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The government of China has been concerned about its ability to continue feeding its growing population since the mid-1990s. It has targeted conversion of farmland to industrial and residential uses, especially in the most productive agricultural regions, as the chief threat to the nation’s continued capacity to produce adequate levels of staple cereal crops. China is land poor. Only about one-third of its total land area, which is roughly equal to that of the United States, can be utilized productively for agriculture. Several measures have been introduced with the aim of protecting farmland, especially farmland with the greatest production potential. For example, current regulations require each province to keep 80 percent of its land currently designated as primary farmland under cultivation. Other policies require each province to take measures to ensure self-sufficiency in grain production and to draw up farmland protection plans.
Cultivated Land versus Farmland
Most attention has been focused on “cultivated” land, that is, land used to grow major food grains, feed grains, soybeans, and tubers. Not included is land used for horticultural crops and aquaculture, which would be categorized as farmland in most countries. Roughly 20 to 25 percent of the observed reduction in cultivated land in China in recent years was due to its conversion to orchards and fish ponds (Smil 1999; Ministry of Land and Resources 2003).
Reallocation of cultivated land from cereals and tubers to fruits, vegetables, and fish is a natural accommodation to changing consumer demand and increased income rather than a sign of an inability to maintain staple food production. Urban Chinese households consume much less grain than rural households (Gale 2002). Thus, changes in diets caused by rural-to-urban migration have resulted in less consumption of grains in China between 1995 and 2002, even though total population increased by about one-eighth during that period.
Farmland and Food Security
Even after correcting for reallocations of cultivated land to other food products, China has lost a significant amount of cropland, although the exact amount is difficult to determine because of the poor quality of historical statistics. Estimates of gross cropland losses between 1987 and 1995 have ranged from 3 to 5 million hectares out of a total estimate of 125 to 145 million hectares. Some of that loss consisted of land that was marginal in terms of agricultural productivity, but was highly vulnerable to erosion, desertification, and other forms of land degradation; much of this land was subsequently allowed to revert to more sustainable uses, such as pasture, grassland, and forest. Because the productivity of this land was quite low, its removal from cultivation represents little reduction in agricultural production capacity.
Most observers believe that China can remain largely self-sufficient in food production because of its ability to increase the agricultural productivity of land. For example, China’s agricultural research system has been quite successful in developing and promulgating new crop varieties and cultivation methods that have increased potential grain yields an average of 1.5 to 2.5 percent annually (Jin et al. 2002). A study conducted under the auspices of the International Food Policy Research Institute indicates that China’s ability to remain self-sufficient in food production depends more on investment in irrigation, flood control, and agricultural research infrastructure than on farmland preservation (Huang, Rozelle, and Rosegrant 1999).
Water is likely to be more of a bottleneck than land. Many farming regions face shortages of water for irrigation, so farmers who rely on groundwater have been pumping at unsustainably high rates, causing water tables to fall rapidly. Even regions with abundant water resources have shortages because of poor maintenance and operation of irrigation systems. Improved flood control is also sorely needed to prevent natural disasters that affect cropland losses.
Impacts of Urbanization
Even if the loss of cultivated land does not threaten China’s food security, there are substantial inefficiencies in land allocation generally, and in the conversion of farmland to urbanizing areas in particular. The most worrisome aspect is that farmland conversion has been concentrated in the most productive farming areas of the country, notably the coastal and central provinces that have both fertile soils and climates that allow multiple crops and harvests. Net losses of cropland in these provinces alone between 1985 and 1995 were on the order of 2 to 4 million hectares. Urbanization, industrialization, infrastructure, and other nonagricultural uses have been the primary cause of farmland loss in these rapidly industrializing provinces.
The two sites selected for a recent Lincoln Institute/Ministry of Land and Resources farmland protection study illustrate the scope of this problem. Most of the land around Pinghu City, located halfway between Hangzhou and Shanghai in Zhejiang Province, is prime agricultural land that can be harvested two or three times a year. Cultivated land and orchards account for about two-thirds of the total land area, and little land is left unused. Land taken for construction increased eightfold between 1998 and 2001. The local government has used consolidation of plots to meet its “no net loss” requirements, but the scope for further gains from consolidation is quite limited. Recorded conversion of farmland to urban uses during this period of rapid growth amounted to almost 2 percent of Pinghu City’s 1998 farmland.
Jingzhou City, located in the Yangtze River basin west of Wuhan in Hubei Province, shows the limited impact of urbanization outside of the rapidly growing coastal provinces. Cultivated land and orchards together account for about half of the total land area. Between 1997 and 2003, cultivated land in Jingzhou also decreased by almost 2 percent, but only a tenth of that loss was due to transportation infrastructure and other urban uses. Over half of the loss was due to an increase in areas covered by water caused by flooding and new aquaculture facilities. The remainder was largely due to abandonment of marginal land brought under cultivation prior to 1978, which was either allowed to revert to forest or was simply left unused.
Institutional Impediments
The greatest impediments to China’s ability to maintain adequate levels of food production are not physical but institutional. Inefficient uses of existing farmland arise from policies that affect income generation from farming, including the lack of tenure security, water shortages and poor irrigation management institutions, and the lack of adequate marketing infrastructure.
Tenure Security: Economists have long argued that secure tenure is essential for efficient land use, including appropriate levels of investment in maintaining and enhancing land productivity as well as allocating land to the most efficient uses and/or users. Rural and suburban land in China belongs to village collectives and is administered by the village committee or economic organization, subject to oversight by township, provincial, and in some cases state entities. Rural collectives have the authority to allocate land to alternative uses.
Farmland is leased to households under contractual arrangements in which the household pays a fee to the collective in return for a residual claim on the products of the land. The contract may contain other stipulations as well (for example, requirements that the land be farmed and maintained in good condition). The size of each household’s allocation is based on the size and composition of the household, and may be altered as those factors change. Tenure insecurity has been documented as a deterrent to investing in agricultural improvements (Jacoby, Li, and Rozelle 2002; Deininger and Jin 2003).
Concerns over adverse effects of insecure tenure on long-term investment in land productivity have led the Chinese government to experiment with lengthening the duration of farmland contracts. In 1984 collectives were urged by the state to contract with member households for a period of 15 years, and in 1993 the state urged an extension of standard contracts to 30 years. Revisions to the Land Management Law in 1998 explicitly required that all farmland contracts be written and be effective for a term of 30 years with few or no adjustments allowed.
Farmers also have acquired some ability to alter land allocations by exchanges or subcontracting Exchanges of land among villagers to consolidate holdings were declared legal in 1986, and subcontracting of land to outsiders, subject to approval of two-thirds of the village membership, was declared legal in 1998. Fully implementing these enhanced tenure security and transferability measures remains difficult, however, because they run contrary to longstanding practices and principles of administration in China. For example, they limit the power of the village leadership, and may also result in less equitable land allocations by ruling out reallocations to accommodate demographic or other changes in circumstances.
Ensuring that farmland reforms take hold and preventing abandonment of productive farmland are likely to be increasingly important for maintaining agricultural productivity, especially in areas experiencing rapid urban growth. Urban employment opportunities for working-age men are widely available in fast-growing coastal areas, leaving the farm labor force to be composed primarily of women and the elderly. As many as 80 percent of the young men in the environs of Pinghu City (and 20 percent in Jingzhou) worked in industrial jobs in nearby cities. Lack of urban residency rights keeps farm-based families tied to the land, but since their main source of income is now nonagricultural, they have little incentive to invest in maintaining and enhancing land productivity. Moreover, limitations on labor time and capacity may induce them to leave some land uncultivated.
Such flows of labor out of farming can be accommodated by consolidating plots into larger operational units to exploit economies of scale, thereby lowering land productivity investment costs and increasing farming income sufficiently to make such investments worthwhile. But secure, transferable use rights are essential to accomplish these goals. In areas like Pinghu, for example, wages in urban employment are so much higher than income from farming that farmers have little incentive to invest in the maintenance and enhancement of land productivity by applying organic fertilizer or keeping irrigation and drainage systems in good repair.
Secure tenure rights can also serve as a check on the arbitrary exercise of authority by village leaders who have been known to expropriate land from farmers in order to lease it to rural enterprises or sell it to local governments, often without paying compensation and in many cases pocketing the returns themselves. Illegal land development of this kind has become a national scandal in China, and millions of farmers are known to have lost land as a result. According to the Ministry of Land and Resources (2003), farmers were owed at least $1.2 billion in compensation and relocation fees.
Water Management: The second type of institutional impediment to agriculture relates to water shortages, notably (1) lack of clearly delineated and enforced use-rights for water; (2) inadequate financing of water delivery infrastructure; and (3) failure to price water at its opportunity cost. The lack of clear use-right assignments results in upstream users taking too large a share of the water available, leaving inadequate supplies for downstream users—a phenomenon that applies at both the provincial level, where upstream provinces divert excessive quantities of stream flow, and the farm level, where farmers with land at the heads of delivery canals take excessive amounts, leaving little or nothing for those at the tails of those canals.
Funding for construction, maintenance, and operation of irrigation systems has been inadequate because these activities have no dedicated funding source, and maintenance varies with the overall status of government finances. According to local officials in Pinghu and Jingzhou, for instance, maintenance of irrigation and drainage systems virtually ceased around 1980. Recent attempts to remedy the neglect by investing in repair and upgrades of irrigation systems are hampered by lack of funds. In Jingzhou, for instance, officials estimate that at current funding levels it will take 50 years to repair all irrigation systems currently in need. Many systems that have been repaired recently are likely to require further maintenance before systems currently in need of repair have been upgraded.
Additional inefficiencies in water use arise in China because water prices are set below opportunity costs, leading to overuse. Many farmers are charged for water according to the amount of land farmed rather than the amount of water used. Charges may be set to raise revenue for the township or provincial treasury rather than to induce economically efficient water use. Experiments with water pricing indicate that farmers’ use of water conservation methods is quite price-responsive, so that water price reform has a significant potential to alleviate water shortages.
Marketing Institutions: Inadequate marketing infrastructure and institutions are the third major impediment to realizing potential gains from regional specialization as well as a deterrent to investment in agriculture in many localities. China has a long tradition of promoting self-sufficiency at the local and provincial levels, yet this self-reliance can become an impediment to economic growth by limiting the scope for gains from specialization. China has been moving away from this traditional stance. Grain trading, for example, has been partially liberalized and grain traders are creating more integrated national markets.
Greater market liberalization could contribute to farmland preservation and the maintenance of food production capacity generally. More closely integrated national markets should increase average prices and decrease price volatility, making farming more attractive relative to other forms of employment. Greater market integration should be especially beneficial in poorer inland areas where incentives to migrate toward fast-growing coastal cities have been especially strong.
This market liberalization will require significant investment in infrastructure, however. China’s transportation network has not expanded fast enough to keep pace with the growth of trade volume, and the country lacks sufficient warehouse and cold storage facilities. China has sufficient cold storage capacity to accommodate only 20 to 30 percent of demand, resulting in spoilage losses of perishable freight on the order of one-third (Gale 2002). Increases in such capacity could increase food availability substantially by reducing both spoilage losses and price volatility, giving farmers an incentive to increase their production of vegetables and other perishable products. Expanded provision of electricity could further increase the effective food supply by allowing consumers to reduce spoilage losses by refrigerating produce.
Urban Policies on Farmland Conversion
The current urban policy structure encourages municipal and regional governments to convert farmland, even in areas where the central government has made farmland preservation a top priority. Policies influencing government finance, residential construction, and urban land transactions combine to create a high demand for land. Policies governing payment for land also make farmland conversion the most attractive means of meeting that demand.
Urban land is allocated by a combination of administrative and market mechanisms that create substantial arbitrage opportunities for private enterprises and government entities. Private enterprises can lease land from municipal governments in return for payment of a conveyance fee. Local governments can acquire land by paying a compensation package set according to administrative formulas based on agricultural income, which is typically far lower than the conveyance fee. Revenue from land transactions is a major source of funding for local governments; according to some estimates, it can account for between a quarter and a half of all municipal revenue. As a result, local governments have strong incentives to expand into rural areas in order to finance their ongoing obligations in the areas of infrastructure and housing.
Current regulations also make it more attractive for local governments to provide housing for growing populations by expanding into rural areas rather than increasing density within existing urban boundaries. Redevelopment of existing municipal land requires governments to pay compensation to current tenants and to cover resettlement expenses. Compensation paid to current residents is much higher than that paid to rural inhabitants. In Beijing, for example, land costs (primarily compensation) make up as much as 60 percent of the redevelopment cost of existing urban areas compared to 30 to 40 percent of the cost of developing converted rural land. Tenants may also resist displacement tenaciously, which at the very least creates significant delays. In addition, it is more expensive to provide infrastructure to areas already densely developed.
Industrial development is widely seen as the key to economic growth and a rising standard of living for municipalities. Low land costs have encouraged local governments to acquire and set aside land for industrial development speculatively, in the hope of attracting industrial investment. Much of that land has remained idle as hoped-for investment failed to materialize. By 1996, there were roughly 116,000 hectares of idle, undeveloped land in economic development zones, over half of which was converted farmland that could no longer be converted back.
Low administratively set compensation levels for rural land also create incentives for illegal land transactions that allow rural collectives, rather than urban governments, to profit from conversion, thereby undermining the state’s control over land use. These low compensation levels also create incentives for other types of illegal land transactions, notably forcible takeovers by local officials of land whose owners are unwilling to sell.
Conclusion
The central government’s attempts to limit farmland conversion by administrative measures are likely to continue to be ineffectual as long as local governments and rural collectives continue to have such strong incentives to convert farmland. Institutional reform is thus critical for improving farmland preservation efforts and increasing land use efficiency in general. Reform efforts are also hampered by fragmentation of authority. The Ministry of Land and Resources has jurisdiction over land but not residential construction, industrial development, or local government finance; the latter are overseen by various ministries, each of which has its own distinct set of interests and concerns. Reform requires a cooperative effort that takes these diverse interests into account.
Erik Lichtenberg is a professor in the Department of Agricultural and Resource Economics at the University of Maryland, College Park.
Chengri Ding is an associate professor of Urban Studies and Planning at the University of Maryland, College Park, and is director of the Chinese Land Policy and Urban Management Program cosponsored by the University of Maryland and Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.
This article summarizes their 2004 Lincoln Institute working paper, Farmland Preservation in China: Status and Issues for Further Research, which is available here.
References
Deininger, K., and S. Jin. 2003. The impact of property rights on households’ investment, risk coping, and policy preferences: Evidence from China. Economic Development and Cultural Change, 851–882.
Gale, F., ed. 2002. China’s food and agriculture: Issues for the 21st century. Agriculture Information Bulletin No. 775, Economic Research Service, US Department of Agriculture, Washington, DC (April).
Ho, S.P.S., and G.C.S. Lin. 2004. Converting land to nonagricultural use in China’s coastal province. Modern China 30: 81–112.
Huang, J., S. Rozelle, and M.W. Rosegrant. 1999. China’s food economy to the twenty-first century: Supply, demand, and trade. Economic Development and Cultural Change, 737–766.
Jacoby, H. G., G. Li, and S. Rozelle. 2002. Hazards of expropriation: Tenure insecurity and investment in rural China. American Economic Review 92: 1420–1447.
Jin, S., J. Huang, R. Hu, and S. Rozelle. 2002. The creation and spread of technology and total factor productivity in China’s agriculture. American Journal of Agricultural Economics 84: 916–930.
Ministry of Land and Resources. 2003. Communique on Land and Resources of China, 2002. Beijing.
Smil, V. 1999. China’s agricultural land. The China Quarterly, 414–429.
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The fast pace of farmland conversion in the People’s Republic of China is causing alarm among top leaders concerned with food security and China’s ability to remain self-reliant in crop production. This loss of farmland is a direct result of China’s remarkable success in economic development over the past two decades, which has resulted in rapid urbanization and the conversion of enormous amounts of farmland into residential, industrial, commercial, infrastructure and institutional uses. Nearly a decade ago, Lester Brown asked, “Who Will Feed China?” in a book that drew attention to the importance of farmland preservation.
At first glance, visitors to China may not realize there is any problem with food supply or farmland protection because food seems to be abundant. Moreover, concern over China’s acute housing shortage has prompted many economists to prefer a policy that makes more farmland available for housing. Their arguments may be sound in theory. When one looks deeply at China’s land resources and projected growth, however, it becomes easier to understand the rationale for the country’s rigorous efforts to preserve its declining supply of farmland and recognize the farm-related issues and policy challenges that can be expected in the foreseeable future.
Tensions between Land and People
A map of China gives the false impression that land is abundant. Even though the total land mass of China is similar to that of the United States (9.6 and 9.4 million square kilometers, respectively), land suitable for human habitation in China is limited. About one-fifth of China’s territory is covered by deserts, glaciers and snow. Areas that average more than 2,000 meters above sea level and mountainous regions each account for one-third of China’s land, indicating a high level of land fragmentation. Thus, less than one-third of China’s land area is composed of the plains and basins where more than 60 percent of the population of 1.3 billion lives. There are fewer farms in China per capita than in almost any other country. China’s rate of per capita farmland occupation is 0.26–0.30 acre (depending on which official data are used), less than 43 percent of the world average. It is a staggering accomplishment that China is able to feed 20 percent of the world’s population with only 7 percent of the world’s farmland.
The relationship between the Chinese people and their land is further complicated by the uneven distribution of the population. The eastern part of China represents 48 percent of the nation’s territory, but includes 86 percent of China’s total farmland and nearly 94 percent of its population. By contrast, the western provinces feature vast and mostly unusable land. Henan Province, located near the center of China, has the nation’s highest population density. Henan is only one-sixtieth the size of the U.S., but its population is more than one-third of the U.S. population.
This east-west division also reflects striking differences in farmland productivity. In the east, farms generally reach their maximum potential yield, whereas farm productivity in the west is low, and it is difficult and expensive to improve productivity there. More than 60 percent of China’s farms have no irrigation systems, and most of those farms are located in the west. Regions with more than 80 percent of the nation’s water resources have less than 38 percent of the farmland. Around 30 percent of all farmland suffers from soil erosion, and more than 40 percent of farmland in arid and semi-arid regions is in danger of turning into desert.
It seems inevitable that the tensions between the Chinese people and the use of their land will only escalate in the next decade or two, driven in large part by the ambitious socioeconomic development goals set up by the Sixteenth Communist Party Congress in 2003. Those goals call for China’s GDP to be quadrupled and the rate of urbanization to reach 55 percent by 2020. Given the projected population growth from 1.3 billion to 1.6 billion, Chinese cities will become home to 200 to 350 million new urban residents. This remarkable increase in development will require land for all kinds of human needs: economic development, housing, urban services and so forth.
Farmland Preservation Laws
Two principal laws govern farmland preservation efforts in China. The Basic Farmland Protection Regulation, passed in 1994, requires the designation of basic farmland protection districts at the township level and prohibits any conversion of land in those districts to other uses. It also requires that a quota of farmland preservation should be determined first and then allocated into lower-level governments in the five-level administrative chains (the state, province, city, county and township). This important act represents the first time China has imposed a so-called zero net loss of farmland policy. This policy affects only basic farmland, so the total amount of basic farmland will not decline due to urbanization.
Components of Basic Farmland
There are two kinds of basic farmland protection districts. The first level consists of high-quality farmland with high productivity that cannot be converted to nonagricultural uses. The second level is good-quality farmland with moderate productivity that can be converted to nonagricultural uses, usually after a planned period of five to 10 years. The regulation further stipulates (1) if the conversion of land within farmland districts is unavoidable in order to build national projects, such as highways, energy production or transportation, the state must approve the conversion of land parcels of more than 82.4 acres and the provincial governments must approve those of less than 82.4 acres; and (2) the same amount of farmland lost to conversion must be replaced by new farmland somewhere else.
The second law, the 1999 New Land Administration Law, is intended to protect environmentally sensitive and agricultural lands, promote market development, encourage citizen involvement in the legislative process, and coordinate the planning and development of urban land. The law has two important clauses. Article 33 extends the application of the zero net loss farmland policy in the Basic Farmland Protection Regulation to all farmland. It stipulates that “People’s governments . . . should strictly implement the overall plans and annual plans for land utilization and take measures to ensure that the total amount of cultivated land within their administrative areas remains unreduced.” Article 34 requires that basic farmland shall not be less than 80 percent of the total cultivated land in provinces, autonomous regions and municipalities directly under the central government.
The law reinforces farmland preservation efforts by requiring approval from the State Council for any conversion of basic farmland; conversion of other farmland larger than 86.5 acres; and conversion of other land larger than 173 acres. It further encourages land development in areas that are considered wasteland or that feature low soil productivity. Although the law requires the zero net loss of farmland policy to be implemented at provincial levels, it is actually carried out at the city, county and sometimes township levels.
Assessment of the Farmland Policy
The goals of the farmland preservation laws are to limit development on farmland and to preserve as much existing farmland as possible. Land development patterns and urban encroachment into farmland continue unabated, however. Approximately 470,000, 428,000 and 510,000 acres were converted to urban uses in 1997, 1998 and 1999 respectively, and in 2001–2002 some 1.32 percent of remaining farmland was lost. The actual rate of farmland loss was probably far greater than those officially released numbers. For example, seven administrative units at the provincial level (Beijing, Shanghai, Guangdong, Hunan, Congqing, Jiangxi and Yunnan) reported net farmland losses in 1999.
On closer inspection, the negative impacts of China’s farmland preservation laws may outweigh the gains. These laws have been questioned because they affect other actions that create urban sprawl and the merging of villages and cities; destroy contiguity of urban areas; raise transportation costs; and impose high social costs resulting from clustering of incompatible land uses. More important, they push economic activities into locations that may not provide any locational advantage and adversely affect urban agglomeration, which ultimately affects the competitiveness of the local economy.
The designation of basic farmland is based primarily on the quality of soil productivity; location is not a factor. Because existing development has occurred near historically high-productivity areas, that land is likely to be designated as basic farmland whereas land farther away is not. New development thus results in leapfrogging development and urban sprawl and raises transportation costs, but also creates mixed land use patterns in which villages are absorbed within cities and cities are imposed on villages. These patterns are common in regions with high population density and fast growth rates, such as the Pearl Delta of Guangdong Province. The mixed village and city pattern aggravates an already underfunctioning urban agglomeration that results from a relatively high level of immobility in the population because of the hukou system, which gives residents access to certain heavily subsidized local amenities, such as schools.
By using soil productivity as the criterion for designating basic farmland, site selection for economic development projects becomes constrained, making business less competitive. This policy is also responsible for the ad hoc land development process and the creation of a chaotic and uncoordinated land development pattern. As a result, existing infrastructure use becomes less efficient and it costs more for local government to provide urban services. Overall, the urban economy is hurt.
Furthermore, developers have to pay high land prices, which they eventually pass on to consumers through higher housing prices or commercial rents. Land becomes more expensive because the law requires developers who wish to build on basic farmland to either identify or develop the same amount of farmland elsewhere, or pay someone to do so. The cost of this process will rise exponentially as the amount of land available for farmland is depleted, making housing even less affordable. In Beijing, for instance, land costs alone account for 30–40 percent of total development costs if a project is developed on farmland, but 60–70 percent if the project is developed in existing urban areas.
Perhaps one of the worst aspects of the farmland preservation laws is that they treat farmers unfairly. Land development is far more lucrative than farming, so farmers rigorously pursue real estate projects. In the early 1990s, for example, selling land use rights to developers could generate incomes that were 200–300 times higher than the annual yields from farm production. Farmers and village communes, eager to benefit from booming urban land markets, are lured to develop their farmland. The problem is that farmers whose land is considered basic farmland are penalized by this institutional designation that denies them access to urban land markets, even if their farms may enjoy a location advantage. Farmers from areas not designated as basic farmland are not similarly constrained. This inequitable treatment makes it difficult for local governments to implement effective land management tools and creates social tensions that complicate the land acquisition process, lead to chaotic and uncoordinated development, and encourage the development of hidden or informal land markets.
There are four reasons for the general failure of China’s farmland preservation policy. First, farmland preservation laws fail to give sufficient consideration to regional differences. Even at a provincial level some governments have difficulty maintaining a constant amount of farmland in the face of rapid urbanization. Land resources are extremely scarce in some provincial units, such as Beijing, Shanghai and Zhejiang, where development pressures are strong.
The second reason is the requirement that each of the five administrative levels of government (the state, provinces, municipalities, countries and townships) must maintain an arbitrarily determined percentage (80 percent) of basic farmland without the ability to adjust to pressures of demand and market prices. In some regions, demand is so high that officials look for various alternative ways to convert farmland into urban uses. The most common approach is through establishment of industrial parks, economic development zones or high-tech districts, usually on quality farmland areas at the urban fringe. This occurs for two reasons: to attract businesses and to raise land revenues by leasing acquired farmland to developers. There is a striking difference between the prices paid to farmers for their land and the prices for that same land when sold to developers.
Third, local officials almost always give economic development projects top priority and are easily tempted to sacrifice farmland or rural development to achieve a rapid rate of economic growth. As a result, farmland preservation efforts are doomed to fail wherever development pressure is present. This is not surprising since the farmland preservation laws fail to employ any price mechanisms or provide any financial incentives for either local governments or individual farmers to protect farmland.
The fourth problem is the absence of land markets or land rights in rural areas where Chinese governments tend to rely solely on their administrative power to preserve farmland but ignore emerging market forces in determining uses of resources.
Policy Challenges
In recognition of the importance of food security to China and the pressure of urban development on land supply, the Lincoln Institute is collaborating with the Ministry of Land and Resources on a project called Farmland Preservation in the Era of Rapid Urbanization. The objective of the project is to engage Chinese officials in evaluating this complicated issue and to design and implement farmland preservation plans that recognize regional differences and development pressures, and that introduce price mechanisms and respect for farmers’ rights.
First, three fundamental questions need to be addressed:
For those interested in land use policies, few countries in the world offer as many dynamic and challenging issues as China. Engagement and dialogue between Chinese and American scholars, practitioners and public officials on these topics will be crucial to the final outcome.
Chengri Ding is associate professor in the Urban Studies and Planning Department at the University of Maryland and director of the Joint China Land Policy and Urban Management Program of the University of Maryland and the Lincoln Institute.
Reference
Brown, Lester R. 1995. Who will feed China?: Wake-up call for a small planet. Washington, DC: Worldwatch Institute.
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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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High land costs are an obstacle to developing and securing affordable housing for lower-income families. One way to address this issue is to purchase a house without the land, and a community land trust is one mechanism that allows this arrangement. This article reports on a roundtable attended by researchers, policy analysts, technical assistance providers, funders, and community land trust staff members to discuss the community land trust model and related research needs.
The community land trust model is an extremely attractive mechanism for maintaining and expanding the stock of affordable housing. Currently there are approximately 160 community land trusts operating in every region of the country. These community land trusts are nonprofit, community-based organizations whose mission is to provide affordable housing in perpetuity by owning land and leasing it to those who live in houses built on that land. In the classic community land trust model, membership is comprised of those who live in the leased housing (leaseholders); those who live in the targeted area (community members); and local representatives from government, funding agencies and the nonprofit sector (public interest) (Burlington Associates 2003).
A lease within a community land trust also includes a resale formula intended to balance the interests of present homeowners with the long-term goals of the community land trust—balancing the interest of homeowners and the interest of the community land trust to provide affordable housing for future homeowners.
This article addresses some of the questions surrounding the community land trust model;
This article also examine the Sawmill Community Land Trust, located near downtown Albuquerque, New Mexico. In partnership with the City of Albuquerque, Sawmill Community Land Trust’s has created a permanent stock of affordable housing in the neighborhood with housing units as well as a plaza, park, community center, commercial space and open space connected with trails. The plan calls for expanding the Sawmill Community Land Trust model to other neighborhoods to ensure a permanent stock of affordable housing and a mixed-income community for the long term.
For many households experiencing lagging wages or underemployment, the purchase and financing of a house is increasingly difficult. High land costs are another obstacle to developing and securing affordable housing for lower-income families in some markets. One way to address this second issue is to purchase a house without the land, and a community land trust (CLT) is one mechanism that allows this arrangement. This article reports on a roundtable attended by approximately 25 researchers, policy analysts, technical assistance providers, funders and CLT staff members to discuss the CLT model and related research needs. The December 2004 program was sponsored by the Lincoln Institute in partnership with the Institute for Community Economics (ICE), based in Springfield, Massachusetts.
What are community land trusts and How Do They Function?
The community land trust model has evolved in the United States over the last 40 years (ICE 1991). Currently there are approximately 160 CLTs operating in every region of the country and in 38 out of the 50 states and the District of Columbia. These CLTs are nonprofit, community-based organizations whose mission is to provide affordable housing in perpetuity by owning land and leasing it to those who live in houses built on that land. Complementing their status as nonprofit corporations, as defined in the U.S. tax code, and their formal rights and responsibilities codified in the ground lease, CLTs are governed by a board of directors with membership from the community. In the classic CLT model, membership is comprised of adults who live in the leased housing (leaseholders); adults who live in the targeted area (community members); and local representatives from government, funding agencies and the nonprofit sector (public interest) (Burlington Associates 2003).
The community land trust and the homeowner agree to a long-term ground lease agreement (typically 99 years) that spells out the rights and responsibilities of both parties. Among the homeowner’s rights are the rights to privacy, the exclusive use of the property, and the right to bequeath the property and the lease. The CLT has the right to purchase the house when and if the owner wants to sell.
The community land trust’s abiding interest, as the landowner, as the party with the option to purchase the improvement, and as a community-based organization, is to maintain a stake in the relationship long after the original house purchase and lease signing. For example, if buildings become deteriorated, the CLT can force repairs; if the homeowners are at risk for default the CLT can and does act to forestall the default.
The ground lease also includes a resale formula intended to balance the interests of present homeowners with the long-term goals of the community land trust. The intent of affordability in perpetuity is in conflict with the desire of most owner-occupants in the U.S. to reap real estate gains. Thus, the resale formula is designed to balance the interest of individual homeowners to benefit from the use of their home as a real estate investment and the interest of the CLT to provide affordable housing for future homeowners.
Research Agenda
The community land trust model is an extremely attractive mechanism for maintaining and expanding the stock of affordable housing. While the stories one hears from and about CLTs are encouraging and inspiring, little research exists regarding their effectiveness. Furthermore, despite their many attractive attributes, CLTs are neither well known nor extensively used in the U.S. During roundtable discussions, the participants exchanged perspectives and identified six clusters of questions that would constitute a short-term CLT research agenda to help inform future action.
Do community land trusts provide long-term affordable housing?
The separation of ownership of land and buildings is the mechanism by which long-term affordability is achieved. Much of the value in structures comes from their functionality, the materials used and the level of maintenance. These are the contributions of the builder and owner. Much of the value in land comes from its location with respect to natural elements, urban services such as transportation and public schools, and disamenities such as solid waste dumps or prisons. Many of the factors that contribute to land value increases are due to the economic expansion that occurs in metropolitan areas. In strong markets the pace of value increases in land exceeds that of structures. Thus, if the land is excluded from the price of housing, affordability ought to be assured over time. Research is needed to evaluate the effectiveness of the CLT tool in providing long-term housing affordability and to evaluate CLTs as compared to other affordable housing programs.
Do community land trusts contribute to individual asset building?
community land trust housing provides residents with shelter, security of tenure, access to credit and access to urban services, among other benefits. However, individual real estate profits are limited by the design of the resale formula, which varies among CLTs. Outcomes also will vary with real estate cycles in particular cities and regions. A second question, then, has to do with the degree to which the limitation on real estate profits limits individual asset building. It is possible, for example, that the security of tenure and the predictability in housing costs provided by the CLT allow individuals to pursue other, non-real estate strategies for asset accumulation.
How effective are public and nonprofit sector funds when used to produce community land trust housing?
In most cases, community land trust housing requires subsidies for the purchase of land and/or house construction. Grants typically come from government sources or private foundations. One of the premises of the CLT model is that these subsidies are recycled later to reclaim the value of the subsidies and to benefit future homebuyers. Public subsidies are no longer needed when a CLT house is sold under the resale formula. However, it is not known how efficient subsidies are when used to develop CLT housing and how the subsidy capture mechanisms work.
Do community land trusts provide access to urban services and/or regional opportunities for leaseholders?
Quality of housing in the U.S. is closely related to residential location. However, location influences more than simply house quality; it also affects the existence and quality of job opportunities and urban services such as access to transportation, health care, libraries and public schools, all of which have direct and indirect effects on quality of life and life chances.
Researchers looking at regional policy solutions are particularly interested in whether and how community land trusts influence this access to urban services. Economists use the term “spatial mismatch” to refer to the imbalance between the location of many employment opportunities in the suburbs and the location of unemployed jobseekers in the city centers. Many participants at the roundtable were interested in exploring the degree to which CLTs facilitate bridging this mismatch because of their specific location within a region, their connections to other organizations in the neighborhood and region, or employment and training programs offered to support CLT residents.
Do community land trusts contribute to community building?
Community land trusts are unique among U.S. community-based organizations in that their concerns are geographically focused and include economic relationships, the governance structure of the organization, and the provision of direct services. In some communities CLTs are connected to other organizations serving the same community or the same constituency. Much of the literature on neighborhood development and revitalization focuses on the importance of “social capital” to people and their community. Do CLTs contribute to this connective tissue of neighborhoods? How and why? Some CLTs operate across a number of communities and thus have a more regional focus. This difference among CLTs will lead us to consider questions of scale and community definition.
Why have some community land trusts excelled and others failed?
There is great variation in community land trusts across the country. The largest, Burlington Community Land Trust in Vermont, has 370 single-family homes and condominiums and 270 rental apartment leases; other CLTs may have just a handful of units available for lease. Some CLTs have been able to grow significantly while others have not, and some have ceased peration altogether. There are many possible reasons for this variation in success, including staff resources and skills; differences in mission; financing arrangements; ability to receive donations of land; and the strength or weakness of the local land and housing market.
Future Activities Regarding community land trusts
The Lincoln Institute is interested in community land trusts because they provide a window that encourages a deeper understanding of the significant role that land plays in social and economic development and the mechanisms by which it occurs. The roundtable participants hope that investigation into this research agenda would accomplish a number of objectives.
First, new research would spread knowledge of community land trusts to practitioners in fields ranging from urban development to housing policy, neighborhood planning, community organizing, regional sustainability and equity. Second, among policy analysts this research will improve our understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of the CLT model and the contexts in which it is most useful and successful. For CLT members, leaseholders, staff and board members, the findings will provide an understanding of their locally based work within a national context. For funders and lenders the investigations will provide an empirical base from which to make future funding decisions.
This work will be conducted by the Lincoln Institute, the Institute for Community Economics, representatives of organizations who attended the roundtable and others who become engaged in these issues. For example, the National Housing Institute already has begun a study of shared equity home ownership. We expect that documenting, investigating and analyzing the history of CLTs and individual experiences will provide a better understanding of the role of land in housing affordability.
Sawmill Community Land Trust
Sawmill Community Land Trust (SCLT) is located near downtown Albuquerque, New Mexico, adjacent to Historic Old Town, which has become a leading tourist attraction. Gentrification has increased the housing prices in the Sawmill neighborhood, and vacant industrial land has increased from $1.05 per square foot in 1996 to its current high of $4.10 per square foot. A home that sold for $26,500 in 1981 cost $125,000 in 2000 and $175,000 in 2004. From 2000 to 2004, real increases in a single-family home (land and housing) in the neighborhood increased by 31 percent.
Founded in 1996, SCLT evolved from existing community organizations that had been working for years to protect the character of the ethnically diverse Sawmill community and address environmental and pollution problems caused by a particleboard factory on the site. SCLT’s main focus has been to create a permanent stock of affordable housing in the neighborhood.
In partnership with the City of Albuquerque, which acquired the 27-acre former industrial site, SCLT developed plans for 196 housing units of various types (live-work lofts, single-family detached houses, townhouses, duplexes, senior apartments and condos) as well as a plaza, park, community center, commercial space and open space connected with trails. All of the 26 homes built in the first phase of development have been sold, and construction of a second housing phase will begin soon. SCLT has led a cooperative effort to develop a metropolitan redevelopment plan for the surrounding 510-acre Sawmill/Wells Park area. The plan calls for expanding the SCLT model to other neighborhoods to ensure a permanent stock of affordable housing and a mixed-income community for the long term.
Rosalind Greenstein is senior fellow and co-chair of the Lincoln Institute’s Department of Planning and Development. Yesim Sungu-Eryilmaz is a research assistant in the Lincoln Institute’s Department of Planning and Development.
References
Burlington Associates in Community Development, LLC. 2003. Key features of the “classic” community land trust. Burlington, VT: Burlington Associates.
Institute for Community Economics (ICE) 1991. The community land trust legal manual. Springfield, MA: ICE.
Resources
Burlington Community Land Trust
Fannie Mae Corporation (search for the link to CLTs)
Institute for Community Economics (ICE)
Policy Link. See Equitable Development Toolkit and link to CLT case studies.
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In 1921, a loquacious, part-time public servant named Benton MacKaye proposed, in the Journal of the American Institute of Architects, the creation of an “Appalachian Trail,” an effort that he saw as “a project in regional planning” (MacKaye 1921). His vision evolved over several decades until, under the leadership of a lawyer named Myron Avery, the nonprofit Appalachian Trail Conference helped to bring into being a continuous system of locally, state and federally owned lands, managed cooperatively by a collection of volunteers, nonprofit organization employees and National Park Service personnel (Bristow 1998). The A.T., as the trail is often called, today stretches from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mt. Katahdin in Maine, and the idea of extending the trail into Canada has been discussed repeatedly.
The initiative first proposed by MacKaye more than 80 years ago has proved to be a landmark in conservation innovation, characterized by: novelty in its design and implementation; lasting significance to landscape planners around the world; measurable effectiveness in trail upkeep and monitoring, achieved through collaborative efforts along the trail’s 2,100-mile length; transferability to other projects, such as the Pacific Crest Trail; and an ability to endure as a symbol of what can be accomplished, across ownerships and political boundaries, to achieve conservation-oriented purposes—primarily recreational purposes in the case of the A.T.
Despite the example provided by the Appalachian Trail and similar initiatives, regional planning generally fell out of favor during the last half of the twentieth century. While greenways, trail systems, water resource management districts and habitat conservation areas have appeared on the North American landscape from time to time, broadly defined efforts to form cross-sectoral, cross-boundary districts for the achievement of conservation objectives are not standard practice today in the United States and Canada.
However, prodded in part by the insight of biodiversity scientists that large, unfragmented corridors will be necessary for the long-term survival of some species living in the wild, enthusiasm among land conservation professionals for “landscape-scale” initiatives has reemerged in recent years. Accordingly, those concerned with such widely varying purposes as biodiversity conservation, the future of working farms and forests, the protection of water resources, the provision of outdoor recreational opportunities, and economic development linked to both natural and cultural amenities have shown a renewed interest in conservation initiatives of relatively large scale and comprehensive scope. At gatherings of conservation volunteers and professionals, such as the annual Land Trust Alliance Rally, multiple, well-attended sessions are devoted to the consideration of landscape-scale initiatives and planning techniques.
With this fresh interest in regional land and biodiversity conservation efforts in mind, the Lincoln Institute, with the support of the U.S. National Park Service Conservation Study Institute (NPS CSI), the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy (GGNPC) and the Quebec-Labrador Foundation (QLF), invited more than two dozen senior executives of public, nonprofit, academic and private sector organizations to the Presidio of San Francisco for a two-day conference in June 2003. The purposes of the meeting were to: advance our emerging understanding of what, in concept, landscape-scale initiatives are, and why they may be necessary; better understand how such concepts are (or are not) being realized in the field; and identify which innovations and advances appear necessary to more fully realize such large and comprehensive initiatives.
The Necessity of Landscape-scale Initiatives
The broad concept of a landscape-scale conservation initiative, as framed by the conference steering committee, includes three basic ideas: (1) such initiatives should encompass some regional system of interconnected properties; (2) such efforts are in some way organized to achieve one or several specific conservation objectivescooperate or collaborate in some concrete fashion to achieve those objectives. Several individuals at the conference thoughtfully articulated the necessity for landscape-scale initiatives. Chip Collins explained that conservationists who were once focused on success in “conserving individual tracts of land” now see many of the efforts launched over the past 50 years as “piecemeal and incomplete, often failing to comprehensively address the inputs that affect ecosystems and their component parts.”
Ted Smith, in explaining why the Kendall Foundation has made philanthropic investments in landscape-scale initiatives, noted: “Ample evidence convinces us that land fragmentation is a threat to most species…. We are seeking to promote reconnections along, [for example], a large stretch of the Rockies at a scale that reflects the needs of keystone species…. Because fragmented land ownership works against nature, we are funding conservation strategies that embrace approaches to integrating the management of public and private lands. Not surprisingly, private lands often hold the greatest biological wealth and represent key corridors for wildlife movement.”
While present-day discussions of landscape-scale initiatives may sometimes start with biodiversity concerns, they frequently go well beyond that focus. Nora Mitchell stated: “To protect remaining wild lands and sustain working landscapes, many conservation efforts today operate at the landscape scale. To be successful at this large scale, these efforts must integrate ecological, cultural and recreational values with economic and community development. As a result, the practice of landscape-scale conservation is complex and challenging… It requires working across political and ecosystem boundaries, adopts an interdisciplinary perspective, and involves the collaboration of many organizations.”
It is important to note that landscape-scale efforts may be directed not only toward relatively undeveloped and rural landscapes, but also to urban environments, reflecting, as Reed Holderman pointed out, “the diversity of relationships that exist between people and land.” In urban settings, the purpose may be as much about providing essential ecosystem services (for example, flood control and water purification) or recreational opportunities as they are about protecting wildlife habitat.
In short, landscape-scale conservation initiatives call upon our limited human capacities to understand and manage complex systems, as we are challenged to steward natural and built physical systems over long periods of time. Douglas Wheeler, former California Secretary of Resources, reminded the group that we are also challenged to build enduring “institutional ecosystems” that will sustain focus on achieving key conservation objectives across decades and the tenures of multiple political administrations.
Implementation of Landscape-scale Concepts
Participants had several opportunities to consider the effectiveness of landscape-scale conservation initiatives in practice, through both pre-conference field trips and case studies examined during the meeting. Field trips included visits to rural and urban protected landscapes in the San Francisco metropolitan area that help to comprise the region’s assemblage of “green matrix” sites. Subsequent case study discussions focused on the San Francisco Bay area; the Yellowstone to Yukon (Y2Y) Initiative stretching from the state of Wyoming to the Yukon Territory; and a recent effort to encourage sustainable agricultural practices into the Cerrado region of Brazil. Given the relatively recent reemergence of interest in landscape-scale regional conservation efforts, their inherent complexity, and the range of possible conservation objectives that they might entail, it was not surprising that many of the initiatives we considered were seen more as “works in progress” than as successfully completed projects.
San Francisco Bay
Within the patchwork of protected landscapes distributed across the San Francisco Bay region, the most prominent property is the Golden Gate National Recreation Area (GGNRA), a regional-scale National Park Service unit first established in 1972. It now stretches from the Santa Cruz Mountains in the south, to prime parkland on both sides of the Golden Gate Bridge, to the Marin Headlands and northward. Billed as “the largest urban parkland in the world,” the GGNRA, at 75,500 acres (more than 30,500 hectares), offers such gems as Crissy Field, a breathtakingly beautiful bayside tidal marsh and educational center located within the Presidio of San Francisco on a former military airstrip.
Brian O’Neill and Greg Moore relayed the story behind the establishment of the 30-year-old GGNRA and the recently completed Crissy Field Center. Their story is a model case history of how, working together with the help of funding from both the federal government and private philanthropic sources, their organizations have brought to life a highly valuable recreational, educational and ecological resource for Bay-area citizens. In addition to enticing visitors, ranging from local school children to great blue herons and peregrine falcons, to make repeated visits to the site, the public, private and nonprofit partners at the Crissy Field site have recently linked food service operations at the park with the noted agricultural resources of the region. Visitors to the Crissy Field Café and Bookstore today can dine on some of the best organic produce grown in the Bay area, helping to build important ties between the area’s spectacular scenic amenities and its working farms.
Lands protected by the federal government within the GGNRA are complemented by extensive protected landholdings in the area that are owned by other governmental units, including: the State of California and various county and local governments; the academic sector, including the University of California and Stanford University; the nonprofit sector, including the Peninsula Open Space Trust (POST) and the Marin Agricultural Land Trust (MALT); and the private sector, including agricultural lands under conservation easements held by both public and nonprofit entities.
While the region’s array of protected landscapes is indeed impressive in scale and distribution, enduring coordination among the managers of these lands, for the purpose of achieving specific conservation objectives, is often lacking. For example, the manager of a local nonprofit land trust was asked if strong bonds around achieving biodiversity conservation or water quality objectives linked the management of agricultural properties protected by land trusts with the lands protected by federal agencies. His answer was instructive: “Actually, the relationship between local, state and federal conservation organizations is not always smooth. There are some threads that are starting to tie one piece of the quilt to another, but they are only threads today.” He explained that what may look like some sort of coordinated picture on a map really was built “from the grassroots up,” starting with a variety of “piecemeal efforts”; any “regional vision” emerged later.
Bay area conservationists at the conference took in stride the idea that a regional vision regarding the achievement of management objectives was still being worked out. Greg Moore noted that he and his colleagues are in some ways just now refocusing on stewardship challenges, but he offered a hopeful perspective: “Each era of success generates a new generation of ambition.” Audrey Rust pointed out that it can be a struggle just to get public and private funders to focus on stewardship issues, particularly when they are inundated with land protection funding requests. But both Moore and Rust agreed that, over the next several decades, focusing substantial resources on the achievement of stewardship objectives is a job that needs greater attention. Bob McIntosh concurred, noting that similar challenges face conservationists active on the eastern seaboard.
Yellowstone to Yukon (Y2Y)
Progress toward the realization of a continuous, well-stewarded corridor of protected lands in the Y2Y region is at an even more formative stage. Ted Smith described Y2Y as a “bottom-up” effort that has biodiversity conservation at its center. Among other objectives, Y2Y seeks to establish core areas and connecting corridors that will sustain healthy populations of grizzly and black bears along a long spine of mountains that crosses the U.S.-Canadian border.
The Y2Y Initiative website (www.y2y.net) offers a brief overview of the effort. The community of interest that has gathered around the Y2Y idea has grown over the past decade to include more than “340 organizations, institutions, foundations and conservation-minded individuals” that have “recognized the value of working together to restore and maintain the unique natural heritage of the Yellowstone to Yukon region and the quality of life it offers.”
The community has played a key role in achieving numerous visible and important conservation projects. For example, Y2Y member organizations, including the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society (CPAWS), helped lead the successful effort to establish in northern British Columbia the Muskwa-Kechika Management Area (M-KMA), a nearly 16 million acre (6.4 million hectare) district; about 25 percent of the M-KMA is designated as parkland, with the remainder included in special management zones where certain resource development activities will be allowed. While the establishment of the M-KMA is a significant success for the conservation community, its ongoing management has proven to be a real challenge. George Smith explained: “In the M-KMA, progress has been made and problems solved; some industry is occurring while the wilderness remains essentially intact. Yet, much of the integrated management system has not been created, causing line-agency power struggles and inefficiencies.”
South of the U.S.-Canadian border, the conservation community is working hard to expand on the gains made over the past two decades to conserve both public and private lands for the public benefit along the Y2Y corridor. The Trust for Public Land, for example, was successful in 2002 and 2003 in helping to protect the Taylor Fork drainage in Montana, filling in some of the checkerboard pattern of land ownership in the Gallatin National Forest. However, with various property rights groups spearheading organized opposition to both public and private land conservation efforts, the realization of landscape-scale initiatives is far from assured in the Rocky Mountain region. Many years of concerted effort lie ahead if the gaps are to be spanned between the disparate protected landscapes appearing on regional maps. Dan Sayre commented that to achieve ambitious goals, the conservation community will have to be extraordinarily persistent in making its case that careful land stewardship is in the interest of local communities, is in our national interest, and is part of a tradition with deep roots in American history.
Innovations to Advance New Initiatives
Recognizing that the concept of landscape-scale conservation is still in some respects nascent, the assembled conservationists offered a number of ideas regarding innovations that may advance its development. Story Clark pointed out that in the area of stewardship U.S.-based conservationists have a great deal to learn from their international colleagues, especially regarding “community-based conservation methodologies.” Jessica Brown agreed, based on her experience in building support for conservation initiatives in Central Europe by focusing on the role of the local community.
Glenn Prickett offered the group a short presentation on how Conservation International (CI) is helping a community-based effort in the Cerrado, a massive savannah that covers more than one-quarter of Brazil’s land area. Since World War II, the Cerrado has been intensively developed for agricultural purposes, including soybean cultivation. The region is important for its own biodiversity attributes, and because it feeds water into Brazil’s Pantanal, home to one of the globe’s most significant freshwater ecosystems. In working to build a 370-mile biodiversity corridor that connects the Cerrado and the Pantanal, CI has forged a relationship with some of the region’s most important soybean processors to develop purchasing guidelines that encourage local soybean growers to use “best practices” in their operations. Such practices include the protection of natural habitat on agricultural lands as well as careful management of riparian zones to make a measurable difference in local stream and habitat quality. By working with the community, and leveraging the reach of key industrial processors in the area, CI hopes to considerably improve the odds that a regional biodiversity corridor will be sustainable. The approach, Prickett pointed out, is transferable to North American initiatives that will depend on wildlife corridors adjacent to, or even woven into, the fabric of local agricultural and industrial properties.
In addition to working closely with communities and local industry to achieve conservation objectives, participants stressed numerous other opportunities for innovation. Gretchen Daily addressed the need for new financing mechanisms to underwrite large-scale conservation initiatives. She discussed with candor the challenges of accessing potential streams of income associated with the provision of ecosystem services (for example, funding to support forest protection and other “carbon sequestration” efforts that would help to control the levels of gases that are released into the earth’s atmosphere and contribute to global warming).
Participants also discussed the need for increasingly powerful ways to monitor large-scale easements, especially on initiatives that incorporate working forests and farmlands. Peter Stein noted that methodologies for improving both the accuracy and cost-effectiveness of monitoring protocols are under development. At the New England Forestry Foundation, for example, novel applications of remote sensing technology, combined with more traditional aerial photography techniques and on-the-ground inspections, are being leveraged to monitor new landscape-scale easements. Seasoned conservationists including Mike Soukup, Bob Bendick and Philippe Cohen underscored how advanced information technologies, such as those used in detailed, multi-scalar Geographic Information System (GIS) mapping applications, can be particularly useful in thinking through regional conservation strategies.
In conclusion, however, the focus turned from exciting new technologies to the human element. Armando Carbonell summed up the sentiment of the group, noting that a “green matrix is not just land represented by green on a map, but also a set of lasting social relationships.” Like the effort sustained by the diverse group of men and women who brought the Appalachian Trail into existence and have cared for it as a national treasure, it will take the long-term attention of present and future generations to bring today’s expansive conservation concepts into reality.
James N. Levitt is director of the Program on Conservation Innovation at the Harvard Forest, Harvard University, and is a faculty associate at the Lincoln Institute. He organizes the Institute’s annual Conservation Leadership Dialogue, and reported on the March 2002 program in the July 2002 issue of Land Lines.
References
Bristow, Robert S. 1998. Volunteer-Based Recreation Land Management: Appalachian National Scenic Trail Management Model. Parks and Recreation. National Recreation and Park Association, August 1.
Levitt, James N. 2002. Land and Biodiversity Conservation: A Leadership Dialogue. Land Lines 14(3): 1–4.
MacKaye, Benton. 1921. An Appalachian Trail: A Project in Regional Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Architects 9 (October): 325–330.
——. 1990. The New Exploration: A Philosophy of Regional Planning. The Appalachian Trail Conference, Harpers Ferry, WV, and the University of Illinois Press, Urbana-Champaign.
Conservation Leadership Dialogue Participants and Correspondents, 2003
Elizabeth Bell, Land Conservation Advisory Services, Seattle, WA
Robert Bendick, The Nature Conservancy, Altamonte Springs, Florida
Robert Berner, Marin Agricultural Land Trust, Point Reyes Station, CA
Jessica Brown, Quebec-Labrador Foundation, Ipswich, MA
Armando Carbonell,* Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, Cambridge, MA
Story Clark, conservation advisor, Wilson, WY
Patrick Coady, Coady & Company, Washington, DC
Philippe Cohen, Stanford University/Jasper Ridge, Stanford, CA
Charles E. (“Chip”) Collins, Forestland Group, Inc., Cambridge, MA
Gretchen Daily, Stanford University, Stanford, CA
Julie Early, Island Foundation, Marion, MA
Ralph Grossi, American Farmland Trust, Washington, DC
Jean Hocker,* Land Trust Alliance, emeritus, Arlington, VA
Reed Holderman, Trust for Public Land, San Francisco, CA
James N. Levitt,* Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA
Nick MacPhee, Land Conservation Advisory Services, Seattle, WA
Robert McIntosh, National Park Service, Boston, MA
Nora Mitchell,* National Park Service Conservation Study Institute, Woodstock, VT
Greg Moore, Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy, San Francisco, CA
Brian O’Neill, National Park Service Golden Gate National Recreation Area, San Francisco, CA
Glenn Prickett, Conservation International, Washington, DC
Will Rogers, Trust for Public Land, San Francisco, CA
Audrey Rust, Peninsula Open Space Trust, Menlo Park, CA
Dan Sayre, Island Press, Washington, DC
George Smith, Canadian Parks and Wilderness Association, Gibsons, BC
Ted Smith, Kendall Foundation, Boston, MA
Michael Soukup, National Park Service, Washington, DC
Peter Stein, Lyme Timber Company, Lyme, NH
Douglas Wheeler, Hogan & Hartson, LLP, Washington, DC
* Conference Steering Committee
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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.
