed to come from smaller growth in non-TIF area of the municipality (lower G).
Our findings were a surprise to those, especially nonacademics, who naively had inferred TIF caused growth by observing growth within a TIF district (I) without any statistical controls for the other determinants of growth (in I or G). Our findings were quite threatening to those with an interest in TIF, such as local economic development officers who spend the earmarked funds or TIF consultants who are paid for documenting findings of “blight” or “but for.” Our findings were also at odds with an Indiana study that found a positive effect of TIF adoption on housing values (Man and Rosentraub 1998).
Because our findings were controversial, because the effect of TIF was unsettled in the academic literature, and particularly because we wanted to pursue the possibility of a negative cross relationship between growth in the TIF district (I) and growth outside the TIF district (G), we undertook a second study (Dye and Merriman 2003). In addition we wanted to look at whether there are different TIF effects when more municipalities are included and different types of land uses are considered. We used three different data sets: property value data for 246 municipalities in the six-county Chicago area; less complete property value data for 1,242 municipalities in all 102 Illinois counties; and property value data for 247 TIF districts in the six-county Chicago area.
For the six-county sample (similar to our earlier study, but with more years and more municipalities), Table 1 presents the pre- and postadoption growth rates for the TIF-adopting and nonadopting municipalities. These calculations are from raw data, before any statistical controls for other growth determinants or corrections for selection bias. The first row compares EAV growth rates of the TIF-adopting and nonadopting municipalities in the period before any of them adopted TIF. EAV grew slightly faster for municipalities that would later adopt TIF.
The second row shows that in the period after TIF adoptions took place, gross-of-TIF EAV grew less rapidly for TIF adopters. The last row shows that the net-of-TIF EAV growth rate for TIF adopters was even lower, suggesting that growth (I) in the TIF district may come at the expense of property values outside the development area (G). In summary, if we make no statistical adjustment for the effects of other determinants, TIF adopters grew more slowly than nonadopters.
When we use the more recent six-county data in a multivariate regression model with statistical controls for local characteristics and sample selection, we no longer get the earlier provocative result of a significantly negative impact of TIF adoption on growth, but we still find no positive impact of TIF adoption on the growth in citywide property values. Any growth in the TIF district is offset by declines elsewhere.
The second study was designed with particular attention to land use. The property value data is broken into three land use types: residential, commercial, and industrial. Each TIF district also is identified by one of five development purpose types: central business district (CBD), commercial, industrial, housing, and other or mixed purpose. Thus, we can look separately at growth in municipal EAV by type of land use and type of TIF. Unfortunately, the data do not record EAV by land use within TIF districts, so we must settle for the growth in the tax base that is available to local governments. Most of the estimates of effects by land use type are not significantly different than zero. However, commercial and industrial TIF districts both show a significantly negative impact on growth in commercial assessed values outside the district.
The second study also extends the analysis to all 102 Illinois counties, which results in a much larger sample of municipalities (see Table 2). The TIF-base EAV (B) is unavailable, so we look at growth in available EAV. The simple means from the larger sample again suggest a negative effect of TIF on growth in property values. When we use this all-county sample to estimate the impact of TIF in a multivariate regression with statistical controls for other growth determinants and for TIF selection, there is a significantly negative impact of TIF adoption on growth in overall available (non-TIF) property values. This revives the earlier hypothesis that TIF adoption actually reduces property values in the larger community.
When we run separate regressions for available EAV growth by type of land use for the all-county sample, we see more evidence of a zero or negative impact of TIF on property value growth. Again, there is a significant “cannibalization” of commercial EAV outside the TIF district from commercial development within the TIF district.
The TIF district sample of the second study includes 247 TIF districts in 100 different municipalities in the six-county Chicago area. We match TIF base (B) and TIF increment (I) in each year to information for the host municipality. The key results are:
Conclusion
Tax increment financing is an alluring tool. TIF districts grow much faster than other areas in their host municipalities. TIF boosters or naive analysts might point to this as evidence of the success of tax increment financing, but they would be wrong. Observing high growth in an area targeted for development is unremarkable. The issues we have studied are (1) whether the targeting causes the growth or merely signals that growth is coming; and (2) whether the growth in the targeted area comes at the expense of other parts of the same municipality. We find evidence that the non-TIF areas of municipalities that use TIF grow no more rapidly, and perhaps more slowly, than similar municipalities that do not use TIF.
Policy makers should use TIF with caution. It is, after all, merely a way of financing economic development and does not change the opportunities for development or the skills of those doing the development planning. Moreover, policy makers should pay careful attention to land use when TIF is being considered. Our evidence shows that commercial TIF districts reduce commercial property value growth in the non-TIF part of the same municipality. This is not terribly surprising, given that much of commercial property is retailing and most retail trade needs to be located close to its customer base. That is, if you subsidize a store in one location there will be less demand to have a store in a nearby location. Industrial land use, in theory, is different. Industrial goods are mostly exported and sold outside the local area, so a local offset would not be expected. Our evidence is generally consistent with this prediction of no offset in industrial property growth in non-TIF areas of the same municipality.
Richard F. Dye is a visiting fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy in 2005–2006. He is also the Ernest A. Johnson Professor of Economics at Lake Forest College, Lake Forest, Illinois, and adjunct professor at the Institute of Government and Public Affairs, University of Illinois.
David F. Merriman is professor of economics at Loyola University of Chicago and adjunct professor at the Institute of Government and Public Affairs, University of Illinois.
References
Anderson, John E. 1990. Tax increment financing: Municipal adoption and growth. National Tax Journal 43: 155–163.
Dye, Richard F., and David F. Merriman. 2000. The effects of tax increment financing on economic development. Journal of Urban Economics 47: 306–328.
———. 2003. The effect of tax increment financing on land use, in Dick Netzer (ed.), The property tax, land use, and land-use regulation. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar, 37–61.
Dye, Richard F., and Jeffrey O. Sundberg. 1998. A model of tax increment financing adoption incentives. Growth and Change 29: 90–110.
Johnson, Craig L., and Joyce Y. Man (eds.). 2001. Tax increment financing and economic development: Uses, structures and impact. Albany: State University of New York Press.
Man, Joyce Y., and Mark S. Rosentraub. 1998. Tax increment financing: Municipal adoption and effects on property value growth. Public Finance Review 26: 523–547.
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In the United States we are used to thinking about the university within the context of its host city. The University of Wisconsin in Madison, the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill and the University of Illinois in Urbana play major roles in driving the economies of those traditional college towns. Stanford University and Massachusetts Institute of Technology are examples of research universities that have served as incubators for new industries that have had significant economic and industrial impacts in Silicon Valley, California, and metropolitan Boston. The Julliard School in New York City, the Chicago Art Institute, and the film departments at the University of California (UCLA) and University of Southern California (USC) in Los Angeles also have had a significant effect on their local cultural landscapes.
After more than five years of focusing on the real estate development activities of U.S. colleges and universities, Lincoln Institute researchers are now investigating the roles that universities play in their host cities around the world. Will the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), a 733-hectare campus in the middle of one of the world’s largest cities, be able to maintain autonomy from the federal government through its land policies? Can a university that serves Northern Ireland’s Catholics and Protestants succeed in building a new campus in an area known for poverty and intractable political violence? What lessons can we learn from the redevelopment of a German military barracks by the University of Lueneburg that might be applicable to other universities’ development efforts?
Universities are major players in many activities not traditionally associated with the ivory tower. They are employers, purchasers, engines of economic growth, innovators, cultural meccas, branders of place and, increasingly, major real estate developers. This last role creates a web of opportunities and challenges that are not only important to the future of universities but also extend throughout the politics and economics of cities.
Formal examinations of the university’s role in acquiring, managing, selling and developing real estate have not been a topic of academic and professional inquiry in the U.S. until recently, but these issues are even less frequently discussed in international circles. There are few comprehensive case studies and literally no multi-continent examinations of how urban universities operate in real estate and land development, even though there is widespread agreement over its growing importance. The contributions of universities to their cities, the nature of state higher education policy and the increasing role of private market actors in university expansion are all important features of urban land development today, although they are realized differently in various places.
To facilitate further exploration and comparison of these issues, a dozen international scholars from Europe, South America, Asia and Africa gathered at the Lincoln Institute in March 2004 to present papers and engage in a critique of their work. They quickly moved the discussion beyond the case studies into a broader conversation about the role of the university in the history and the future of national policy toward cities and how such policy is affecting and is affected by the global economy.
The Role of the State
Outside the U.S., the university is almost always a public institution; therefore university land development is closely intertwined with and often an integral part of local and/or national planning and development policies. The levels of autonomy in real estate development decision making experienced by international universities are also dramatically different from those of U.S. universities, because of their relative attachment to the state as both an agency and public institution.
Anne Haila of the University of Helsinki pointed out the strong history of planning in Finland, for example, where plans are laws that carry great weight and supply clear direction to university land use planning. All university real estate in Finland is owned and managed by the national real estate company, which strives for efficiency in all of its real estate strategies. Conflicts between universities and the property manager became especially prevalent after 1999, when university departments were ordered to pay the full price of rent for their premises; if departments increased their space they had to pay more, but if they decreased it they were compensated. The reasoning behind the policy was to abolish the idea of “free space” and to make university departments aware that bringing in new research and other revenue-generating projects would help them pay for additional space.
Carlos Morales-Schechinger presented another example of the relationship between university land policies and the state in his review of UNAM in Mexico City. UNAM has been autonomous from the federal government for more than 50 years and has “abandoned any intention of becoming a developer.” Instead, UNAM considers the land’s use value as a sanctuary, an area secure from government intervention, and a place for study, natural spaces and public art. Approximately 29 percent (212 ha) of the land has been declared an ecological zone due to its unique flora and fauna.
Morales-Schechinger suggests that UNAM’s reluctance to engage in current real estate development is related to its past history, when some of its land was acquired from the territory granted to the peasants after the 1910 Revolution. The university serves nearly 260,000 students from all socioeconomic groups and thus views itself as an independent and often vocal critic of the federal government.
Shifting City Growth Patterns
Changes in the nature and structure of the nation-state brought on by economic restructuring, new political alliances, changing demographics, and the decentralization of governmental responsibilities and mandates can bring about radical changes in the real estate development policies of universities. Three participants focusing on universities in Portugal, Germany and Finland described the conditions of student demand and changes in the technology of work that were forcing both expansions and relocations of universities (or parts of them) in an increasingly decentralized urban environment.
Isabel Breda-Vazquez, speaking about the University of Porto (UP), noted the demographic shift in the city center, where UP was originally located, when it decided to expand and relocate its engineering and science facilities outside of the city, due to increasing demand for those courses of study and changing employment patterns. Problems associated with the subsequent decline of the city center included physical degradation, social vulnerability problems, functional obsolescence of buildings and spaces, reduced economic activity and consumption, and relocated student housing.
Changes in political alliances and the fall of the Iron Curtain reduced Germany’s need for military barracks, according to Katrin Anacker, and this has resulted in the large-scale conversion of one such facility to university property in Lueneberg. Increased student enrollment, a shortage of classrooms and the fact that university buildings were scattered throughout the city were important factors in the University of Lueneburg’s decision to take advantage of the military’s abandonment of a nearby barracks. Although dealing specifically with the conversion of military property into university buildings, Anacker’s paper may be read for its insights into the reuse of other types of obsolete or abandoned industrial buildings.
The growth demands on public universities and the decentralization of governance are occurring in the face of competing issues of demographic shift out of the city and revitalization efforts focusing on older parts of cities. Many workshop attendees identified the theme of abandonment during these discussions, in the contexts of either the state or local government or the university abandoning the city. Universities almost everywhere are placed in critical positions as they actively develop land themselves, and thus can be seen as agents of urban change—to both the benefit and the detriment of the city.
David Perry argued that to discuss the university as an engine of growth may be only part of the picture. The modern university may be an engine of the city’s development by dint of attrition, becoming even more important to central city renewal by filling the vacuum created by the withdrawal of once dominant agents in both the public and private sectors.
University Development Zones
Several papers addressed universities that are their own “zones of development” or “cities unto themselves.” Abner Colmenares presented the case of the Central University of Venezuela, a public institution in Caracas, and its Rental Zone (Zona Rental) Plaza Venezuela project dating from the 1940s. The notion of the Zona Rental dates back to 1827, when Venezuelan President Simon Bolivar granted real estate properties and farms to the university, to support its faculty and provide for its upkeep.
Adopting as its model Columbia University’s approach to the development of Rockefeller Center in New York City, Central University created and transferred the land to an independent foundation (Andrés Bello Fund Foundation for Scientific Development of the Central University of Venezuela–FFABUCV), which was mandated to promote scientific research by generating financial resources through the development of rental zone properties. By late 2004, more than 40 million square feet of construction had been completed, creating public spaces for the city, a subway center and numerous rental income sites, including a mall.
Wilmar Salim presented a similarly expansive project, the relocation of four universities in Indonesia to rural land formerly occupied by a rubber plantation. The government’s decision to relocate the universities from the capital city of Bandung to the Jatinangor area 23 kilometers distant resulted in the development of a new town to service the large campus. While the planning for the university was carefully conceived, such was not the case for the town that grew up alongside it. Salim notes several serious problems resulting from this relocation: environmental deterioration of the rural area due to the increased population and construction; lack of adequate planning in terms of infrastructure; and negative effects on community institutions caused by the influx of a population much larger than and culturally different from the indigenous residents.
Contested Space
The topic of the university as a contested space was addressed by Haim Yacobi of Israel and Frank Gaffikin of Northern Ireland, both of whom spoke of the challenges for urban universities located in places of conflict. In the Northern Ireland case, an attempt was made to set up a branch of the University of Ulster in an embattled area of Protestant-Catholic conflict and economic deprivation in Belfast. Although U.S. President Bill Clinton and British Prime Minister Tony Blair were present at the groundbreaking, the project faltered due to the lengthy development time and turnover of leadership, coupled with the existing problems associated with a historically contested space. The result was a distinct loss of credibility for the university in the community. Gaffikin stressed that when universities enter into these kinds of situations, they have to see the projects through with strong civic leadership.
Yacobi discussed the siting of Hebrew University on Mount Scopus in Jerusalem, a decision made by the government rather than the university, as was the case in Belfast. According to Yacobi, relocating the university after the 1967 war had a fundamental role in judaizing Jerusalem.
Fabio Todeschini of South Africa also examined the roles and responsibilities of the university in shaping urban space in a place that was already contested. He noted that the University of Cape Town has undergone enormous change since the apartheid era; currently more than one-half of the student population is black, although the majority of professors are white. The development and real estate practices of these and other universities have both created and been affected by significant symbolic, economic and cultural changes in their countries.
The workshop participants agreed about the seeming contradiction between the importance of universities to their cities and political economies and the lack of formal study of this phenomenon. The meeting confirmed that, both locally and globally, universities have enduring, indeed even increasing, levels of importance in their cities and regions. It is also clear that land development policies are equally important to the universities, to the development futures of cities and to the policy relationship with the private market.
Barbara Sherry is a doctoral candidate at the University of Illinois at Chicago in the Department of Urban Planning, a research assistant at its Great Cities Institute (GCI), and an attorney.
The City and the University Project
The Lincoln Institute of Land Policy launched The City and the University Project five years ago, to study the changing relationships between universities and their immediate neighborhoods, cities and the society at large. The Lincoln Institute shares this interest in the role that universities play in their cities with many other organizations. However, our attempt to understand this role is motivated by questions regarding urban assets and the use of those assets.
According to the currently dominant paradigm of enlightened self-interest, universities engage the city with the realization that the economic well-being of the abutting community is directly correlated to its own health. Through this project we are attempting to articulate a philosophy that universities should serve society as a whole, not just their abutters. Our goal is to extend the thinking, conversation and actions of university-community-city relations beyond this paradigm.
Under the leadership of Rosalind Greenstein of the Lincoln Institute, David Perry of the Great Cities Institute (GCI) of the University of Illinois at Chicago, and Wim Wiewel of the University of Baltimore, key actors from every conceivable side of university real estate development practices (including university administrators and faculty, developers, city planners and managers, journalists, nonprofit groups, and members of federal and state agencies) have been invited to participate in workshops sponsored by the Lincoln Institute. Perry and Wiewel have edited a book of U.S. and Canadian case studies contributed by some of these participants. Titled The University as Urban Developer: Case Studies and Analysis, this book is being published this spring by M.E. Sharpe, Inc., in association with the Lincoln Institute.
As a natural outgrowth of their work in North America, Perry, Wiewel and Greenstein expanded their research collaboration with an international seminar built on case studies from several continents. The workshop in March 2004 generated papers that will become part of a new edited volume, tentatively titled The University, the City and the State: Comparative Studies of University Real Estate Development.
In 2005 the Institute will convene a roundtable of practitioners and scholars to examine the university-city relationship in a variety of dimensions, including political, historical and philosophical. Another course is intended for neighborhood groups located near universities that face impressive challenges because of the particular role universities play in their district and their city. The course offers such groups the opportunity to learn how to best use their resources, relative to their university neighbors, to improve their urban environment.
The Institute will also offer a professional training opportunity for private-sector developers who work with and for universities that are extending their boundaries as demand increases for new laboratories, residential spaces, athletic facilities and other amenities. In addition, we are developing a special Web site for the urban university project that will facilitate communication among and between practitioners, policy makers and scholars.
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This article is adapted from a keynote address delivered by President Gregory S. Prince Jr. of Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts, at a Lincoln Institute–sponsored conference in May 2003 at Lincoln House. Focusing on the topic “Universities as Developers,” the conference brought together some 40 college and university presidents and administrators who deal with real estate and development issues for their institutions.
“How do you build a relationship between an institution and the community in which it lives, in all of its forms?” This is a topic that I have struggled with for more than the 14 years I’ve been at Hampshire; building these relationships is an incredibly interesting process. I’m going to describe some of the salient points that have influenced the way I work on Hampshire’s community relations. It is not coherent. It does not start with a grand design. Rather, it’s inductive, based on my experiences and my observations. In addition, this interaction, this back and forth between thoughts and actions, between the college and the community, has been an important part of my own ongoing education about this critical topic.
This process for me began when I worked at Dartmouth College for 19 years. One of the things I found extraordinary at Dartmouth, which is so different from Hampshire, is that Dartmouth is taxed like any other institution, for profit or not, in the state. Because New Hampshire does not have the income tax or the sales tax, the town of Hanover is permitted to impose a property tax on all nonacademic facilities at the college. This tax policy has been in effect for decades, so it is an accepted part of life. People struggle over all the same issues that any academic community faces, but the conversation in town meetings is quite different when the college is paying just like anybody else. Granted, in Hanover tax dollars go to the schools where the faculty send their own children, so they have a vested interest. But, I saw a relationship between the college and the community that I found very healthy.
When I came to Hampshire College in 1989, everyone was talking about PILOTS (payments in lieu of taxes). I hadn’t thought much about PILOTS until I found out that the University of Massachusetts was making these payments to the town, and the town manager wanted Hampshire and Amherst College to start paying as well. So I learned to talk about PILOTS, but I felt there was something intrinsically shortsighted about the arrangement because it was based on a very narrow conversation about money and not about needs. Both Hampshire and Amherst colleges have made contributions to the town of Amherst for certain items, but we have not called them PILOTS, and we have not made them on a regular basis. Now, I am not saying that when a college or university does make a payment in lieu of taxes to a city it is necessarily a sign of an unhealthy relationship. All too often, however, the negotiations about what universities and colleges ought to pay to their host communities focus on the cost of police protection or snow removal, for example, rather than what it means to be part of a community with the rights and obligations that accompany citizenship, what are some of the critical needs of the community, and which ones could the institution most effectively address.
As I tried to figure out how to change the conversation, I wanted all of us to understand that we were having a dialogue. That is, when I’m having a conversation at Hampshire about the town, or with the town about Hampshire, I need to acknowledge that UMass and Amherst College are also part of the conversation. Wherever possible, we try to make sure that all three of us are communicating with the town; admittedly, this four-way conversation is complicated. I found in the process that the real discussion was about how to build sustainable communities. At Amherst College or UMass, sustainability is viewed differently than at Hampshire, a 33-year-old institution with little endowment. We need to figure out how to sustain our college over the long term within these different, complicated relationships. The PILOT conversation never seemed to quite get at that issue, so we’ve tried to expand it.
Broadening the Conversation
Two very different sets of experiences influenced my thinking about how to broaden and enrich the conversation with the community.
Urban Conferences
When I first arrived at Hampshire, I received a phone call from the chief counsel for the Transit Police in New York City, whom I had taught years before. He asked if Hampshire College would host a conference in association with the International Association of Chiefs of Police, bringing together representatives from several large urban communities. My first question was, “Great, but why Hampshire?” The response was that at that time, in 1989, people like Lee Brown (former police commissioner in New York City and now mayor of Houston) and Bill Bratton (former police chief of Boston and New York City, and now police chief of Los Angeles) felt that America had lost its cities but didn’t know it, and they were trying to figure out how to talk about it. They wanted to meet at Hampshire because it was the last place in the United States one would think would work directly with the police. The partnership that emerged between Hampshire and the International Association of Chiefs of Police did send a signal, and people noticed.
The conference brought together not just law enforcement officials but also the heads of all the major departments of ten major U.S. cities. Los Angeles dropped out at the last minute because of the Rodney King incident, but Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, New Haven, New York City, Phoenix, Seattle, Springfield and Tulsa were involved in the first group; other cities attended subsequent meetings. The police chiefs did not want mayors to come, because they wanted free and open discussion across professions and across cities. Because Hampshire paid for the conference, we were able to bring students into the process.
Among the most important outcomes of these conferences over several years was the creation of a forum for people involved in community schools, community policing, community health and other areas who never had a chance to converse, and that included the Hampshire students who contributed to an intergenerational discourse. In the first conference, we divided all the participants into groups, mixing professions and cities, and we gave them a four-block area of a fictitious city. Each group had three hours to write a proposal to a foundation on how they would use those city blocks to restore or revive the most problematic part of the city. They had access to unlimited funds, but out of the process came two critical principles that actually had very little to do with money and had everything to do with how people talk to one another and collaborate: (1) the need to have conversations across professions and across community boundaries; and (2) the need for every older adult committee or commission to have a younger counterpart organization. Guess who thought that one up? The students wanted to find a way to generate networks and initiate conversations in which common plans could be developed; they understood that no plan was going to succeed without that kind of cross-generational ownership. They came away with the realization that there is no single answer to what gets done; what is most important is how it gets done. Having conversations across boundaries, be they professional, historic, generational or institutional, may be the core value and core practice of community building.
We had three of these conferences over three years, and I think they had a profound effect on the strategic ways that people like Bratton and Brown and other law enforcement officers and community leaders changed their communities. These same principles of open conversation should be built back into relationships between colleges and universities and their communities. It’s not just about PILOTS or taxes. It’s about how you generate a conversation so that everybody is part of the process, respects the outcome and is committed to the sustainability of the community.
Cultural Village
The second set of experiences also began in my first year at Hampshire, a lovely campus of 1,200 students surrounded by 800 acres of farmland in Amherst, a small New England town in the western part of the state. Amherst also hosts the University of Massachusetts, a major state land-grant university with over 20,000 students, and Amherst College, with 1,600 students. A bus system links the colleges with the town, but many students complained that they were “in a little teenage encampment.” They wanted older adults and more activity around them so they could feel more connected to the community.
As I talked with people in the town and attended meetings on economic development issues, I learned that Amherst was fairly hostile to development. Lack of development intensified the feeling among town leaders that PILOTS were the possible recourse. As I began to understand that perceptions, strategies and concerns about development underlay the conversation about PILOTS, I began to look at land. Could land possibly help the community, since Hampshire had an abundance of land relative to available cash? Our land actually held the seeds for new possibilities in the form of creating a “cultural village.”
After many years of planning and negotiating, the grounds of Hampshire College are now being transformed into a center for nonprofit cultural and educational institutions that create more activity for the students and more economic activity for the town. The National Yiddish Book Center became the first new development when, in the early 1990s, it was looking for a new home. The center’s director, Aaron Lansky, is a Hampshire alumnus and he wanted to stay in Amherst where he had started the center. It took six years to persuade the boards of the college and the center to agree, but the center now has an absolutely gorgeous building with 40,000 volumes in the library. It runs tremendous events, bringing people together from all over the world. Hampshire College didn’t pay for it; the Book Center paid for it. But its building, its facilities, its activities and its staff are on our campus, enriching our life, putting people into our dining room, creating a more interesting intellectual environment for our students, creating economic activity for the town, and not using land that could otherwise be taxed.
The second member of the cultural village, the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, opened in the fall of 2002. One may well ask, “What does it do for Hampshire College to be the site of the first picture-book art museum in the U.S.?” The 40,000-square-foot building sits on land that Hampshire donated, but Eric Carle, the author of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, endowed the museum. It employs 18 people, including some of our students. So we’re enriching the faculty and cultural resources for our students, and the town of Amherst gets a large museum to sustain its economic base while limiting environmental impact on its land resources. Only 25,000 museum-goers were expected in the first year, but more than 40,000 attended in the first four months, bringing vitality to both the town and the college.
Intergenerational Viewpoints
These two experiences—developing the cultural village and learning from the urban conferences years before—make me feel that even though Hampshire is in a rural area, the principles that have guided community outreach are replicable even for large universities in urban environments. The key is to generate a conversation that crosses boundaries and in so doing weakens those boundaries. The process is ongoing and has led to many interesting new conversations.
Recently the town of Amherst approached me about developing open space on the edge of the campus for a commercial village center. The area now houses a well-known farm stand, but the town wanted to expand the amount of commercial activity. Through open conversation with the community, college trustees, students and residents, the land was purchased and given to Hampshire with the proviso that it be used to generate income to support the college. At the first public hearing on what to do with the land, we invited the entire community. All ages were present. A group of Hampshire students came to the meeting intending to argue against development; they wanted the area kept as open space. However, the first citizens to speak were in their 70s and 80s; they tore us apart about how terrible it would be to develop this area and how they had bought their apartments nearby because of this open beautiful land. In truth, their retirement community had been built while I was the president of the college, so I knew it, too, had been built on open land. Their attitude was, “we’re here and now we don’t want any more development.” The students understood these arguments, but found themselves thinking about how they wanted to behave when they were 75 years old. They didn’t want to imagine themselves as being opposed to growth and change, so this intergenerational conversation made a difference in their attitudes. Talks have continued and the plan is still in development, with a target date of spring 2004 to present it at town meeting.
Principles of Sustainability
Developing the cultural village and new developments in academic curricula converged to make sustainability an increasingly important issue. Suddenly, the cultural village was also becoming a laboratory. When the faculty, in response to issues in the cultural village, proposed seeking funds to do a sustainable campus plan focusing on the natural environment, I suggested that the most important principle in the plan be sustaining Hampshire College. My statement generated a very constructive conversation about what sustainability should mean for Hampshire. Let me summarize the principles that we developed.
1. The core goal in planning for the college must be the school’s long-term sustainability as an educational institution committed to providing students with the most constructively transforming liberal arts education possible.
2. In pursuing the first goal, the college must strive for human sustainability—for maintaining and enriching our capacity to live well together, for providing for the economic well-being of those who work at the college, and for nurturing their creative spirit and sense of fulfillment that comes from working at the college.
3. In pursuing the educational and social goals, we must recognize the fundamental relationship between the goals and the physical environment, and strive to achieve the sustainability of that physical environment to the greatest extent possible.
4. In pursuing the core goals of sustaining the college as an educational institution, we must strive to ensure that as an institution, independent of what its graduates accomplish, what we do makes a difference locally, nationally and internationally. Success in achieving the first three goals will ensure that we take a significant step in achieving the fourth goal. In effect, our primary aim is to provide the best education we can. We must model the behavior we expect of our graduates.
5. In pursuing educational and social sustainability, we must encourage entrepreneurial activity, invention and innovation, even if it entails the risk of failure.
6. In sustaining the human spirit of the college community, economic needs must be met, but with the recognition that we must also offer a meaningful mission, a stimulating and creative intellectual environment, and a supportive and enriching physical environment.
7. In seeking to create a sustainable, healthy and enriching social environment, the practical must be balanced with the artistic, the physical and rational with the contemplative, the values of individualism with those of community, and the needs of the college with those of the larger community.
8. In seeking to create a sustainable physical environment, efficient use of energy should be the highest priority, followed by other resource uses and resource disposal. Appropriate land use must be made another high priority. In maintaining the physical plant, we should consider the ease and efficiency of maintenance in terms of those who perform the work, as well as the level of resources needed to carry it out.
9. Wherever possible, physical infrastructure changes should include visible demonstration or interactive educational displays designed to educate about sustainability.
10. The cost of innovations in programs or in the physical environment should include the endowment required to ensure that those who follow us will not be burdened with their maintenance. The projects should be designed so they can be converted to other uses, removed or terminated.
The Board of Trustees reviewed the ten principles of sustainability, then challenged us on how we will interpret and implement them. In the process of working on these tasks, additional guidelines began to emerge:
1. Process is important: conversation and explorations can uncover interests as opposed to positions.
2. Geography matters. It may not be destiny, but it has a great deal to do with it and how you have to build and grow.
3. Focus on the culture, the economy and the environment comprehensively, not as separate subjects in conversations and plans, and involve them early.
4. Involve the community.
5. Involve young people, especially high school students, in any community planning.
6. Promote interdependence.
While these guidelines answer some questions, I struggle with other questions. One of particular importance to me currently is the issue of contiguity. Do our endeavors need to be within our current campus or town or can we successfully move into other communities? The five colleges in the region (Amherst, Hampshire, Mt. Holyoke, Smith and UMass) already work together on many joint programs and all of us have done a great deal of work in Holyoke, a small city about 15 miles south of Amherst that exemplifies all the problems of urban America.
We spent a lot of time trying to encourage UMass to move its art department to an old warehouse in Holyoke. We felt it would be a major boost to the community, but it looks as though it will not happen for equally legitimate reasons. Moving an academic department geographically from the rest of the academic community will increase intellectual isolation and fragmentation. Other ideas include building a five-college dormitory in Holyoke, and that possibility raises equally complex questions related to contiguity and community citizenship.
In both projects the issue is contiguity. Must you always maintain your place as a central, unbroken whole, or can you move outside of your special place? That’s the challenge. I think Hampshire has to somehow build a presence in Holyoke. We have made a huge investment there already, and I believe the city has incredible potential. I think we have to face the issue of opening ourselves up physically, not just maintaining the boundaries of our space but carrying ourselves outside of the institution as well. But others resist. What is exciting is the conversation and the process of engaging all of the related communities in that dialogue.
Gregory S. Prince Jr. is president of Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts.
