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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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Old-timers in Detroit like to recall the 1950s and ’60s as a Golden Age of urban planning. Under Charles Blessing, the city’s charismatic head planner from 1953 to 1977, Detroit carried out a series of ambitious attempts to reshape its urban landscape. Sweeping aside a century’s worth of tenements and small commercial structures, it created the Mies van der Rohe–designed Lafayette Park residential development just east of downtown, a light industrial park west of downtown, and block after block of low-rise moderate-income housing on the north side. Edward Hustoles, a retired veteran planner of those years, recalls how Blessing enjoyed such status as Detroit’s visionary that over lunch at a nice restaurant he would sketch his plans all over the tablecloth; if a server complained, Blessing would roll it up and tell her to put it on his bill.
Times change. Blessing retired in the 1970s, and by then Detroit was mired in its long-agonizing slide into Rust Belt ruin. The twin scourges of deindustrialization and suburban sprawl, which hurt so many cities in the American heartland, hit Detroit particularly hard. Numerous factories, so modern when they were built in the early 20th century, looked obsolete by the 1950s and ’60s, and were mostly abandoned by the end of the 1980s. The new car-enabled culture of suburbia, aided and abetted by federal highway building and other measures, encouraged hundreds of thousands of residents to flee the city for Birmingham, Troy, and other outlying communities. The exodus was hastened by fraught race relations, which grew especially toxic after the 1967 civil disturbances. Without inhabitants, Detroit’s vast stock of small wood-frame worker housing moldered; arson, crack, metal stripping, blight, and other ills corroded entire neighborhoods, forcing the city to raze block after block of homes in the 1990s and 2000s—a trend accelerated by the 2007–2008 real estate crisis, which compounded a vicious cycle of property tax delinquency and foreclosure, decimating what remained of Detroit’s housing market. Today, the best estimates suggest that at least 24 square miles of Detroit’s 139-square-mile land area are empty, and another six to nine square miles have unoccupied buildings that need to come down. Add in municipal parks that the city no longer maintains and abandoned rights-of-way like old railroad lines, and 25 percent of Detroit—an area larger than Manhattan—is vacant.
By the 1990s, urban planning had become obsolescent as a focus and a guide. A series of mayors tended to latch onto whatever showcase projects came along—the much-maligned Renaissance Center in the 1970s, or casino gaming in the late 1990s. Detroit’s municipal planning department found a new role administering federal community development block grants, and, in recent years, the department had more accountants than planners. But in 2010, then-Mayor David Bing initiated a strategic attempt to address the problem of widespread vacancy and the burden it placed on municipal services and budgets. That effort culminated in 2013 with the publication of Detroit Future City, the 354-page comprehensive framework for how Detroit might strengthen and regrow its troubled neighborhoods and repurpose its empty lots and buildings over the coming decades. Advocating widespread “greening” strategies—including “productive landscapes” that would put vacant land to new use through reforestation, rainwater retention ponds, the installation of solar panels, and food production—Detroit Future City won praise as a visionary new way to think about older industrial cities and to include ordinary citizens in the conversation about their future. “In the annals of civic engagement and community planning, Detroit Future City is probably the most extensive community outreach and planning exercise that I’ve ever encountered,” said George W. McCarthy, president and CEO of the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.
Origins and Essence
By 2010, three years before Detroit would file the largest municipal bankruptcy in U.S. history, the population had dwindled to 700,000 from its peak of 1.85 million in 1950. Then-Mayor David Bing needed to realign city services to account for the diminished tax base and thinning of the urban streetscape. His initial suggestion to reporters that he would move the few remaining inhabitants out of some of Detroit’s most abandoned “ghost” neighborhoods drew blistering comparisons to the urban renewal projects of the past and even hoots of “ethnic cleansing”; the idea was quickly shelved. Also that year, the mayor and top aides staged a series of community meetings called Detroit Works to elicit a dialogue with citizens about the need to rethink how the city should operate in the future. But residents had other ideas. The meetings quickly devolved into chaotic complaint sessions where hundreds of residents demanded better street lights, police protection, and other city services fast.
McCarthy, who was then with the Ford Foundation and a supporter of Detroit’s revitalization efforts, said leaders should have known better. “When you bring normal citizens into the planning process, they enter the exercise as if it’s a public meeting and the way to be heard is to shout the loudest,” he said. “If you’re sincere about civic engagement, you have to take the time to train citizens to be planners. You have to devote a significant amount of time and attention to get people to understand that planning is about making difficult decisions in a constrained environment.”
With funding from the Kresge Foundation and other sources, the city regrouped and hired teams of consultants, including nationally respected planning staffers such as Project Director Toni L. Griffin, professor and director of the J. Max Bond Center on Design for the Just City at the Spitzer School of Architecture at the City College of New York. Under Griffin’s leadership, they began to map out the document that would become Detroit Future City.
The group took pains to avoid the word “plan” when they presented it to the public. Unlike a conventional master plan, which basically creates a map of what uses will go where before the private sector comes in to fill it out with development, Detroit Future City is a strategic framework for thinking about different neighborhood types and how each might evolve given existing trends.
“We did not want to leave the city with static illustrative pictures of what their city could look like,” Griffin says. “There were already lots of those around. We wanted to leave the city with a tool that would enable people to manage change, because as you know Detroit is still very much in flux in terms of its governance, fiscal structures, city services, population loss, and ever-changing composition of land vacancy.”
The framework had to enable decision makers to act as that change was occurring over various periods of time. “It offers different decision-making structures that allow someone to say, if this is your condition today, here are the kinds of options you might think about to move that condition from A to B,” Griffin says. To simplify: If a neighborhood is showing a significant and growing level of vacancy but still retaining some useable housing and commercial stock, the vacant land there could be converted to food production or to a solar panel field to power local businesses. But a neighborhood with little vacancy and with much higher levels of density might plan infill development for its few vacant lots. Rather than suggesting that the corner of Woodward Avenue and 7 Mile Road ought to get a shopping center, the framework offers a series of examples of what might take place given certain neighborhood typologies. The mantra became “every neighborhood has a future, just not the same future.”
Detroit Future City’s greening strategies were particularly important and drew the most attention because of the huge amount of vacant land where development is not a realistic option and probably won’t be for many years to come; perhaps one-third of the entire city cries out for some new purpose and use. The more vacant spots on the map could be rendered productive by the installation of fields of energy-producing solar panels, reforestation, farming, or “blue infrastructure,” such as rainwater retention ponds, bioswales, and canals that provide water for agriculture and that redirect rainwater and snowmelt away from Detroit’s already overburdened combined sewer system. Almost all these uses presumably would be private endeavors but would require city permitting and perhaps other assistance, including zoning changes or partnerships with various philanthropic or nonprofit groups. “You need to have a greening strategy, so you can use this land in ways that, at a minimum, don’t drag down existing populated areas and, at a maximum, enhance the quality of life, economic productivity, and environmental quality for the people of Detroit,” says Alan Mallach, a Detroit Future City consultant, nonresident fellow of the Brookings Institution, and author of Regenerating America’s Legacy Cities, published by the Lincoln Institute.
But the plan also envisions significantly greater population densities in those areas of Detroit already undergoing a rebirth, such as the Greater Downtown area, where young professionals have sparked a recent residential boom and where companies led by Quicken Loans, which moved downtown in 2010, have filled up previously vacant office towers. It suggests that Detroit’s existing hospital and manufacturing corridors could and should see concentrated new investment to beef up job training opportunities and new residential and retail development in those nodes. Key employment districts could be linked by new public transit options, such as the M-1 Rail streetcar line now under construction along Woodward Avenue, the city’s main street, thanks to public-private financing. Construction began in mid-2014 on the $140-million, 3.3-mile line, which will connect downtown from Jefferson Avenue to the city’s New Center area, another hub of activity, running through the rapidly revitalizing Midtown district. The line is expected to be finished in late 2016. If voters approve a new property tax millage expected to be on the ballot in 2016, M-1 could be followed by a regionwide bus rapid transit system to be built out over the next several years.
Mallach describes Detroit Future City “as a reality check against what’s actually happening, against how you’re spending your money, where you’re making your investments, what you’re prioritizing, and so forth.”
“Detroit Future City offers a menu,” he adds. “It doesn’t say this site should become an urban farm; it lays out the options.”
Civic Engagement
Deciding what would happen where would be left to the political process—with neighbors, city leaders, and other stakeholders all taking part. Thus, public input would be critical to success.
In 2012, the Detroit Future City team hired Dan Pitera, a professor at the University of Detroit Mercy (UDM) School of Architecture, to design a new and better civic engagement strategy to harness and direct residents’ desire for change. Efforts ranged from informal chat sessions at a “roaming table,” designed by UDM architecture students and set up at various locations in town, to a series of meetings at community centers, where 100,000 residents engaged in discussions that informed the urban rehabilitation.
During this planning stage in 2012 and early 2013, a new walk-in office in the Eastern Market district allowed residents to meet staffers, see plans, take surveys, and the like. Those working at the office included staffers from UDM’s Detroit Collaborative Design Center, directed by Pitera, and the nonprofit Community Legal Resources. Pitera’s group also created a mobile phone app to encourage community involvement. And the team created 25 color posters keyed to city issues, such as vacant land or community gardens, for distribution by the thousands throughout the city.
During one Saturday morning meeting in 2012 at the Detroit Rescue Mission, some 50 residents got a peek at what various neighborhoods might become depending on current conditions and residents’ desires. Some of the attendees gave positive reviews. “The conversation is just what we need to get back to the real issues,” said Phillis Judkins, 65, of the North End district. And Larry Roberts, 70, who lives in Detroit’s Indian Village neighborhood, said the 2012 public meetings were more productive than the somewhat chaotic mass meetings Detroit Works held in the fall of 2010. “Today it looks like there are people with ideas that can move forward,” he said.
Some skepticism remained, of course, about how many of the good ideas would become policy in the cash-strapped city, and how many might ever be carried out. “If the city government buys into this plan and communicates to us what they’re going to do, I think it will work out all right,” Roberts said.
Under current Mayor Mike Duggan, who took office in 2014, a roster of neighborhood offices have opened to deal more closely with citizens and their concerns than previous administrations had done. The level of community involvement to date has been evidence that Detroiters have not given up on their neighborhoods, even in the hardest hit areas.
Rubber Hits the Road
Happily, concerns that Detroit Future City would sit on the shelf gathering dust like so many previous documents in Detroit seem unfounded. With Kresge’s financial backing and leadership, the Detroit Future City (DFC) Implementation Office was established as a nonprofit charged with realizing the plan’s visions and suggestions. Dan Kinkead, an architect who helped to write Detroit Future City, was appointed director of projects. The group now has a fixed location in Detroit’s New Center district and a staff of about 12, including staffers available through various fellowship programs underway in the city. Kenneth Cockrel, a former president of the Detroit City Council who briefly served as interim mayor after then-Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick resigned in disgrace in 2008, was hired at the end of 2013 to be director of the implementation office.
In early 2015, the implementation office had multiple pilot projects underway in partnership with other organizations. These include:
Solar Fields. Working with Focus: HOPE, a nonprofit job training facility in the city, and a small start-up, the DFC team is planning to cover some 15 acres of vacant land with solar panels. Kinkead estimates that the field could produce five megawatts of energy—enough to power several hundred houses. Planners hope to start the project this year or next, but it was unclear how many people it might employ.
Rainwater Retention Ponds. On Detroit’s east side, the DFC staff is considering the creation of a series of rainwater retention ponds in a residential neighborhood to keep rainwater out of the sewer system. The neighborhood, known as Jefferson Village, had been targeted for new single-family housing some 15 years ago, but that project stalled for lack of funding, leaving dozens of vacant lots and little demand for them. So with funding from the local Erb Foundation, and consulting with the Detroit Water & Sewerage Department, the DFC team is targeting several dozen vacant lots for the treatment. They envision that nearby homeowners could see a rate reduction on their water bills, because the department will no longer have to build and maintain as much big-pipe infrastructure to clean up rainwater that mixes in with wastewater. If the effort proved successful, they would expand it citywide.
Roadside carbon buffers. With the nonprofit Greening of Detroit tree-planting organization, one of DFC’s recommendations—to plant trees as carbon buffers alongside major roads and highways—saw one of the city’s largest-ever tree-planting blitzes in late 2014 on Detroit’s west side near the Southfield Freeway, a major north-south connector. Volunteers planted some 300 trees in one day along a few blocks. When mature, they will absorb at least some of the carbon emissions from the freeway.
Trish Hubbell, a spokesperson for the Greening of Detroit, said that partnering with the DFC implementation team on such efforts raises the visibility of each project, which in turn helps with fundraising. And the DFC team brings a wealth of knowledge on land use issues to any effort.
“Their biggest value is that they have the framework, and so they help steer where things go,” Hubbell said. “The framework adds value to all the opportunities out there.”
The Urban Farming Controversy
One controversial land use the office has championed stems from a trend Detroit is already well-known for—urban agriculture. Over the past 15 years, Detroit has seen well over 1,000 small community gardens started, including such nationally recognized projects as Earthworks and D-Town Farm, each of which covers a few acres. But currently volunteers perform almost all the farming activity, and the food is consumed by neighbors, donated to food banks, or in a few cases sold at local farmers markets. Detroit has undertaken a lively debate in recent years over the possibility of expanding into large-scale for-profit agriculture. Projects like Hantz Farms and RecoveryPark have mapped ambitious plans to convert hundreds of acres to food production. But each effort remains relatively small scale at the moment, as the debate on the wisdom of large-scale farming continues.
Nevertheless, the DFC team seems committed to much greater food production inside the city, both on vacant land and in abandoned factories where hydroponic farming could take place. The DFC team, for example, is working with the RecoveryPark effort to plan a rainwater retention system to help water crops.
At the very least, farming inside the city could help some local food entrepreneurs grow their businesses, create some jobs, and strengthen the tax base, if only on a modest scale. Food production also helps knit communities together around a purposeful activity, raises nutrition awareness, and puts blighted vacant lots and factories to a productive new use. “Detroit has the opportunity to be the first globally food-secure city,” Kinkead said.
But city officials have yet to sign off on large-scale for-profit farming, fearing that nuisance problems including dust, noise, and odors, will get out of hand. Others question whether the tough economics of farming—back-breaking labor performed mostly by minimum-wage migrants—would ever produce the sort of revenue and jobs to justify the effort. McCarthy remains one of the skeptics. “I thought it was a bad idea to try to grow food,” he says. “The economics just aren’t there; the costs are prohibitive, given the fact that you don’t have to drive that far to get out into perfectly good farmland outside Detroit at one tenth the cost.” So the debate continues, with the DFC implementation team working toward greater use of Detroit’s vacant land for food production.
Consensus Building
Rather than ignoring Detroit Future City as the product of a previous administration, Mayor Duggan has publicly embraced it as his guide. His top aide for jobs and the economy refers to his well-worn copy of Detroit Future City as his “Bible” for reshaping the city.
Jean Redfield, CEO of NextEnergy, a Detroit nonprofit working toward a sustainable energy future for the city, keeps a copy of Detroit Future City on her desk. “I use it a lot to go back to specific language they use to talk about specific options,” she said. “I use some of the maps and statistics pretty regularly.” And NextEnergy teams up with the DFC implementation team in planning a variety of green-and-blue infrastructure projects. “Our paths cross pretty often,” she said. “Whenever there’s a Department of Energy or City of Detroit question or challenge around land use, energy infrastructure, street lighting, or solar projects, we’re often working side by side with the folks there.”
As mentioned, the implementation team acts more as a lead advisor to other agencies, such as Greening of Detroit or the city’s Water & Sewerage Department, than as a primary actor. DFC Implementation Director Kenneth Cockrel calls the team a “nongovernmental planning agency.” He explains, “We inform decision making, but we are not decisions makers. Ultimately, what’s in the framework is going to be implemented by the mayor and by city council if they so choose to buy into it. They’re the ones who are going to drive implementation.”
Continuing, Cockrel likens the implementation of Detroit Future City “to what happens when a book gets made into a movie. You don’t film the book word for word and page for page. Some stuff gets left out, other stuff winds up on screen. I think that’s ultimately probably going to be the approach that the Duggan administration will take.”
Like any new organization, the DFC team continues to refine its role and search for where it can contribute most. Kinkead agrees their role may best be captured in a paraphrase of the old BASF corporate slogan: the DFC team doesn’t do a lot of the innovative projects in Detroit; it just makes a lot of those projects better.
“We exist in a squishy world,” Kinkead says. “It’s a different kind of ballgame, but our ability to help others is how we do what we do.”
In early 2015, it seemed clear that many of the innovative ideas at the heart of Detroit Future City—greening strategies, energy production, trees as carbon buffers, new development targeted toward already dense districts—ideas that seemed far-fetched even in 2010, when then-Mayor Bing launched his Detroit Works effort, now approach mainstream status.
“Now, it’s not just the environmentalists or the climate change folk talking about carbon forests; it’s residents and the executive directors of community development corporations,” Griffin says. “Business leaders and philanthropists are talking about the importance of this. A broader spectrum of constituents talking about issues that aren’t necessarily central to their wheelhouse is a very important outcome of the work.”
Perhaps just as important is the widespread realization that Detroit needs to deliver municipal services in a different way, given the realities of the city’s financial woes and population loss. The city successfully emerged from bankruptcy in late 2014, but at best that gave Detroit some breathing room to begin to grow again. If and when growth resumes, the city has to guide it more smartly than in past periods of expansion, when development sprawled across the landscape in haphazard fashion.
The Road Ahead
One reason why the city and its people were ready for a document like Detroit Future City was the deep understanding that deindustrialization and suburban sprawl had led to Detroit’s problems. “Residents began to understand that they were effectively subsidizing the sprawl and disinvestment. They began to think about ways to change these systems to be more efficient,” Griffin says.
As this article was being prepared for publication, Detroit took another big step toward revitalizing its long-dormant planning activities. Mayor Duggan announced that he had recruited Maurice Cox—the highly regarded director of the Tulane City Center, a community-based design resource center for New Orleans, and associate dean for Community Engagement at the Tulane University School of Architecture—to serve as Detroit’s new director of planning. In New Orleans, Cox facilitates a wide range of partnerships among Tulane University, the New Orleans Redevelopment Authority, and the City of New Orleans. In Detroit, among other activities, he will help turn some of Detroit Future City’s general framework into specific planning recommendations.
If innovative planning is back in style, as it appears to be, it’s more decentralized, less focused on big projects, and more attuned to how conditions on the ground might demand different solutions in each neighborhood. And the number of voices heard in planning discussions is greater than ever before. Perhaps Detroit Future City’s final and most important contribution is that it has empowered neighborhoods and citizens as equal partners with high-level professional planners in deciding the future direction of the city.
Indeed, Detroit Future City launched a new age of planning, and it will look little or nothing like that of Blessing’s era. “Planning has certainly returned, but it’s fundamentally different from how it was 50 years ago,” says Kinkead. “In the 1950s and ’60s, the city’s broader planning objectives were often manifest from a single municipal government elite.”
“To move the city forward it takes everybody,” Kinkead says. “It’s not just Detroit Future City. It’s not just the government. It’s not just the business sector. It’s everybody working together.”
John Gallagher covers urban development issues for the Detroit Free Press. His books Reimagining Detroit: Opportunities for Redefining an American City and Revolution Detroit: Strategies for Urban Reinvention are available from Wayne State University Press.
References
Detroit Future City. 2012. Detroit Future City: 2012 Detroit Strategic Framework Plan. Detroit, MI: Inland Press.
Mallach, Alan and Lavea Brachman. 2013. Regenerating America’s Legacy Cities. Cambridge, MA: Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.
Skidmore, Mark. 2014. “Will a Greenbelt Help to Shrink Detroit’s Wasteland?” Land Lines 26 (4): 8–17.
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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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Spatial segregation is a feature of metropolises from San Diego to Boston, from Santiago to Cape Town, from Belfast to Bangalore. In some places the segregation is associated primarily with racial groups, in other places, ethnicity or religion, while in still other places, income status. In our experiences with the Americas, we find that international comparative research allows researchers and policy analysts to see both unique and shared characteristics in sharp relief. For example, in Latin America, the public debate around urban spatial segregation typically focuses on socioeconomic issues, whereas in the U.S. and many developed countries the debate centers more on racial or ethnic disparities.
Residential segregation also has different meanings and consequences depending on the specific form and structure of the metropolis, as well as the cultural and historical context. In North America, social and ethnic minorities tend to be segregated in less desirable inner-city locales while the upper- and middle-class majority disperses into small, socially homogeneous urban neighborhoods or suburbs across the metropolis. By contrast, in Latin American cities it is the elite minority that tends to concentrate in one area of the city.
The Forces
The forces that contribute to spatial segregation are many and varied. The apartheid laws of South Africa were one extreme case of large-scale, government-sanctioned spatial segregation. Other cases have garnered less international attention, such as the Brazilian government’s destruction of favelas in the 1960s, when the poor inhabitants were removed to other segregated locations. On a smaller scale, in Santiago, Chile, between 1979 and 1985 during the Pinochet regime, more than 2,000 low-income families were evicted from high- and middle-income residential areas with the stated objective of creating neighborhoods that were uniform by socioeconomic group.
While government evictions and legal frameworks are explicit mechanisms for creating urban spatial segregation, more subtle mechanisms also have been used to create or enforce spatial segregation. In Colombia, the contribución de valorización (a kind of betterment charge) was imposed on inhabitants of an informal settlement in Bogotá located on the edge of a new circumferential highway. Officials knew the charge was higher than most inhabitants could afford to pay and would likely lead them to “choose” relocation. By setting land use standards that the poor could not meet, the government virtually forced them toward the informal, peripheral areas. The U.S. is no stranger to such mechanisms to create segregated housing markets. For example, some real estate agents shun racial and ethnic minorities or persons from lower social classes who do not fit their target markets, and many small landlords rely on informal networks to find the kinds of tenants they prefer.
Voluntary segregation has become a new force, with the proliferation of gated communities in both northern and southern hemispheres. This trend seems to have several motivations, including both supply and demand factors. On the demand side, residents might be attracted to the perception of security or a new lifestyle. On the supply side, builders and developers find tremendous profitability with the large-scale internalization of externalities in these highly controlled developments.
The complexity that stems from the combination of coercive and voluntary segregation leads us to a deeper question: What is the relationship between social differences and spatial segregation? It is commonly assumed that the former are “reflected” in the latter. Social groups sometimes resort to segregation in order to fortify their weak or blurred identity, as in the case of emerging middle-income groups or immigrant communities in search of social recognition. To a great extent, the post-war suburbanization process in U.S. cities can be interpreted as a means of homogeneous sorting to strengthen social identity.
The Consequences
In the U.S., spatial segregation is a serious policy issue because of the complex interactions between land and housing markets on the one hand, and their connection to local revenues and the distribution and quality of local services on the other hand. Disparities in school quality may be one of the more dramatic examples of the variations in public services between places.
The combination of residential segregation by class and by racial or ethnic groups and the systematically uneven spatial distribution of quality schools results in poor inner-city enclaves where children attend substandard schools, which in turn limits their life chances. Other services, such as access to transportation and health care, also vary spatially, as do such measurable factors as air quality and neighborhood infrastructure.
In other countries, spatial segregation of the poor often occurs within informal settlements. These areas once were viewed as aberrations, but scholars increasingly understand informality as a result of the normal functioning of land and housing markets, not as part of a duality of formal versus informal economies. In this view, illegal, irregular, informal, or clandestine activities to access and occupy urban land are the way that the market provides housing for poor people. Nevertheless, these arrangements are not always “chosen” for their low price or relative conveniences, but rather because they are one of an extremely limited set of choices available to the poor.
Traditional segregation patterns in Latin American cities are changing due to the proliferation of new gated communities for expanding high- and middle-income groups and the emergence of shopping centers and office complexes in more “modern” areas beyond the former urban enclaves. In São Paulo, Santiago, Buenos Aires and Mexico City, to name a few of the biggest and most dynamic cities, these developments are appearing even next to lower-income areas. Segregation of uses and access is becoming more intense, making the growing social inequalities of the last decades more apparent. Yet, at the same time, these changes in the patterns of segregation are reducing physical distances among socioeconomic groups, and are bringing “modern” commercial facilities and improved public spaces closer to the poor.
The consequences of segregation are probably changing due to this reduction in its geographical scale. Some of the negative effects of large-scale segregation of the poor (i.e., their agglomeration in the periphery of the cities) could be fading in this new, more diverse urban landscape. Recent empirical studies carried out in Santiago support this contention.
Policy Responses
Spatial segregation is both a reflection of the existing social structure and a mechanism to enforce that structure, thus raising the question of how and when segregation should be addressed. Is the problem in the U.S. context that poor minority children live among others of the same income and racial group, or is it that by living in poor, segregated areas the children’s life opportunities are limited because of their inaccessibility to good schools? Is the answer to improve the schools, to integrate the neighborhood, or to initiate a combination of these and other responses? In the context of developing countries, is the problem of informal settlements that they are often dangerous (due to risky environmental conditions or street violence) or that the residents are isolated from good jobs, transit and other services? Is the answer to reduce or eliminate the danger, to improve transit, to bring jobs to the neighborhood, or to try all of these programs?
We need to improve our understanding of the social problems in these segregated areas in order to adequately design and implement appropriate policy responses that are necessarily multidimensional. Should change come in the form of corrective programs (e.g., regularization or upgrading of informal settlements) or more fundamental policies that would involve the massive provision of serviced land at affordable prices? One “corrective” option contrasts the informalization of formal arrangements (e.g., deregulation) with the formalization of the informal (e.g., the redefinition of zoning codes or the regularization of alternative tenure systems).
A more fundamental solution would be either piecemeal implementation or mandatory designation of social housing developments in high-income areas. A different sort of tool is to open up decision making around the allocation of public investment, as in the successful orçamento participativo process used in the municipality of Porto Alegre, Brazil, where the budget is determined with extensive public participation. Other responses could address the radical upgrading of existing low-income peripheral settlements, more extensive use of linkage fees, or the elimination of land markets altogether, as was done in Cuba. However, we need more information regarding the efficacy of these varied programs and tools, and careful analysis of the necessary conditions to increase the chances of success.
Globalization has fostered the movement of labor and capital, bringing both the positive and negative experiences of developed and developing countries closer together. Immigrants to the U.S., particularly undocumented ones, tend to settle in urban enclaves, but their lack of legal status reverberates beyond those settlements. Access to jobs and credit is limited, which in turn restricts the immigrants’ mobility and reinforces existing spatial segregation.
On the other hand, as U.S. financial and real estate corporations extend their operations overseas, they introduce U.S. protocols, conventions, expectations and ways of operating. The exportation of such U.S. norms to developing countries may lead to new patterns of geographic discrimination (e.g., redlining) by race and/or ethnic group, where such practices previously were less explicit.
We know from past research and experience that segregation can increase land revenues for developers and landowners. We also know that the profitability of housing development is dependent upon public investments in roads, facilities and services. At the same time, we acknowledge that segregation has both negative and positive impacts on city life, ranging from social exclusion that makes life harder for the poor to strengthened social and cultural identities that contribute to the city’s diversity and vitality.
The face of segregation varies both within and between metropolises. However, comparative international work has demonstrated that there are important trends of convergence between U.S. and Latin American cities. We have much more to understand regarding the effect of interacting land and housing markets and the regulatory structure on spatial segregation and the life chances of urban residents.
Rosalind Greenstein is senior fellow and director of the Lincoln Institute’s Program on Land Markets. Francisco Sabatini is assistant professor in the Institute of Urban Studies at the Catholic University of Chile in Santiago. Martim Smolka is senior fellow and director of the Lincoln Institute’s Program in Latin America and the Caribbean.
