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Columbus, Ohio, invented the first known off-street parking requirement for an apartment building in 1923. After nearly a hundred years, the results are in, and they’re not good.
Last year, an assessment of the local zoning code—commissioned by the city as part of a comprehensive code revision process—concluded that off-street parking requirements were “not effective” and “often poorly matched to true parking demand.”
That mismatch has gotten worse over time. Today’s parking requirements in Columbus are far higher than their cousins from the city’s midcentury zoning code. In 1954, an apartment building with 100 one-bedroom units was required to have 100 parking spaces; today it has to have 150. For a 2,500-square-foot restaurant, nine required parking spaces became 34, in the 90 percent of the city not covered by special overlay districts. These ratios are out of step with the local market, leading builders to request parking reductions more than any other type of zoning variance. City and regional plans have recommended reducing parking requirements and making them more consistent.
Columbus is not alone. Across the United States, decades of similar parking requirements have led to a glut: researchers estimate that for every car in the country, there are at least three parking spaces—and some have suggested the number is closer to eight spaces.
This oversupply has created a host of problems: parking requirements can inflate housing costs, block buildings from being adapted to new uses, and contribute to sprawl, making additional driving (and parking) necessary. They create an administrative burden. And the impervious surfaces of parking lots increase the risk of flooding and contribute to the urban heat island effect.
But there is good news: of all the harms traditional zoning has inflicted on communities, parking requirements are the easiest to fix, said Sara Bronin, former chair of the Hartford, Connecticut, Planning and Zoning Commission. Bronin was at the helm in 2017, when Hartford became one of the first cities in the United States to eliminate residential and commercial parking mandates. The year before, city leaders had tested the waters by eliminating requirements in the downtown area, a move that yielded new development projects and new proposals for reuse. “Every community should be eliminating their parking requirements,” Bronin said.
Each year, more cities are eliminating or reducing such mandates. In 2021, cities from Minneapolis to Jackson, Tennessee, eliminated minimum parking requirements from their zoning codes. In the week that this article was drafted alone, cities from Spokane to Chicago to Burlington, Vermont, rolled back parking mandates.
Communities might reduce their parking requirements because they are trying to reinvent themselves by attracting new businesses and development, accommodate population growth with space-efficient infill, or focus more on transit and walkability. Regardless of the reason, parking reform advocates say this land use regulation could finally be on its way out.
“We’re going to look back at this as just this weird, late-20th century aberration,” predicts Patrick Siegman, an economist and planner who has been studying parking since 1992, including as a partner at the national transportation planning firm Nelson Nygaard. “We created something wildly inefficient.”
Hartford Leads the Way
Like many industrial cities in the United States, Hartford saw dramatic population decline during the second half of the 20th century. In 1960, half of the people working in Hartford lived there, many walking or taking transit to jobs downtown; by 1980, less than a quarter of its workforce called the city home. Many white residents had fled for the suburbs and the overall population was declining. The repercussions of this demographic and economic shift are visible in the city’s bounty of parking lots: to accommodate the increase in car commuters, the city essentially paved over swaths of its downtown.
As historian Daniel Sterner put it, “Hartford is famous for having so much torn down.” Not even the city’s first skyscraper, built in 1912, survived the demolition boom. It was razed to make way for a taller office tower, but those plans were abandoned in 1990 as the country entered a recession. The prominent corner lot became, and remains, surface parking.
University of Connecticut professor Norman Garrick and his team found that from 1960 to 2000, the amount of land dedicated to parking lots in the downtown business district tripled, nearly equaling the amount of land underneath all the adjacent buildings. “The increase in parking was part of the collapse of the city,” Garrick said. “It’s typical of a lot of American cities.”
Even without the research, there was little debate that Hartford had an oversupply of parking. “I don’t think every city needs a full-on parking history, or parking analysis,” said Bronin. “Most people should be able to just look around and say, ‘there’s a lot of parking in this city.’”
The overabundance of parking came at a great cost for the city, Garrick’s team found in a report released in 2014. They estimated that the city was missing out on property tax revenue to the tune of $1,200 per downtown parking space, or about $50 million a year. That was a significant amount for a city whose downtown buildings were generating $75 million in annual tax revenue.
Attracting investment is critically important for Connecticut’s capital city—and particularly challenging. More than half of the city’s real estate is nontaxable, because the land is owned by the government or nonprofit institutions. The rest is subject to the highest property tax rate in the state. Eliminating parking requirements citywide is one way to create a more flexible, inviting environment for development.
“It’s easy to say we have no parking minimums, as opposed to ‘what zone?’,” said Aaron Gill, current vice chair of Hartford’s Planning and Zoning Commission. The biggest hurdle now is convincing developers they have new options, Gill said. He encourages developers to revisit parcels they might have discounted in the past, and to review how much parking is actually being used in previous developments.
The strategy seems to be working. The quasi-public Capital Region Development Authority (CRDA) has funded more than 2,800 new homes downtown since 2012, aiming to build a critical mass of residents to support retail and other services. Mike Freimuth, executive director of the CRDA, said the new zoning code has helped reduce costs and increased the use of existing parking garages.
One of the CRDA projects, Teachers Village, involved converting an office building that had been vacant for 20 years into housing for area educators. Thirty percent of the apartments were designated as affordable. Prior to the code change, more than one parking space would have been required for each unit, but the renovated building has only 18 underground parking spaces for 60 households. The spaces are leased separately from the apartments, saving money for those who don’t need a parking spot. According to estimates based on 2016 Census data, more than 30 percent of Hartford households don’t even own a car.
Other redevelopment projects have cut deals with adjacent parking garages, which are also adapting to the new world of remote work, to provide an off-street parking option for residents for an additional fee. Two derelict commercial buildings on Pearl Street, which Freimuth used to joke were the largest pigeon coops in the state, went that route when the buildings were renovated into 258 new homes. A few blocks away, a former Steiger’s department store is being converted into 97 new apartments with commercial space below.
The CRDA is also involved in an ambitious project known as Bushnell South, which aims to convert a 20-acre area dominated by surface parking into a vibrant, walkable, mixed-use neighborhood with up to 1,200 apartments and townhouses, restaurants and retail, green space, and cultural attractions. The city was reviewing proposals from developers this summer with the goal of moving forward this fall. Although some developers have expressed concern that the city is building more residential space than the market can support, Freimuth is eager to proceed. “This land has been laying fallow for 50 years,” he told the Hartford Courant. “Why do we have to keep on waiting?”
The Benefits of a Citywide Shift
On the edge of downtown Fayetteville, Arkansas, a building that had stood vacant for nearly 40 years now houses a local restaurant with a rooftop patio. Down the road, a formerly abandoned gas station is back in use as retail space. The reuse of these once-forgotten properties was made possible several years ago, when Fayetteville’s city council voted to remove commercial parking requirements citywide.
While most cities start with reducing parking mandates in a central business district, like Hartford did, planners in Fayetteville were fielding requests about properties throughout the city, and opted against defining a smaller boundary. At 44 square miles, Fayetteville is nearly 2.5 times larger than Hartford, with 70 percent of the population.
“As a city planner, you receive phone calls about what’s possible with this property,” Fayetteville planner Quin Thompson explained. “What I began to see was the same properties over and over again. Some of those properties were downtown, but a lot weren’t.” None of the parcels had enough space to meet the parking requirements in place at the time.
The planning staff approached the city council with the idea of eliminating commercial requirements citywide. Some of these properties were so constrained, they explained, it was impossible to imagine how they could be redeveloped under the current rules. They also said investors taking on the financial risk of a project were best suited to determine their own parking needs, and would act as a backstop even when the city was no longer regulating off-street parking spaces. In October 2015, Fayetteville’s city council agreed.
What happened next? “The buildings that I had identified as being perpetually and perhaps permanently unusable were very quickly purchased, redeveloped, and are in use right now,” said Thompson. “I can’t think of any that are still out there that I had used as case studies that haven’t been redeveloped.”
Thompson and his colleagues were right that the distinction between parking needs in a central city versus outlying neighborhoods can be arbitrary. In the lead-up to the removal of parking requirements in Edmonton in 2020, a citywide study of 277 sites found no clear geographic trend that related to how full parking lots were, even after factoring in variables like population density, walkability as measured by Walk Score, or drive-alone rate. Of all the sites surveyed, only 7 percent neared capacity at the busiest times of day. It was far more common for parking lots to remain half empty, as was the case for 47 percent of observed sites.
In Fayetteville and other cities, eliminating parking minimums citywide has had another benefit: reducing administrative work and freeing up city staff to work on other things. “One of the things you find in American cities is that they’ve got all of these college-educated planners, many of whom actually have graduate degrees, and what they’re doing is spending hour after hour processing parking variances,” explained Siegman.
Kevin Robinson was one of those planners, until he was hired as director of Planning and Development Services for Albemarle, North Carolina. To his surprise, the city had almost no parking requirements, having eliminated virtually all of them two decades prior. “However you came about it,” he recalls telling city officials, “I think you’re on the right track.”
Towns where he had worked previously had only reduced parking requirements in central business districts, not citywide. “From an administrative standpoint, it’s a heck of a lot easier to deal with,” said Robinson. “Quite honestly, a lot of times [parking minimums] are very arbitrary numbers,” Robinson said. Now that he no longer has to enforce them, he has more time to spend on other aspects of development—including a downtown parking plan. He has plenty of data to rebut complaints that there isn’t enough parking. Even at peak hours, public parking never gets more than half full, his heatmaps indicate.
Robinson acknowledges that eliminating parking minimums wasn’t a cure-all: “We are still seeing far more parking being built than is absolutely necessary.” (See sidebar to learn how the shift has played out in other cities.) Construction in Albemarle is picking up as people get priced out of nearby cities like Charlotte. In the last two years, this small city of 16,000 has approved permits for 3,000 new housing units, with another 1,000 in the works, including middle housing like duplexes and townhouses.
Robinson is nervous that the parking requirements, which were discarded at a time when the city wasn’t growing, might return as development accelerates. “I’m trying to keep them from going in that direction,” he said. His concerns aren’t unfounded.
When Mandates Make a U-Turn
It took almost a decade for a new apartment building with no parking to arrive in Portland after the city waived requirements near transit in 2002. The political backlash came more swiftly. As Portland’s rental market tightened, the city found itself with the second-lowest vacancy rate in the country in 2012. Apartment construction was booming, and buildings without off-street parking were becoming increasingly common.
Then controversy erupted. The epicenter was a 13-block section of Division Street, a car-oriented commercial corridor experiencing a building boom. By the time the issue made it to the front pages of Willamette Week, the local weekly paper, 11 new multifamily buildings were under development, seven with no parking at all.
A city-commissioned survey of 115 residents of new apartment buildings would show that 72 percent of the respondents owned cars, with the majority parking on neighborhood streets. Even though the same survey showed that the areas around the buildings had plenty of available parking, neighbors didn’t perceive it that way.
Mayor Charlie Hales, who had championed the removal of parking mandates as a council member in 2002, even floated the idea of instituting a building moratorium until the zoning code could be sorted out. Hales told Willamette Week that he had anticipated developers might build one parking spot instead of two, but hadn’t imagined banks would finance housing with no parking at all.
In response to the outcry, Portland’s city council reinstituted a parking requirement for multifamily developments with more than 30 units. Those larger buildings would need to provide one parking space for every three or four units, depending on the building size. “That was the strategic retreat,” Hales explained. “We decided to adjust our ideal slightly to a watered-down version in order to reduce the controversy.”
Hales, who is no longer mayor, still believes strongly in eliminating parking requirements. “There’s some things we really don’t need to regulate,” he said recently. “Minimum number of parking spaces is one of them.” Given the political pressure of the time, he has a hard time imagining how things could have worked out differently.
While supporters of parking mandates prevailed in that case, the matter was far from settled. Several years after the 2013 brouhaha, regulated affordable housing near transit regained its exemption from parking requirements, after rising rents and economic displacement prompted Portland to declare a housing state of emergency and elect a tenant advocate to city council. Portland adopted an inclusionary zoning policy that same year, requiring multifamily buildings to set aside units for affordable housing—and waiving residential parking requirements for those buildings.
Looking back, Portland activist Tony Jordan, who went on to launch the national Parking Reform Network, thinks the city was foolish to derail the housing construction wave. “Why would you do anything” to make developers think twice about investing in larger buildings, he asked. The way the code was written, adding one more unit to a 30-unit building came with “a penalty of six parking spaces, incentivizing builders to stay under the limit. “Even if we only lost 60 apartments,” he said, “that’s a housing subsidy that we just threw away—and for what?”
Communities with No Parking Minimums
According to the Parking Reform Network, the following communities do not have citywide minimum parking requirements (dates of implementation indicated when known). Learn more about these and other changes to U.S. parking mandates at www.parkingreform.org.
• California: Alameda (2021), San Francisco (2018), Emeryville (2019)
• Connecticut: Bridgeport (2022), Hartford (2017)
• Georgia: Dunwoody (2019)
• Indiana: South Bend (2021)
• Michigan: Ann Arbor (2022), Mancelona, Ecorse (2020), River Rouge (2021)
• Minnesota: Minneapolis (2021), St. Paul (2021)
• Missouri: Branson
• New Hampshire: Seabrook (2019), Dover (2015)
• New York: Buffalo (2017), Canandaigua, Hudson (2019), Saranac Lake (2016)
• North Carolina: Raleigh (2022)
• Tennessee: Jackson (2021)
• Texas: Bandera, Bastrop (2019)
• Alberta: Edmonton (2020), High River (2021)
Stopping Parking Spillover
When parking complaints bubbled up in Portland’s Northwest neighborhood in 2016, the city was ready to try a different strategy: directly managing on-street parking. A local parking advisory committee had petitioned Portland’s city council to apply the citywide parking requirements to the growing district, which had historically been exempted. But when a study showed that those regulations would have made 23 percent of newly constructed homes in the neighborhood illegal, the council opted to improve the district’s fledgling parking permit program instead.
“When city staff manage on-street parking properly, they can prevent that on-street parking from getting overcrowded with a 99 percent success rate,” said Siegman, who has spent much of his career studying spillover parking concerns. The problem, he said, is that almost no one has training in how to manage street parking in a way that is both effective and politically popular. On-street parking management is not part of the core curriculum for planners or transportation engineers.
“What you’re essentially doing with on-street parking spaces is taking a valuable resource that belongs to the public and setting up rights to determine who gets to use it,” said Siegman. Any hotel manager knows that once the keys are gone, there is no vacancy. Yet cities often hand out multiple residential permits for every street space, and wait until the problem is so bad that neighbors have to petition for curbside management. When a neighborhood has more drivers seeking permits than there are on-street spaces, there are a number of ways to ensure balance. Boundaries for a parking district could exclude new buildings or households with driveways, or restrict the number of permits to the street frontage of the lot—forcing developers and incoming residents to make a plan for storing cars off-site.
Left to the Market, How Much Parking Gets Built?
In Buffalo, New York, which struck down parking requirements in April 2017, a review of 36 major developments showed that 53 percent of projects still opted to include at least as many parking spaces as the previous code had required. The developers who did propose building less parking averaged 60 fewer parking spaces than the old minimum required, avoiding over eight acres of unnecessary asphalt and saving up to $30 million in construction costs.
Seattle saw similar results after eliminating parking requirements near transit in 2012. A study of 868 residential developments permitted in the following five years found that 70 percent of new buildings in areas not subject to parking requirements still chose to have on-site parking. Collectively, the new buildings included 40 percent fewer parking spaces than would have previously been required, saving an estimated $537 million in construction costs and freeing up 144 acres of land.
Siegman estimates the costs of setting up an effective parking permit program could be somewhere in the neighborhood of $100,000—a bargain compared to the cost of building parking, which can run as much as $50,000 per space. “There are all kinds of different feelings about what’s fair,” Siegman said, “but you can often come to a solution that has durable majority political support.”
That’s what officials in Vancouver, British Columbia, did in 2017 to resolve crowded curbs in the West End. Despite 94 percent of residents having access to an off-street parking space, many still preferred to park on the street. Over 6,000 drivers had opted for the $6 a month permit for the chance to park in one of the 2,747 on-street spaces. When the city raised permit prices to $30 per month—more in line with what private garages charged—and installed more parking meters, curb congestion cleared up. Before that change, only one out of five blocks met the city’s standards of being less than 85 percent full at the busiest time of day. Within two years of the pricing adjustments, all of the blocks measured below that threshold, making it far easier to find a parking space.
The Next Wave of Parking Reform
More and more, champions of eliminating parking mandates are getting elected to offices and planning commissions, according to Jordan, of the Parking Reform Network. “One person can really get the idea and push it through,” he said. The growing number of cities that have taken this deregulatory action provides political cover for policy makers who have been hesitant to go first.
But parking reform advocates say change should and will happen beyond the local level. Since “the perceived benefits of instituting parking regulations [have been] almost entirely local,” Siegman said, he thinks almost all of the productive reform to get rid of minimum parking laws is going to come from regional, state, or national governments.
A wave of legislation against parking mandates has been gathering momentum on the West Coast. In 2020, Washington State quietly capped excessive parking requirements near transit for market-rate and affordable housing. California’s third attempt to limit local parking requirements near public transit succeeded in September with the signing of AB 2097. That came on the heels of another statewide rollback in Oregon, where a state land use commission struck down parking mandates for projects near transit, affordable housing, and small homes across the state’s eight largest metro regions, which house 60 percent of Oregon’s population.
By July 2023, nearly 50 cities in Oregon will need to choose between wholly eliminating minimum parking requirements or implementing a suite of other tools to manage parking and comply with the new administrative rule. They are sure to have lots of company, as municipalities and states across the nation weigh the harm these regulations have caused against the 20th century dream of free and easy parking.
Aaron Gill, of the Hartford Planning and Zoning Commission, has some simple advice for jurisdictions considering removing parking minimums: “I would say just do it. Don’t waste time having a discussion as to if it’s going to work or not. The reality is we have way too much parking in this country.”
Catie Gould is a transportation researcher with the Seattle-based nonprofit think tank Sightline Institute.
Lead image: Fordham Heights, New York. Credit: krblokhin via iStock/Getty Images Plus.
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Twenty miles upstream of Portland, Maine, lies Sebago Lake, the state’s deepest and second-biggest body of water. The lake provides drinking water to 16 percent of Maine’s population, including residents of Portland, the state’s largest city. It holds nearly a trillion gallons of clear, cold water. Portland’s water utility has earned one of only 50 federal filtration exemptions in the country, which means the water, although treated to ward off microorganisms, does not have to be filtered before it flows into the city’s taps.
“The primary reason it’s so pure is that most of the watershed is still forested,” says Karen Young, director of Sebago Clean Waters, a coalition working to protect the area. Eighty-four percent of the 234,000-acre watershed is covered in forests—a mix of pine, oak, maple, and other species that filter water and help make this system work so well. But those forests face threats. Between 1987 and 2009, the watershed lost about 3.5 percent of its forest cover. Just 10 percent of the area was conserved. In 2009, 2014, and 2022, the U.S. Forest Service ranked the Sebago watershed as one of the nation’s most vulnerable, due to threats from development.
Over the last couple of decades, conservation groups began to worry about the future of this critical resource—and the Portland Water District (PWD) was worried, too. An independent utility that serves more than 200,000 people in Greater Portland, PWD purchased 1,700 acres around the water intake in 2005 and adopted a land preservation policy in 2007. In 2013, it established a program to help support conservation projects undertaken by local and regional land trusts.
Most of these organizations were working independently until 2015, when The Nature Conservancy brought them together to develop a conservation plan for the lake’s largest tributary, the Crooked River. That convening evolved into the Sebago Clean Waters coalition, which includes nine local and national conservation groups, the water district, and supporters from the business community. As they explored creative ways to protect the lake and the land around it, the idea of creating a water fund surfaced.
Water funds are private-public partnerships in which downstream beneficiaries like utilities and businesses invest in upstream conservation projects to protect a water source—and, by extension, to ensure that the supply that reaches users is as clean and plentiful as possible. In 2016, Spencer Meyer of the Highstead Foundation—one of the groups that founded Sebago Clean Waters—took a trip to Quito, Ecuador, with The Nature Conservancy. The group visited with representatives of the Fund for the Protection of Water for Quito (FONAG), a leading example of this novel source water protection model. Meyer saw some similarities to the situation in Maine.
“We thought, ‘What if we could bring the partners together as a whole system to accelerate the pace of conservation?’” he says. “And could we apply that model to a healthy watershed, to take a proactive position and build this financial model in a place where it isn’t too late?”
A water fund is a financial tool, but it’s also a governance mechanism and management framework that brings multiple stakeholders to the table. Quito’s fund, launched in 2000, is the longest-standing one in the world. Similar projects have proliferated across the globe, particularly in Latin America and Africa. According to The Nature Conservancy, more than 43 water funds are operating in 13 countries on four continents, with at least 35 more in the works.
The Importance of Healthy Watersheds
Globally, clean water is our most important resource. When upstream watersheds are healthy, they collect, store, and filter water. That provides a resource that can, in addition to meeting basic hydration and sanitation needs, support climate change adaptation, food security, and community resilience. When watersheds are not healthy, sediment clogs up water filtration systems, pollutants flow downstream, and ecosystems become degraded.
That difference is crucial. According to a Nature Conservancy report, more than half the world’s cities and 75 percent of irrigated agriculture are likely already facing recurring water shortages. Climate change is fueling extreme drought, from the U.S. West to Australia, and pollution from sources like nitrogen and phosphorus has grown ninefold in the last half century. In many cities, the source of water is far away and under different jurisdiction, which makes regulation and treatment challenging.
The Nature Conservancy also estimates that 1.7 billion people living in the world’s largest cities currently depend on water flowing from fragile source watersheds hundreds of miles away. That puts strain on both ecological systems and infrastructure, and demand is only growing. By 2050, two-thirds of the global population will live in those cities. That level of demand simply may not be sustainable, especially in a rapidly changing climate. Water funds can be creative, multilayered solutions to two urgent, interlocking issues: water quality and quantity.
“Water funds sit at the intersection of land, water, and climate change,” says Chandni Navalkha, associate director of Sustainably Managed Land and Water Resources at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. “They are an example of the kind of cross-sectoral, multi-stakeholder governance and collaboration that is required to maintain water security in a changing climate.”
Navalkha recently oversaw the development of a case study of the Sebago Clean Waters initiative, which the Lincoln Institute will distribute through its International Land Conservation Network. Changing the way water has been historically managed isn’t easy, particularly because it’s tangled up in issues like city planning, economic growth, and public health. So groups like the Lincoln Institute and The Nature Conservancy are working to spread the water fund model by showing the science behind source water protection, giving communities tools to find ecosystem-specific solutions, and sharing the experiences of places like Portland and Quito.
Lessons from Quito
In the late 1990s, officials in the Metropolitan District of Quito started to worry that they were running out of water to support the city’s 2.6 million residents. The upstream ecosystems that filled the city’s aquifers were eroding, and those impacts were trickling downstream.
A full 80 percent of the city’s water supply originated from protected areas within its watershed: the Antisana Ecological Reserve, Cayambe Coca National Park, and Cotopaxi National Park. “But they were only paper parks,” says Silvia Benitez, who works for The Nature Conservancy as water security manager for the Latin American Region. Instead of being protected, the area’s páramos—biodiverse high-altitude grasslands that are home to a range of rare endemic species and filter the upstream water supply—were facing multiple threats from livestock grazing, unsustainable agriculture, and construction.
Where conservation was an option, lack of funding made it difficult to achieve. Benitez says water managers knew the situation needed to be addressed, so the Municipal Sewer and Potable Water Company of Quito and The Nature Conservancy set up a fund to support the upstream ecosystem with $21,000 in seed money. Over the next four years they built a board of public, private, and NGO watershed actors, including Quito Power Company, National Brewery, Consortium CAMAREN, which provides social and environmental policy training, and the Tesalia Springs Company, a multinational beverage corporation. All of those stakeholders had a vested interest in water, and each contributed to the trust every year.
background. Credit: SL_Photography via iStock/Getty Images Plus.
Today, FONAG is regulated by the Securities Market Law of Ecuador and has a growing endowment worth $22 million. That funding is used to support upstream environmental projects like agricultural training and plant restoration in the páramos, which helps limit sedimentation.
“It’s a financial mechanism that harnesses investments from private and public sectors to protect and restore forests and ecosystems,” says Adriana Soto, The Nature Conservancy’s regional director for Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru. It’s also a forward-thinking way to manage water, says Soto, who was previously vice minister of Environment and Sustainable Development of Colombia and serves on the board of the Lincoln Institute.
Traditional water infrastructure—often called gray infrastructure—consists of pipes, water filtration systems, and chemical treatments, which are designed to purify water before it’s used. Gray infrastructure has long been relied on to ensure that water was potable and accessible. But it’s expensive and energy intensive, it can negatively impact wildlife and ecosystems, and it breaks down over time. Climate change is also posing threats to gray infrastructure; for instance, intensifying wildfires have led to increased sedimentation that chokes existing filtration plants, and virulent storm cycles have overwhelmed water treatment plants and other key pieces of infrastructure.
By contrast, green infrastructure is a water management approach that takes its cue from nature. Protecting upstream water sources is a form of green infrastructure investment that can help alleviate the pressure on water systems. There are almost as many ways to manage source water as there are water sources, but The Nature Conservancy’s “Urban Water Blueprint” report, which surveyed more than 2,000 watersheds, identifies five archetypes: forest protection, reforestation, agricultural best management practices, riparian restoration, and forest fuel reduction.
For instance, in the páramos above Quito, FONAG funded work to keep cattle off the most fragile grasslands and employed guards to stop rogue burning, because rebuilding the ecosystem was a top priority. Working across nearly 2,000 square miles, the fund has now protected more than 70,000 acres of land. This effort has benefited more than 3,500 families, providing funding to support sustainable, profitable farming operations.
“One of the beauties of the strategy is the social and economic results,” Soto says. “It’s not just tackling water regulation, it tackles climate change resiliency, biodiversity conservation, and it strengthens communities and creates gender equality. Most of the farms are led by women.”
Quito’s model inspired a swell of other water funds, many launched by The Nature Conservancy. Like these examples, each has place-specific strategies and funding structures:
Measuring Progress
Water funds support conservation projects that address a range of issues, including sedimentation and turbidity, nutrient build-up, and aquifer recharge. They also create social and environmental cobenefits, like protecting and regenerating habitat and sequestering emissions.
There are financial upsides as well: according to The Nature Conservancy, these investments in land management can provide more than $2 in benefits for every $1 invested over 30 years. One in six cities could recoup the costs of investing in upstream conservation through savings in annual water treatment costs alone.
Creating a water fund requires establishing governance systems, securing funding, identifying conservation goals, and defining benchmarks for measuring progress. “The business case development is hard: how much money, where is it going to be invested,” Soto says. Part of the business case is demonstrating the ecological and financial benefit of a fund. Soto says that’s the biggest challenge, because the benefits of conservation are long term, and don’t present themselves immediately.
“Water is difficult,” she says. “The challenge is not only time—we have to prove the case over many years—but also the aggregated result. How much of the water quality or quantity is because of the water fund?” She says FONAG struggled to find a way to quantify that, but researchers from San Francisco de Quito University helped set up a monitoring system that tracked water quality and quantity. That system has been used to mark progress and to show investors the direct benefits of this work.
“It’s not an easy sell, especially when you’re talking about committing funding for 50 or 70 years,” Benitez says. “But now, 20 years later, we have a lot of tools to show the benefits of nature-based solutions.”
She says that over those years, as The Nature Conservancy has introduced water funds in Colombia, Brazil, and other countries, they’ve learned to show potential partners concrete, measurable outcomes, and they’ve gathered tools and science to back up the work.
Scaling Up
Quito’s project has been considered a success over the years, but while building a single water fund is one thing, scaling the concept is another. As the water fund model has expanded to other countries and continents, challenges have come up. Changing the way water institutions think and operate takes time and negotiation. On the financial side, transaction and set-up costs can be high, and there’s no clear framework to compare the costs of nature-based solutions and gray infrastructure. Logistically, setting up a fund is different every time; Cape Town’s invasive species problem is different, for example, from Quito’s páramo protection needs.
To address these challenges, The Nature Conservancy—along with the Inter-American Development Bank, the FEMSA Foundation, the Global Environment Facility, and the International Climate Initiative—formed the Latin America Water Funds Partnership in 2011. The goal of the partnership, which is described in From the Ground Up, a recently published Lincoln Institute Policy Focus Report, is to scale the development of water funds in the region and provide a global model for how to help urban centers with source water protection.
A year after its launch, the partnership published a manual intended to provide resources that could guide work everywhere, even though each place faced specific challenges. “We have water funds that work with indigenous groups upstream, and we have other funds that have more large landowners, or small farmers,” Benitez says. “Our common purpose is to establish agreement with the groups and set up the responsibilities of the fund.”
That’s different in every case, but there are certain elements that can help make a water fund successful, like political involvement. For instance, Soto says that in Bogotá, Medellín, and Cartagena, fund organizers made sure to involve Colombia’s Ministry of Environment and Ministry of Housing, which is in charge of graywater. “Having them on board provides a platform to facilitate policy change, so we don’t start from scratch,” she says. The Nature Conservancy also offers strategies to engage companies, and to show them how supporting water funds reduces their long-term risk.
In 2018, The Nature Conservancy took the framework a step further, building a Water Funds Toolbox designed to guide potential partners through five stages of a project: feasibility, design, creation, operation, and consolidation. The toolbox, which leans on 20 years of accrued knowledge, shows how and where a water fund can help with water quality and availability, and provides a framework for the financial and conservation side of planning, too.
Maine Adopts the Model
In Maine, the members of Sebago Clean Waters took that toolbox and ran with it. “From the very beginning, we strived to design Sebago Clean Waters as a replicable model for other coalitions, regions, and water funds to learn from,” said Meyer, of the Highstead Foundation.
The coalition assessed the fund’s feasibility, commissioning a study by the University of Maine. The study found that reducing area forest cover by even 3 percent could noticeably increase pollutants. If forest cover decreased by 10 percent, it would cause the watershed to fall below federal filtration standards, the study said: “Protecting the filtration-avoidance waiver saves PWD and its customers an estimated $15 million per year in expected additional annual filtration plant costs.”
The economic argument was strong. The researchers found that every dollar invested in forestland conservation is likely to yield between $4.80 and $8.90 in benefits, including the preservation of water quality. If a filtration plant became necessary, however, PWD would need to increase water rates by about 84 percent to offset the costs of construction. There were ecological benefits to conserving the watershed, too, like providing habitat for trout and salmon, reducing erosion, and managing floods.
Sebago Clean Waters came up with a plan to ensure that a total of 25 percent of the watershed—35,000 acres—was conserved over the course of 15 years. They started with projects like the 1,400-acre Tiger Hill Community Forest in the town of Sebago. That tract was protected through a partnership between the Loon Echo Land Trust, a member of the coalition that has worked to protect the northern Sebago Lake region since 1987, and the Trust for Public Land. In 2021, Sebago Clean Waters announced its participation in a deal that would protect more than 12,000 acres in Oxford County, including the headwaters of the Crooked River, the lake’s main tributary. The amount of protected land in the watershed has increased from 10 percent to 15 percent.
Land conservation isn’t cheap or easy, especially in New England, where much of the lakeside land has long been in private hands. Achieving the water fund’s goals will take an estimated $15 million. But the fund is gaining momentum: building on an initial capacity-building grant of $350,000 from the U.S Endowment for Forestry and Communities; private and corporate funding; and a commitment by the Portland Water District to provide up to 25 percent of funding for each watershed conservation project that meets its criteria, the coalition recently landed an $8 million Regional Conservation Partnership Program award from the USDA.
Local businesses have also stepped up. In 2019, Portland’s Allagash Brewing offered to donate 10 cents from every barrel of beer it brewed, a total of about $10,000 a year. Allagash was the first of about 10 companies—including four other breweries—that have joined the coalition. MaineHealth, a statewide hospital network, just got involved as well.
“Drinking water is so compelling, it’s not a hard sell to talk to people about protecting it—particularly the breweries, because beer is 90 percent water,” Young says. “They understand the benefit as a business and as a community member.” She’s been surprised at the reasons so many partners have come on board. Many aren’t doing it because of their bottom line; they’re concerned with sustainability, and with supporting the communities where their employees live.
Sebago Clean Waters has accomplished a great deal, but its members are very aware of the time-sensitive need to protect this relatively pristine resource. After all, conserving land and water is easier than restoring them. Once a clean water source is gone, it’s hard to bring back.
As the water fund model spreads, it’s illustrating the real potential of upstream-downstream partnerships to make meaningful change. This work is not simple or immediate, but it can have lasting positive impacts in watersheds and communities around the world. Meyer said the model holds great promise: “It’s powerful to see how far a trust-based partnership can go.”
Heather Hansman is a Colorado-based journalist and the author of the book Downriver. She’s a Registered Maine Guide and a lover of the state’s rivers.
Lead image: Sebago Lake, Maine. Credit: Phil Sunkel via iStock/Getty Images Plus.
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In northern California, three regional agencies representing some 11 million people are banding together to address long-term transportation planning issues. In the Northeast, a dozen states are collaborating on an effort to bring down greenhouse gas emissions. And in other places across the United States, from the Southwest to the Midwest, governments and organizations in large metropolitan areas are embracing regional strategies to address challenges that cross jurisdictional boundaries.
It’s an approach that planners have been encouraging for some time, as adjacent U.S. metro areas seemed increasingly destined to merge. Jonathan Barnett remembers attending a conference in London in 2004, and watching as maps of expected urban growth and regional development in the United States flashed onto a screen. At the time, Barnett was the director of the Urban Design Program at the University of Pennsylvania. He and his colleagues had been pondering the implications of Census Bureau projections that the U.S. population might grow 50 percent or more by 2050, an increase of more than 100 million people.
“What popped out at everybody in the room was that there was a pattern emerging in the maps of where these people were going to go,” Barnett says. “You can see [these urban patterns] from space, and it’s a little like looking at the stars and seeing Orion and Sagittarius. We realized that something important was happening.”
Bob Yaro was in the room that day, too. “You could see that, across the country, the suburbs of one metropolitan region were merging with the suburbs of the next metropolitan region,” recalls Yaro, who led the Regional Plan Association at the time while teaching at the University of Pennsylvania. “Physically, these places were becoming integrated with each other. And then when we looked at economic and demographic trends, you could see that in fact the lives of these cities and metropolitan areas were merging with their neighbors.”
This was hardly the first time that geographers and planners had taken note of the way linked metropolitan areas can share economies, natural resource systems, infrastructure, history, and culture. But by the turn of the 21st century, the scope and pace of the phenomenon were reaching new levels in the United States.
Not long after the conference in London, Armando Carbonell—who retired from the Lincoln Institute this year after leading its urban planning program for more than two decades—gave the phenomenon a name that would stick: megaregions.
A band of planners, including Yaro, Barnett, and others, has picked up the banner of megaregions, arguing that these urban areas have an outsize importance nationally. “More than eight in 10 Americans live in these places, and it’s over 90 percent of the economy of the country,” Yaro says. “So it’s very clear that if these places don’t succeed or aren’t operating at their full potential, the whole country’s economy and livability will suffer.”
This spring, the Lincoln Institute published Megaregions and America’s Future, which Yaro wrote with Ming Zhang, director of Community and Regional Planning at the University of Texas at Austin, and Frederick Steiner, dean of the University of Pennsylvania’s Stuart Weitzman School of Design. They argue that megaregions may offer a way for the United States to contend with challenges that don’t respect arbitrary political boundaries, from climate change to public health crises like COVID-19. Megaregions can, if properly and creatively governed, strengthen climate resilience, natural resource management, economic competitiveness, and equity at the local, regional, and national levels.
What Constitutes a Megaregion
For more than a century, the heavily populated region stretching from Boston to Washington, DC, has drawn the attention of geographers. In his 1915 book Cities in Evolution, Patrick Geddes gave the swath of urban development running from Boston to New York the decidedly unlovely term “conurbation.” In 1961, French geographer Jean Gottman called the region a “megalopolis.” And in 1967, Herman Kahn gave the whole corridor the equally unlovely name “BosWash.”
It would take another three decades before these boundary-busting phenomena began receiving more comprehensive academic attention, but the pace has been picking up over the last 20 years as the University of Pennsylvania, the Lincoln Institute, and others have worked to advance people’s understanding of what megaregions are and how they function.
Definitions vary of what, exactly, constitutes a megaregion, but they are generally defined as regional economies that clearly extend beyond an individual metropolitan area. “I think of megaregions as a way of thinking about space, more than as real things that are out there,” says Carbonell. “I see it as a construct and a tool, [but] megaregions are not fixed and they change.”
Researchers have used a variety of innovative approaches to identify and delineate individual megaregions. One analysis looked at the commuting habits of more than 4.2 million Americans to identify megaregions. Another used satellite imagery to identify contiguously lighted urban agglomerations across the globe, then—with a sort of Seussian whimsy—gave those places names like So-Flo, Chi-Pitts, Char-Lanta, Tor-Buff-Chester, and Am-Brus-Twerp (Florida, Gulden, and Mellander 2008). To estimate economic activity in each megaregion, that study combined the satellite-imaged light footprints with population and GDP data, extrapolating a “Light-based Regional Product.” It also used the number of patent registrations and highly cited scientific authors in each megaregion as a measure of technological and scientific innovation.
At this point, researchers have identified about 40 megaregions around the world (see sidebar). In Megaregions and America’s Future, the authors focus on 13 megaregions in the United States (see map). Those are the venerable Northeast; Piedmont Atlantic, a southern stretch that includes sections of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and the Carolinas; Florida; Great Lakes; Gulf Coast; Central Plains; Texas Triangle; Front Range in Colorado; Basin and Range (Utah and Idaho); Cascadia (the Pacific Northwest from Portland to Vancouver, BC); Northern California; Southern California; and Arizona’s Sun Corridor (Yaro, Zhang, and Steiner 2022).
Many of these megaregions have economies that put them within the rankings of the world’s biggest national economies. In 2018, for example, the Northeast megaregion had a GDP of $4.54 trillion—more than that of Germany. The same year, the nearly $1.8 trillion GDP of the Southern California megaregion was larger than that of Canada. In many ways, a megaregion is an increasingly spontaneous and organic unit of organization, one that presents more opportunity than the traditional political divisions that it transcends.
Megaregions Around the Globe
Scholars have identified more than 40 megaregions around the world, and several more are rapidly forming in China, India, and Southeast Asia. Established megaregions include:
Pentagon, Europe. This region, whose outlines are defined by Paris, London, Hamburg, Munich, and Milan, was identified as an economic and transportation hub in 1999. It covers about 20 percent of the continent and is responsible for 60 percent of its economic output. Several other megaregion models have also been applied and explored in Europe.
Tokaido, Japan. The corridor between Tokyo and Osaka is home to more than half of the country’s population. Its cities are linked by the Shinkansen high-speed rail network, which has reduced travel time between Tokyo and Osaka from eight hours in the early 20th century to two and a half hours today; a bullet train in development will further reduce the trip to one hour.
Pearl River Delta, China. The most densely populated urban area in the world, the Pearl River Delta includes Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Hong Kong. The Chinese government has invested several hundred billion dollars in high-speed rail designed to strengthen connections within and among the Pearl River Delta, Yangtze River Delta, the region around Beijing and Tianjin, and burgeoning megaregions in coastal and inland areas.
Collaborating on Climate Mitigation
One of the most prominent examples of successful initiatives that span a megaregion is the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative (RGGI), a cooperative effort to cap and reduce power sector carbon dioxide emissions in New England and the Mid-Atlantic. Known in shorthand as “Reggie,” it is the first mandatory cap and trade program for greenhouse gas emissions in the country and now spans 12 states.
At the turn of the 21st century, efforts to establish a national cap and trade framework for greenhouse gas emissions were fizzling. In 2003, then–New York Governor George Pataki sent a letter to the governors of other states in the Northeast proposing a bipartisan effort to fight climate change. In 2005, the initial agreement to implement RGGI was signed by the governors of Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, and Vermont. In 2007, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Maryland signed on.
“I think for the states that recognized that climate change was real and a problem, there was a desire and an appetite to take some leadership,” says Bruce Ho, who heads the Natural Resource Defense Council’s work on RGGI. “Climate change is a global problem, and we need to be acting as much as possible in a coordinated way. But at the same time, there’s a recognition that you have to start somewhere.”
Even as climate change efforts at the federal level foundered, RGGI got stronger and expanded. In 2014, the participating states reduced the emissions cap by 40 percent and committed to further year-by-year reductions. Then in 2017, the states agreed to aim for an even steeper decline in emissions, and also agreed to extend those emissions reductions efforts through at least 2030.
Since RGGI began, power plant emissions have decreased by more than 50 percent—twice as much as the national decrease during the same time—and the program has raised over $4 billion by auctioning carbon allowances. That money has been invested in local energy efficiency programs, renewable energy, and other initiatives. Virginia, for example, dedicates half of its RGGI funding to low-income energy efficiency programs and puts the other half toward flood preparedness and sea-level rise mitigation in coastal communities.
While not immune to criticism, RGGI is “an early example of a megaregion-scale initiative that has held up quite well,” says Carbonell—and it continues to gain momentum. Although then–Governor Chris Christie withdrew New Jersey from RGGI in 2012, the state rejoined in 2020. Virginia joined in 2021, and Pennsylvania followed this year. Leaders in North Carolina, spurred by a citizens’ rulemaking petition, are now considering joining RGGI as well.
Hopes for High-Speed Rail
One of the key challenges of megaregions is how people get around within them. Because megaregions can run 300 to 800 miles across, they demand an approach to transportation that has largely been ignored in the United States. “They’re too small to be efficiently traversed by air, and too large to be easily traversed by road,” Yaro says. “And then on top of that, the airports, airspace, and the interstate highway links in these places are highly congested.”
Putting a new emphasis on high-speed rail, which can reach speeds over 200 miles per hour, will help relieve a transportation system that is groaning under strain nationwide, says Yaro, who is now president of the North Atlantic Rail Alliance, a group advocating a high-speed and high-performance “rail-enabled economic development strategy” for New York and New England. In addition to reducing congestion, highspeed rail can decrease emissions; it can also spur economic development by connecting people with jobs and other opportunities throughout a region.
Plenty of successful examples of high-speed rail systems exist worldwide. In Japan, for example, the world’s first high-speed rail line—the famous Shinkansen, or bullet train—has linked Tokyo, Nagoya, and Osaka into a single megaregion. The system, which now carries over 420,000 passengers each weekday, will mark its 60th year of service in 2024. In Europe, nine countries now operate high-speed rail on more than 5,500 miles of track. Perhaps no country has embraced high-speed rail as enthusiastically as China. Since just 2008, its government has built a system that reaches practically every corner of the sprawling country on more than 23,500 miles of track—and counting.
In the United States, an early realization of the concept’s potential has been slow to gain traction. In 1966, U.S. Senator Claiborne Pell of Rhode Island proposed a high-speed line between Boston and Washington in his book, Megalopolis Unbound: The Supercity and the Transportation of Tomorrow. In 2000, Amtrak started Acela service between Boston and Washington. Because it reaches 150 miles per hour, it qualifies as high-speed rail—yet it hits that upper limit over only about 34 miles of the 457-mile route. The Acela’s average speed is just 70 miles per hour.
Plans for intercity high-speed rail have been considered or are underway in other regions; the Texas Central Line would connect Dallas and Houston, while the Brightline West project would link Southern California to Las Vegas. Elsewhere in California, construction is underway on an ambitious line that will connect San Francisco and Los Angeles, with a second phase extending the line north to Sacramento and south to San Diego. But challenges related to funding, politics, and logistics have meant that high-speed rail has barely made it out of the blocks.
Early versions of last year’s infrastructure bill included $10 billion for high-speed rail, but that was cut during negotiations. While proponents keep pushing for meaningful federal investment in a high-speed network, megaregions can also benefit from investments in existing systems—or “fast-enough rail,” as Barnett dubs it in his book Designing the Megaregion: “There are many transportation improvements that can be made incrementally to give a much better structure to the evolving megaregions.”
Sharing Solutions in California
The Northern California Megaregion extends across the cities of the San Francisco Bay Area, Sacramento, and the San Joaquin Valley. The region has seen a dramatic increase in commuters from inland communities like Tracy and Stockton to jobs in the Bay Area, and has some of the nation’s longest average commute times.
James Corless heads the Sacramento Area Council of Governments, but previously worked for the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, the agency responsible for planning and financing regional transportation in the Bay Area. In the mid-2000s, he says, regional agencies began looking at the swath of cities running from the Bay Area to Sacramento as an emerging megaregion, and gave it a name that put it squarely in the ranks of places like So-Flo and Char-Lanta. “We actually coined the phrase ‘San Framento,’” Corless says. “Everybody hated it. But it got people’s attention.”
In 2015, the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, Sacramento Area Council of Governments, and San Joaquin Council of Governments signed an MOU to create a Megaregion Working Group. Their goal: to begin tackling issues that transcended the boundaries of the 16 counties and 136 cities they collectively represented.
It took a while for the effort to gain momentum, precisely because of the sprawling nature of the megaregion. “I kept seeing these megaregion meetings pop up on my calendar and then get canceled,” Corless says. “Because for elected officials to get together from across these 16 counties, it requires an entire day of travel.”
The arrival of COVID, and the resulting turn toward conducting government business via Zoom, helped bridge that distance and give the effort momentum. “At first, we were struggling a little bit to find our focus,” Corless says. Gradually, though, the participating entities began asking a simple question: “Where are we stronger together?”
Late in 2021, the Megaregion Working Group announced a list of a dozen transportation-focused projects, from highway improvements to expansion of three regional rail lines. The California high-speed rail system that’s under construction—but far from completion—doesn’t much play into the working group’s plans, Corless says. “I have no doubt that high-speed rail will be a game changer,” he says. But “if we could just get reliable medium-speed rail, we’ll take that.”
In fact, much of the megaregional effort is more quotidian than flashy infrastructure projects. The partners are focusing on integrating their regional plans and synchronizing their long-range planning cycles. “Because so much of our travel and even our housing markets are now intertwined,” Corless says, “if we’re looking out at the next 25 years, we need to be in sync.”
The concept of megaregions is coming of age, Corless says, in much the same way that the rise of metropolitan planning organizations helped meet new challenges in the 1960s. “Once American cities suburbanized,” he says, “you couldn’t rely on the central city to do everything. People were more mobile, economies were bigger, and the issues transcended local city and county boundaries.”
Moving Megaregions Forward
What will it take to push the megaregion concept—which essentially invites those metropolitan planning organizations to an even bigger table—more squarely into the public consciousness and the policy realm?
Bob Yaro thinks one answer is the climate crisis, which could push regions to work together in new ways. “I think it takes a crisis to do anything big in this country,” Yaro says. “You read these stories about whole counties running out of water. And that’s only going to get worse. [To address] the climate issue, you need both adaptation and mitigation strategies, and those mitigation strategies probably become most efficacious at the megaregion scale.”
The RGGI initiative in the Northeast offers one example of how that kind of collaboration can work; the current water crisis in the desert Southwest offers another. There, tough times have, somewhat paradoxically, made for closer connections. Communities and governments have looked toward their neighbors and realized that they can do more together.
The seven U.S. states that rely on water from the Colorado River, along with Mexico, have historically had an extremely contentious relationship. Yet, while recent headlines scream about impending water catastrophe, those parties have for more than 20 years been quietly working together on agreements intended to minimize the collective damage that they might suffer. A sense of partnership, however tenuous and prone to ongoing tensions, has been supplanting longstanding parochial attitudes toward the river.
As metro regions melt together and global challenges ramp up, a growing sense of shared fate with historically distant neighbors could help tackle all kinds of problems that might once have seemed insurmountable.
“I think one of the things we need to do is redefine ‘home,’ and the Southwest is Exhibit A on why that needs to happen,” Yaro says. “I think it’s redefining home at this larger scale. The final boundaries are going to depend on an individual community’s sense of association with their neighbors—but the place doesn’t succeed unless we do that.”
Matt Jenkins is a freelance writer who has contributed to the New York Times, Smithsonian, Men’s Journal, and numerous other publications.
Lead image: A rendering of the United States as seen from space, based on NASA images. Credit: DKosig via iStock.
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In northern California, three regional agencies representing some 11 million people are banding together to address long-term transportation planning issues. In the Northeast, a dozen states are collaborating on an effort to bring down greenhouse gas emissions. And in other places across the United States, from the Southwest to the Midwest, governments and organizations in large metropolitan areas are using regional strategies to address challenges that cross jurisdictional boundaries.
It’s an approach that planners have been encouraging for some time, as adjacent U.S. metro areas seemed increasingly destined to merge. Jonathan Barnett remembers attending a conference in London in 2004, and watching as maps of expected urban growth and regional development in the United States flashed onto a screen. At the time, Barnett was the director of the Urban Design Program at the University of Pennsylvania. He and his colleagues had been pondering the implications of Census Bureau projections that the U.S. population might grow 50 percent or more by 2050, an increase of more than 100 million people.
“What popped out at everybody in the room was that there was a pattern emerging in the maps of where these people were going to go,” Barnett says. “You can see [these urban patterns] from space, and it’s a little like looking at the stars and seeing Orion and Sagittarius. We realized that something important was happening.”
Bob Yaro was in the room that day, too. “You could see that, across the country, the suburbs of one metropolitan region were merging with the suburbs of the next metropolitan region,” recalls Yaro, who led the Regional Plan Association at the time while teaching at the University of Pennsylvania. “Physically, these places were becoming integrated with each other. And then when we looked at economic and demographic trends, you could see that in fact the lives of these cities and metropolitan areas were merging with their neighbors.”
This was hardly the first time that geographers and planners had taken note of the way linked metropolitan areas can share economies, natural resource systems, infrastructure, history, and culture. But by the turn of the 21st century, the scope and pace of the phenomenon were reaching new levels in the United States.
Not long after the conference in London, Armando Carbonell—who retired from the Lincoln Institute this year after leading its urban planning program for more than two decades—gave the phenomenon a name that would stick: megaregions.
A band of planners, including Yaro, Barnett, and others, has picked up the banner of megaregions, arguing that these urban areas have an outsize importance nationally. “More than eight in 10 Americans live in these places, and it’s over 90 percent of the economy of the country,” Yaro says. “So it’s very clear that if these places don’t succeed or aren’t operating at their full potential, the whole country’s economy and livability will suffer.”
This spring, the Lincoln Institute published Megaregions and America’s Future, which Yaro wrote with Ming Zhang, director of Community and Regional Planning at the University of Texas at Austin, and Frederick Steiner, dean of the University of Pennsylvania’s Stuart Weitzman School of Design. They argue that megaregions may offer a way for the United States to contend with challenges that don’t respect arbitrary political boundaries, from climate change to public health crises like COVID-19. Megaregions can, if properly and creatively governed, strengthen climate resilience, natural resource management, economic competitiveness, and equity at the local, regional, and national levels.
What Constitutes a Megaregion
For more than a century, the heavily populated region stretching from Boston to Washington, DC, has drawn the attention of geographers. In his 1915 book Cities in Evolution, Patrick Geddes gave the swath of urban development running from Boston to New York the decidedly unlovely term “conurbation.” In 1961, French geographer Jean Gottman called the region a “megalopolis.” And in 1967, Herman Kahn gave the whole corridor the equally unlovely name “BosWash.”
It would take another three decades before these boundary-busting phenomena began receiving more comprehensive academic attention, but the pace has been picking up over the last 20 years as the University of Pennsylvania, the Lincoln Institute, and others have worked to advance people’s understanding of what megaregions are and how they function.
Definitions vary of what, exactly, constitutes a megaregion, but they are generally defined as regional economies that clearly extend beyond an individual metropolitan area. “I think of megaregions as a way of thinking about space, more than as real things that are out there,” says Carbonell. “I see it as a construct and a tool, [but] megaregions are not fixed and they change.”
Researchers have used a variety of innovative approaches to identify and delineate individual megaregions. One analysis looked at the commuting habits of more than 4.2 million Americans to identify megaregions. Another used satellite imagery to identify contiguously lighted urban agglomerations across the globe, then—with a sort of Seussian whimsy—gave those places names like So-Flo, Chi-Pitts, Char-Lanta, Tor-Buff-Chester, and Am-Brus-Twerp (Florida, Gulden, and Mellander 2008). To estimate economic activity in each megaregion, that study combined the satellite-imaged light footprints with population and GDP data, extrapolating a “Light-based Regional Product.” It also used the number of patent registrations and highly cited scientific authors in each megaregion as a measure of technological and scientific innovation.
book Megaregions and America’s Future. Credit: Ming Zhang.
At this point, researchers have identified about 40 megaregions around the world (see sidebar). In Megaregions and America’s Future, the authors focus on 13 megaregions in the United States (see map). Those are the venerable Northeast; Piedmont Atlantic, a southern stretch that includes sections of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and the Carolinas; Florida; Great Lakes; Gulf Coast; Central Plains; Texas Triangle; Front Range in Colorado; Basin and Range (Utah and Idaho); Cascadia (the Pacific Northwest from Portland to Vancouver, BC); Northern California; Southern California; and Arizona’s Sun Corridor (Yaro, Zhang, and Steiner 2022).
Many of these megaregions have economies that put them within the rankings of the world’s biggest national economies. In 2018, for example, the Northeast megaregion had a GDP of $4.54 trillion—more than that of Germany. The same year, the nearly $1.8 trillion GDP of the Southern California megaregion was larger than that of Canada. In many ways, a megaregion is an increasingly spontaneous and organic unit of organization, one that presents more opportunity than the traditional political divisions that it transcends.
Megaregions Around the Globe
Scholars have identified more than 40 megaregions around the world, and several more are rapidly forming in China, India, and Southeast Asia. Established megaregions include:
Pentagon, Europe. This region, whose outlines are defined by Paris, London, Hamburg, Munich, and Milan, was identified as an economic and transportation hub in 1999. It covers about 20 percent of the continent and is responsible for 60 percent of its economic output. Several other megaregion models have also been applied and explored in Europe.
Tokaido, Japan. The corridor between Tokyo and Osaka is home to more than half of the country’s population. Its cities are linked by the Shinkansen high-speed rail network, which has reduced travel time between Tokyo and Osaka from eight hours in the early 20th century to two and a half hours today; a bullet train in development will further reduce the trip to one hour.
Pearl River Delta, China. The most densely populated urban area in the world, the Pearl River Delta includes Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Hong Kong. The Chinese government has invested several hundred billion dollars in high-speed rail designed to strengthen connections within and among the Pearl River Delta, Yangtze River Delta, the region around Beijing and Tianjin, and burgeoning megaregions in coastal and inland areas.
Collaborating on Climate Mitigation
One of the most prominent examples of successful initiatives that span a megaregion is the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative (RGGI), a cooperative effort to cap and reduce power sector carbon dioxide emissions in New England and the Mid-Atlantic. Known in shorthand as “Reggie,” it is the first mandatory cap and trade program for greenhouse gas emissions in the country and now spans 12 states.
At the turn of the 21st century, efforts to establish a national cap and trade framework for greenhouse gas emissions were fizzling. In 2003, then–New York Governor George Pataki sent a letter to the governors of other states in the Northeast proposing a bipartisan effort to fight climate change. In 2005, the initial agreement to implement RGGI was signed by the governors of Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, and Vermont. In 2007, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Maryland signed on.
“I think for the states that recognized that climate change was real and a problem, there was a desire and an appetite to take some leadership,” says Bruce Ho, who heads the Natural Resource Defense Council’s work on RGGI. “Climate change is a global problem, and we need to be acting as much as possible in a coordinated way. But at the same time, there’s a recognition that you have to start somewhere.”
Even as climate change efforts at the federal level foundered, RGGI got stronger and expanded. In 2014, the participating states reduced the emissions cap by 40 percent and committed to further year-by-year reductions. Then in 2017, the states agreed to aim for an even steeper decline in emissions, and also agreed to extend those emissions reductions efforts through at least 2030.
Since RGGI began, power plant emissions have decreased by more than 50 percent—twice as much as the national decrease during the same time—and the program has raised over $4 billion by auctioning carbon allowances. That money has been invested in local energy efficiency programs, renewable energy, and other initiatives. Virginia, for example, dedicates half of its RGGI funding to low-income energy efficiency programs and puts the other half toward flood preparedness and sea-level rise mitigation in coastal communities.
While not immune to criticism, RGGI is “an early example of a megaregion-scale initiative that has held up quite well,” says Carbonell—and it continues to gain momentum. Although then–Governor Chris Christie withdrew New Jersey from RGGI in 2012, the state rejoined in 2020. Virginia joined in 2021, and Pennsylvania followed this year. Leaders in North Carolina, spurred by a citizens’ rulemaking petition, are now considering joining RGGI as well.
Hopes for High-Speed Rail
One of the key challenges of megaregions is how people get around within them. Because megaregions can run 300 to 800 miles across, they demand an approach to transportation that has largely been ignored in the United States. “They’re too small to be efficiently traversed by air, and too large to be easily traversed by road,” Yaro says. “And then on top of that, the airports, airspace, and the interstate highway links in these places are highly congested.”
Putting a new emphasis on high-speed rail, which can reach speeds over 200 miles per hour, will help relieve a transportation system that is groaning under strain nationwide, says Yaro, who is now president of the North Atlantic Rail Alliance, a group advocating a high-speed and high-performance “rail-enabled economic development strategy” for New York and New England. In addition to reducing congestion, highspeed rail can decrease emissions; it can also spur economic development by connecting people with jobs and other opportunities throughout a region.
Plenty of successful examples of high-speed rail systems exist worldwide. In Japan, for example, the world’s first high-speed rail line—the famous Shinkansen, or bullet train—has linked Tokyo, Nagoya, and Osaka into a single megaregion. The system, which now carries over 420,000 passengers each weekday, will mark its 60th year of service in 2024. In Europe, nine countries now operate high-speed rail on more than 5,500 miles of track. Perhaps no country has embraced high-speed rail as enthusiastically as China. Since just 2008, its government has built a system that reaches practically every corner of the sprawling country on more than 23,500 miles of track—and counting.
In the United States, an early realization of the concept’s potential has been slow to gain traction. In 1966, U.S. Senator Claiborne Pell of Rhode Island proposed a high-speed line between Boston and Washington in his book, Megalopolis Unbound: The Supercity and the Transportation of Tomorrow. In 2000, Amtrak started Acela service between Boston and Washington. Because it reaches 150 miles per hour, it qualifies as high-speed rail—yet it hits that upper limit over only about 34 miles of the 457-mile route. The Acela’s average speed is just 70 miles per hour.
Plans for intercity high-speed rail have been considered or are underway in other regions; the Texas Central Line would connect Dallas and Houston, while the Brightline West project would link Southern California to Las Vegas. Elsewhere in California, construction is underway on an ambitious line that will connect San Francisco and Los Angeles, with a second phase extending the line north to Sacramento and south to San Diego. But challenges related to funding, politics, and logistics have meant that high-speed rail has barely made it out of the blocks.
Early versions of last year’s infrastructure bill included $10 billion for high-speed rail, but that was cut during negotiations. While proponents keep pushing for meaningful federal investment in a high-speed network, megaregions can also benefit from investments in existing systems—or “fast-enough rail,” as Barnett dubs it in his book Designing the Megaregion: “There are many transportation improvements that can be made incrementally to give a much better structure to the evolving megaregions.”
Sharing Solutions in California
The Northern California Megaregion extends across the cities of the San Francisco Bay Area, Sacramento, and the San Joaquin Valley. The region has seen a dramatic increase in commuters from inland communities like Tracy and Stockton to jobs in the Bay Area, and has some of the nation’s longest average commute times.
James Corless heads the Sacramento Area Council of Governments, but previously worked for the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, the agency responsible for planning and financing regional transportation in the Bay Area. In the mid-2000s, he says, regional agencies began looking at the swath of cities running from the Bay Area to Sacramento as an emerging megaregion, and gave it a name that put it squarely in the ranks of places like So-Flo and Char-Lanta. “We actually coined the phrase ‘San Framento,’” Corless says. “Everybody hated it. But it got people’s attention.”
In 2015, the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, Sacramento Area Council of Governments, and San Joaquin Council of Governments signed an MOU to create a Megaregion Working Group. Their goal: to begin tackling issues that transcended the boundaries of the 16 counties and 136 cities they collectively represented.
It took a while for the effort to gain momentum, precisely because of the sprawling nature of the megaregion. “I kept seeing these megaregion meetings pop up on my calendar and then get canceled,” Corless says. “Because for elected officials to get together from across these 16 counties, it requires an entire day of travel.”
The arrival of COVID, and the resulting turn toward conducting government business via Zoom, helped bridge that distance and give the effort momentum. “At first, we were struggling a little bit to find our focus,” Corless says. Gradually, though, the participating entities began asking a simple question: “Where are we stronger together?”
Late in 2021, the Megaregion Working Group announced a list of a dozen transportation-focused projects, from highway improvements to expansion of three regional rail lines. The California high-speed rail system that’s under construction—but far from completion—doesn’t much play into the working group’s plans, Corless says. “I have no doubt that high-speed rail will be a game changer,” he says. But “if we could just get reliable medium-speed rail, we’ll take that.”
In fact, much of the megaregional effort is more quotidian than flashy infrastructure projects. The partners are focusing on integrating their regional plans and synchronizing their long-range planning cycles. “Because so much of our travel and even our housing markets are now intertwined,” Corless says, “if we’re looking out at the next 25 years, we need to be in sync.”
The concept of megaregions is coming of age, Corless says, in much the same way that the rise of metropolitan planning organizations helped meet new challenges in the 1960s. “Once American cities suburbanized,” he says, “you couldn’t rely on the central city to do everything. People were more mobile, economies were bigger, and the issues transcended local city and county boundaries.”
Moving Megaregions Forward
What will it take to push the megaregion concept—which essentially invites those metropolitan planning organizations to an even bigger table—more squarely into the public consciousness and the policy realm?
Bob Yaro thinks one answer is the climate crisis, which could push regions to work together in new ways. “I think it takes a crisis to do anything big in this country,” Yaro says. “You read these stories about whole counties running out of water. And that’s only going to get worse. [To address] the climate issue, you need both adaptation and mitigation strategies, and those mitigation strategies probably become most efficacious at the megaregion scale.”
The RGGI initiative in the Northeast offers one example of how that kind of collaboration can work; the current water crisis in the desert Southwest offers another. There, tough times have, somewhat paradoxically, made for closer connections. Communities and governments have looked toward their neighbors and realized that they can do more together.
The seven U.S. states that rely on water from the Colorado River, along with Mexico, have historically had an extremely contentious relationship. Yet, while recent headlines scream about impending water catastrophe, those parties have for more than 20 years been quietly working together on agreements intended to minimize the collective damage that they might suffer. A sense of partnership, however tenuous and prone to ongoing tensions, has been supplanting longstanding parochial attitudes toward the river.
As metro regions melt together and global challenges ramp up, a growing sense of shared fate with historically distant neighbors could help tackle all kinds of problems that might once have seemed insurmountable.
“I think one of the things we need to do is redefine ‘home,’ and the Southwest is Exhibit A on why that needs to happen,” Yaro says. “I think it’s redefining home at this larger scale. The final boundaries are going to depend on an individual community’s sense of association with their neighbors—but the place doesn’t succeed unless we do that.”
Matt Jenkins is a freelance writer who has contributed to the New York Times, Smithsonian, Men’s Journal, and numerous other publications.
Lead image: The United States seen from space at night. Credit: DKosig via iStock.
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City dwellers around the world noted one surprisingly welcome side effect of the lockdown phase of the pandemic era: less noise. Urban soundscapes have largely returned to form, but that peaceful interlude served as a loud and clear reminder to planners and policy makers that the audible does shape city life—and can, in turn, be shaped by policies that include thoughtful land use and design. Inger Andersen, executive director of the United Nations Environment Programme, highlighted the issue in the Financial Times earlier this year, writing that “city planners should take both the health and environmental risks of noise pollution into account.”
Of course, the underlying insight here is not new. Citizens have probably complained about various forms of city noise, from construction to concerts to rude neighbors, for as long as cities have existed. While a relatively quiet urban neighborhood might register an ambient level of about 50 decibels, higher levels can begin to interfere with conversation; a busy roadway can measure about 70 decibels (about equal to a vacuum cleaner), and a train crossing that road can push the decibel reading to 90 or higher.
Studies documenting the health effects of noise pollution, which range from sleep disturbances to cognitive issues to heart disease, date back at least to the 1970s. The World Health Organization, along with regulators in the United States, Europe, and elsewhere, has highlighted the issue for decades, often spurred by a panoply of noise activists.
“The good news is, there is much more interest today,” says Arline Bronzaft, a City University of New York professor emeritus who conducted some of the earliest studies documenting the impact of city noise on health and well-being. Trained as an environmental psychologist, Bronzaft continues to advocate for quieter built environments as a board member of the environmental nonprofit GrowNYC. Today, she says, there’s much more research, and an openness to policy experimentation. “Now that you’ve got the data,” she says, the question is becoming: “What are you doing about it?”
The answer is a work in progress, but we may be at a pivotal moment for thinking about what might be termed “built soundscapes.” The tools available to assess the challenge have radically improved. And that may help planners and policy makers devise and enable better design and policy strategies to cope with the problem.
Maybe the most prominent example involves the evolution of tools to measure sound, which have become more sophisticated and are being deployed in new ways. Recently, for example, authorities in Paris and other French cities have begun to experiment with “sound radar” devices meant to function like speed cameras: triggered by noise that exceeds code decibel limits, the sensors photograph the offending vehicle’s license plate and fine the owner.
The French sensors were developed by Bruitparif, a state-backed agency devoted to studying city acoustics in Paris and elsewhere. Similar technology is being tested in New York, Edmonton, and other cities. Most cities already have some sort of noise ordinances in place, but such rules are rarely enforced in a systematic or consistent way. The advanced new sensors could help remedy that.
Still, there’s an argument for going deeper in thinking about sound—using technology as a planning tool, not just a punitive one. Erica Walker, professor of epidemiology at the Brown University School of Public Health and founder of Brown’s Community Noise Lab, spent years creating the “2016 Greater Boston Noise Report,” mapping noise data she collected at some 400 locations around the city. The experience gave her a different perspective on soundscapes.
“I started as pro-quiet,” Walker says. In fact, she explains with a laugh, she was partly interested in finding out whether city noise codes might help her get some loud neighbors to pipe down. Creating her noise report brought Walker into contact with a cross section of situations, teaching her that “neighborhoods and sound are complex.” Because ordinances focus almost exclusively on sound as a nuisance, they’re often incomplete or counterproductive, she explains. Since some level of sound is inevitable in a city, Walker says, considerations of how the acoustic environment affects residents and their interactions with each other should be built into planning and development: “Now I’m anti-quiet—but for peace.”
Her Community Noise Lab project is focused on reworking the soundscape dialogue between citizens and policy makers; among other initiatives, that has included creating a free app called NoiseScore to make sound measurement an accessible, collaborative activity. City officials in Asheville, North Carolina, used the tool as part of their effort to incorporate more community feedback into revisions to the city’s noise code, which was updated in the summer of 2021. While that still boils down to crafting ordinances, it’s an example of technology broadening the discussion, rather than simply serving as an enforcement tool. “They didn’t start with: ‘We’re going to put these sensors up across the city and punish people if they are doing this or that,’” Walker says. “They wanted to understand all of the partners’ perspectives.”
Tor Oiamo, a professor in the Department of Geography and Environmental Studies at Toronto Metropolitan University who conducted a recent public health noise study in that city, notes that more sophisticated sensors, mapping, and modeling software are creating opportunities to plan with sound in mind. In the years ahead, he says, the tools at hand could include a kind of global noise database similar to those tracking air pollution. But there’s an obvious challenge: “The difficulty in mitigation with a city that’s already built is that the structure is in many ways locked in,” he says.
In some cases, cities have found ways to modify or add to existing infrastructure. Bronzaft’s groundbreaking research in the 1970s—she documented the negative impact of a New York subway traveling on an elevated line near a school—resulted in the installation of sound-muffling acoustic tiles in classrooms, and the use of rubber pads on tracks throughout the subway system to lessen train noise. Other train systems now use rubber tires, and the next wave of quiet mass-transit innovation includes maglev trains and electric buses.
Oiamo also points to successful efforts in Amsterdam and Copenhagen to revise traffic patterns, with the specific goal of reducing noise in residential zones. And he credits Toronto with a thoughtful approach to its current Port Lands development project: because it’s reminiscent of a master-planned neighborhood, it’s possible to factor the soundscape into the design process. In addition, many of the most measurably useful ways to mitigate urban noise overlap with thoughtful land use: more green space and trees, careful consideration of building density (strategic density can actually create pockets of quiet), and so on.
Land works have been used to mitigate urban noise for years, from the berms around the edges of New York’s Central Park to trees and sound barriers along highways. A more recent tech-forward iteration comes from German firm Naturawall, which has designed “plant walls”—galvanized steel frames with a relatively slim profile, filled with soil and sprouting a thick layer of foliage and flowers. The walls, currently in use in some German cities, are said to block sound levels roughly equivalent to typical city traffic. Other companies, including Michigan-based LiveWall, are undertaking similar projects around the world.
None of these strategies offers a silver bullet. But Oiamo, like Bronzaft and Walker, emphasizes that at this point, there is plenty of expertise to draw upon to improve our built soundscapes. Newer technologies are helping define the issues with greater nuance and offering fresh solutions. While sensors helping issue tickets for noise violations may not represent the kind of holistic approach Walker or Bronzaft have in mind, they’re a start. As the subject gets more attention and technological options proliferate, soundscape experts are sensing the potential for real, if incremental, progress. “There’s a million things to do,” says Oiamo. That’s the challenge—and the opportunity.
Rob Walker is a journalist covering design, technology, and other subjects. He is the author of The Art of Noticing. His newsletter is at robwalker.substack.com.
Image: Sensors in Paris and other cities monitor and report noise levels from passing traffic. Credit: Courtesy of Bruitparif.
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Researchers and policy makers have long sought to understand how infrastructure development can stimulate economic growth, reduce poverty, and promote regional integration. Two chapters of the Lincoln Institute book we edited, Infrastructure Economics and Policy: International Perspectives, seek to advance such an understanding in ways that can inform national or regional infrastructure plans. Three other chapters examine the effectiveness of alternative approaches to promoting economic growth through regional integration.
Infrastructure and Economic Growth
Chapter 2, written by former Lincoln Institute President Gregory K. Ingram and Zhi Liu, senior fellow and director of the China program at the Lincoln Institute, reviews empirical studies of the relationship between infrastructure and economic growth. They report that the estimated effects of infrastructure investment on economic growth vary significantly among countries and sectors, but are generally positive. These positive effects are larger in developing countries than developed countries, and larger in electricity and telecommunications than in transportation. Studies suggest that the performance or efficiency of infrastructure is a very important determinant of its economic impacts.
Ingram and Liu also review the empirical analyses of the short-run multiplier effects of infrastructure investment. These analyses find little to no short-term economic impact, even when the long-term economic impacts are clearly positive. The small multipliers are due in part to the substantial time required to undertake and complete construction and in part to the crowding out of private investment by government investment. While the increased public spending for infrastructure investment can help reduce unemployment by creating jobs for low-skilled workers, many of today’s construction workers are in fact highly skilled. These findings suggest that the chance for such spending to boost the economy is very limited, especially in the short run.
Infrastructure and Poverty Reduction
In chapter 4, authors Sameh Wahba, Somik Lall, and Hyunji Lee of the World Bank analyze the global evidence and literature on the relationship between infrastructure and poverty. They argue that the poor suffer most from a lack of access to infrastructure networks, since they must spend a disproportionately higher share of their income to secure basic services such as water or electricity from costly tankers, bottles, and batteries. While access is typically higher in urban areas than rural areas, many of the urban areas in developing countries are struggling to keep up with the infrastructure demands of rapid urbanization.
The global evidence and literature reviewed by the authors also shows that investments and policies that promote equality in access to physical infrastructure tend to reduce income and spatial inequalities. Moreover, the effectiveness of programs targeted on the infrastructure problems of the poor depends greatly on the details of their design. It helps if an improvement to physical infrastructure is coupled with complementary social policies, such as combining slum upgrading with reforms to dysfunctional land markets, pairing isolated rural electricity systems with the expansion of local educational or business opportunities, or matching basic sanitation facilities with public health or basic water programs. Similarly, when a new infrastructure facility or service is established, it is important to include a realistic plan for funding ongoing operations and maintenance.
Infrastructure and Regional Integration
In chapter 15, Professor Jose Manuel Vassallo of the Polytechnic University of Madrid examines the effectiveness of European Union infrastructure programs in fostering regional integration. In theory, EU members should have a strong interest in promoting integration, since many have relatively small populations and thus would benefit from the opportunities that integration offers to develop their competitive advantages or exploit economies of scale. Toward that end, in 1992 the EU members agreed to designate a trans-European network of priority transportation projects (TEN-T), which was subsequently divided into a “core” TEN-T network and a larger “comprehensive” TEN-T network. Similar trans-European networks for energy (TEN-E) and communications (eTEN) were also established.
However, the outcomes of the TEN-T plans are mixed. There is some evidence of increased integration, but progress is disappointingly slow, in part because the EU is essentially a federal system in which the targeted facilities are owned by member states, and their priorities for improvements are not always the same as those of the EU. The EU has had to motivate the states to improve TEN-T facilities by offering special matching grants and other financial support. The need for such financial support has effectively increased the cost of the TEN-T to the EU and made it less likely to complete the core network by the 2030 deadline.
Japan has been more successful in using infrastructure to promote regional integration. It is the first country to use high-speed passenger rail as a tool to shape regional development. Its rail services are widely admired for their scope, reliability, and safety. In chapter 16, Professor Fumitoshi Mizutani and Professor Miwa Matsuo, both of Kobe University, analyze the factors that have contributed to the railroads’ success. Japan is almost unique in the world in relying on railroad companies that are both privately owned and vertically integrated (meaning the railroad that owns the track also operates almost all the trains that run over it). Their success is also attributed to travelers seeking alternatives to congested airports and heavy volumes of automobile traffic concentrated in a few linear corridors, in addition to their excellence in service and development of innovative business models that exploit economies of scope and internalize externalities. The railroad companies, for example, are permitted to develop ancillary activities, like shopping malls in stations, that reduce their dependence on passenger revenues but also attract more passengers. Unlike the EU, the Japanese government builds and owns its high-speed lines and leases them to operators, with the lease fees based on the expected operating profits from each line. So far, the resources gained by innovation and vertical integration seem to have helped finance the cost of extending high-speed service to less dense corridors and more remote regions.
China is similar to Japan in its reliance on high-speed rail as an important tool for shaping national development. The two countries differ, however, in that 92 percent of Japan’s population lives in urban areas, compared to 65 percent in China. As urbanization continues, the Chinese government has adopted a strategy to promote the formation and development of 19 enormous city clusters or megalopolises, each comprising several major cities linked with high-speed rail. This strategy can be seen as an effort to create a variety of opportunities to absorb rural migrants and improve urban worker productivity by encouraging various forms of agglomeration economies. If the rail service is sufficiently fast and convenient to encourage commuting among the cluster’s cities, then it will increase the effective size of the labor pool and help workers match their skills with employers. If each major city in the cluster is large enough to support a high degree of specialization, say, in trade, high-tech manufacturing, tourism, or finance, then it can support specialized suppliers as well.
In chapter 17, Zheng Chang, a researcher with ETH Zurich, uses a case study of the Guangdong–Hong Kong–Macau Greater Bay Area (GBA) to demonstrate how high-speed rail contributes to city cluster formation by strengthening agglomeration economies. His empirical analysis of the GBA suggests that high-speed rail enhances agglomeration effects at the cluster level, but the gain in employment for the larger cities seems to come at the expense of the small ones. It is unclear, however, whether the agglomeration benefits of the city cluster strategy actually outweigh the costs in additional rail services. Gaining a more complete understanding of the effectiveness of the strategy will require further studies using a cost-benefit analysis framework.
Three Lessons from the Case Studies
The three case studies from the EU, Japan, and China demonstrate different approaches to and lessons about the use of infrastructure to promote regional integration. First, the EU case suggests that it is hard to achieve central infrastructure goals under a federal system of infrastructure provision, because the priorities of the member states are often different from those of the central government. Second, although Japan is unusual in its reliance on private and vertically integrated railroads, its experience demonstrates that regional plans can be implemented successfully by private providers overseen by the central government. Japanese private passenger railroads were the source of critical innovations that helped keep down the cost of providing an extensive and expanding rail system. Third, agglomeration economies can be harnessed by using infrastructure investments to promote the formation of city clusters, as in the case of China. But this bold strategy can be risky due to the heavy investments needed. The risks can be reduced if the strategy is subject to a rigorous cost-benefit analysis.
José A. Gómez-Ibáñez is the Derek C. Bok Professor Emeritus of Urban Planning and Public Policy at Harvard University. Zhi Liu is senior fellow and director of China Program at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. They are the editors of Infrastructure Economics and Policy: International Perspectives.
Image: Shinkansen high-speed rail line, Japan. Credit: gérard via Flickr.
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The Lincoln Institute’s 2022 Journalists Forum brought together 30 reporters and editors on the climate beat for two days of conversation about the role of land in the climate crisis, highlighting the need for new ideas, innovations, and policies to help head off the worst impacts of global warming.
Land and land policy thread through just about every aspect of the crisis, whether deforestation, land conservation for carbon sequestration, the interplay of land, water, and agriculture, or the fact that usable land is disappearing, raising the important question of where millions of displaced people will go, now and in the future.
Meanwhile, powerful private market actors are at work, in many cases swooping in and buying land that will be prime and prized as flooding, wildfire, mudslides, and sea-level rise make other locations unlivable—a classic case of real estate speculation.
“We need to elevate . . . the understanding of the important role that land plays and will play in our ability to address this existential crisis. And if we get it wrong, we’’re going to leave a planet that’s very, very different for whomever is left to exist on it,” said George W. McCarthy, president of the Lincoln Institute, in this collection of highlights from the forum for the Land Matters podcast.
“And the big question is, are we prepared to? And can we navigate between the really, really powerful claims, private claims over dominion over land in exchange for the collective needs to use land differently to get to better global outcomes?” McCarthy asked. “Everything hangs in the balance.”
The journalists considered the intense competition for land, with the siting of solar and wind facilities, transmission pipelines, and other needs in the transition to net-zero emissions; emerging strategies in agriculture and the management of dwindling water resources; and current practices in land conservation, which make it possible for natural areas to continue to soak up carbon.
They also heard about how land can be used to pay for climate action, through land value capture—the harnessing of a portion of increases in private land values triggered by government investments in infrastructure—and the need for more coherent climate migration policies that take into account the vulnerable populations being forced to move from their homes.
The Journalists Forum also featured some practical tools to help cover the story of the century, led by Jeff Allenby of the Center for Geospatial Solutions and Peter Colohan from the Internet of Water initiative, both new Lincoln Institute programs. Advances in technology have enabled a real-time monitoring of land use changes and water flows, which serves as a critical foundation for planners and policymakers — and journalists for telling the story of this turbulent time.
The convening also included a discussion of the business of climate journalism itself, led by Nancy Gibbs, director of the Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics and Public Policy at Harvard’s Kennedy School; Andrew McCormick from the collaborative Covering Climate Now, Amrita Gupta from the Earth Journalism Network, and Trish Wilson, who established the first climate team dedicated to coverage of global warming at the Washington Post.
You can listen to the show and subscribe to Land Matters on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
Further Reading
How to Fend Off Land Speculation (Land Lines)
Demands on the Land: To Secure a Livable Future, We Must Steward Land Wisely (Land Lines)
Return on Investment: Research Links Climate Action with Land and Property Value Increases (Land Lines)
Uprooted: As the Climate Crisis Forces U.S. Residents to Relocate, a New Conversation Emerges (Land Lines)
The Colorado River is in crisis, and it’s getting worse every day (The Washington Post)
How Can We Change Land Use at a Time of Climate Crisis and Competition? (RedAcción)
Deforestation Remains High, Despite International Pledges (New York Times)
Locals Worry Wind and Solar Will Gobble Up Forests and Farms (Stateline)
Anthony Flint is a senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, host of the Land Matters podcast, and a contributing editor of Land Lines.
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Given the high cost of infrastructure investments, picking the right projects is important. Three chapters in the Lincoln Institute book Infrastructure Economics and Policy: International Perspectives describe how cost-benefit analysis has come to be almost universally applied by governments and international financial institutions for evaluating infrastructure projects, despite some notable limitations—and how investment decisions are affected by biases and politics.
The Development of Cost-Benefit Analysis
Don Pickrell, chief economist at the U.S. Department of Transportation’s Volpe National Transportation Systems Center, describes the evolution and methodological challenges of cost-benefit analysis in a chapter on economic evaluation. As he explains, a mid-nineteenth-century French engineer, Jules Dupuit, is widely credited as the originator of cost-benefit analysis. Dupuit’s main concern was to determine whether the investment in a new infrastructure facility, such as a bridge, was worthwhile; he proposed that the test should be whether the benefits to the bridge’s direct users—for example, savings in time, labor, fuel, and other areas—exceeded the cost of building and maintaining the bridge.
This focus on direct user benefits has long been criticized by some for ignoring the wider economic impacts of infrastructure. Proponents of the wider impact approach argue that the time savings and other benefits to direct users may be passed on to downstream firms, allowing them to implement further productivity improvements. They argue that ignoring these impacts will understate the benefits of the project to society as a whole. Pickrell explains that over the years, researchers have attempted to measure these wider economic impacts by building models of the entire economy that include estimates of the effects of changes in the productivity of infrastructure on the productivity of other sectors
This approach—building models to estimate both the direct and wider economic impacts of a project—did not prove popular with researchers or governments until the last decade, when several researchers returned to the topic. Pickrell speculates that the use of these economy-wide models was discouraged in part by the need to estimate, or assume, so many parameters. The models are also less suitable for choosing from a number of individual infrastructure projects—the task officials were typically charged with—than for evaluating economy-wide reforms.
Skeptics of the approach also argued that the wider economic impacts identified were often not new and additional impacts, but rather transfers of impacts from the direct users to other parties. The opening of a new bridge, for example, usually stimulates an uptick in property values and the construction of new housing or other developments nearby. Land values and housing increase primarily because the bridge makes travel faster; to count the property value or new housing as benefits along with the travel time savings to the direct users would be to count the same benefit twice.
In practice, a consensus has emerged that wider economic impacts can be included without double-counting if they involve the correction of inefficiencies in the affected downstream markets. Examples include environmental costs and benefits imposed on third parties, the general improvements in productivity caused by the growth of urban agglomerations, or reductions in prices caused by an increase in competition from the breakup of a monopoly.
The development of cost-benefit analysis into a tool used almost universally by governments and international financial institutions to evaluate major public infrastructure projects is remarkable. The practice has been encouraged in large part, Pickrell explains, because it has become increasingly sophisticated over the last century.
Despite the value of cost-benefit analysis, the relatively few studies of its influence on the actual choices of government produced discouraging results: the highest-ranked projects are rarely selected, the research shows. Defenders of cost-benefit analysis argue, however, that the real advantage of this approach is unlikely to be the selection of the best project over the second-best alternative, but rather the elimination of some of the worst from consideration.
Optimism Bias
Cost-benefit analysis is not perfect. A careful analysis in chapter 7 by Professor Bent Flyvbjerg of Oxford University and statistician Dirk Bester reveals overwhelming statistical evidence that costs tend to be strongly underestimated, while benefits are strongly overestimated. Their amazing dataset includes 2,062 infrastructure projects representing six investment types in 104 developed and developing countries, which were put in service between 1927 and 2011.
Forecasting errors are often blamed on proximate changes in project design or environment, such as unforeseen increases in scope or complexity, higher than expected inflation, lower than expected competition, and various similar factors. But Flyvbjerg and Bester argue that the root causes of the errors are well-known behavioral limitations, especially optimism bias and overconfidence bias. This observation suggests that improving forecasting will be difficult because the problems are so deeply ingrained in human nature. Flyvbjerg and Bester make specific recommendations for reforming cost-benefit analysis, such as debiasing and giving consultants a financial stake in the accuracy of their forecasts.
Politics of Excess or Shortfall
In chapter 8, John Donahue of Harvard’s Kennedy School describes the political forces that lead to excesses or shortfalls of public spending for infrastructure. Donahue explores the school of public choice economics, whose theoreticians assume that individuals rationally pursue their self-interest in a democratic society governed by voting rules of various kinds.
Not surprisingly, the answer to the question of whether this pursuit will result in excess or shortfall depends on one’s assumptions about how well informed the voters are as well as the voting rules. For example, one famous public choice scholar, Anthony Downs, argues that spending will be less than optimal mostly because voters tend to underestimate benefits more than they underestimate costs. Another scholar, Mancur Olson, argues that spending on public goods is driven by coalitions, which are often most effective when they are small, or when they can devise perks—e.g., roadside assistance from the American Automobile Association—for those who join them. Finally, Gordon Tullock demonstrates how majority voting to determine whether to fund similar projects would lead to overspending, because the proponents of each project have incentives to exchange support with the proponents of the other projects (a practice known as log rolling).
All three chapters inform the reader about the strengths and weakness of cost-benefit analysis, the existence of optimism biases driven by human nature, and how public choices influence the level of public spending for infrastructure. Knowing more about these factors can help improve decision making for public infrastructure investments.
José A. Gómez-Ibáñez is the Derek C. Bok Professor Emeritus of Urban Planning and Public Policy at Harvard University. Zhi Liu is senior fellow and director of China Program at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. They are the editors of Infrastructure Economics and Policy: International Perspectives.
Image: Construction of a bridge in downtown Miami. Credit: CHUYN via istock/Getty Images Plus.
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Decisions about infrastructure investments often have strong and long-lasting implications for the built environment, and vice versa. Should governments subsidize highway construction or public transit? Is it better to invest in the durability of rail lines or the flexibility of bus lines? How will these and other decisions about infrastructure affect residents and workers? The relationship between infrastructure policies and the physical form and productivity of cities is the subject of two chapters in Infrastructure Economics and Policy: International Perspectives, a recently published Lincoln Institute book.
In chapter 4, economist Edward Glaeser of Harvard University focuses on how infrastructure technology shapes the economic role and physical form of cities. Glaeser observes that the density and form of a city reflect the transportation technology prevailing at the time when the city was growing most rapidly. Boston is denser than Las Vegas, for example, largely because it grew in the era of the streetcar rather than that of the automobile. The full effects of technological change develop in three steps, however, and that development can take many decades. The first step is the invention and refinement of new mobility types, such as the wheeled wagon, the horse-drawn (and then electric) streetcar, the subway, the automobile, and even the elevator. The second step is the construction of the urban network over which those vehicles operate, while the third is the building of the cities around that network.
Glaeser takes as his example the automobile, which was invented in the late 19th century but neither comfortable, reliable, nor affordable until the first decades of the 20th century, when its popularity exploded. The United States responded by building extensive high-performance, limited-access expressway systems in many cities. Those systems, in turn, stimulated the restructuring of urban areas in the United States in the second half of the 20th century, moving housing and workplaces from the central cities to the suburbs and enabling a migration from northern cities to the newer Sunbelt cities.
Our ability to shape cities around their important highway, subway, and other transportation networks is limited, however, by the value and durability of the existing stock of houses and workplaces. For example, a big increase in the travel time or other costs of commuting to the center of a metropolitan area would be needed to make it worthwhile for real estate developers to tear down the existing suburban housing stock and rebuild it to a higher density commensurate with the higher commuting time and costs. Land use regulations can also help slow the land use response to transportation technology, especially where they favor the status quo.
Glaeser also illustrates several common policy choices about infrastructure and urban form. The first is whether the government should subsidize highway construction or public transit. Subsidizing highway construction and uses often encourages urban sprawl. Subsidizing public transit may induce people to live near—and real estate developers to build homes near—public transit stops, but evidence shows that the impact is much smaller in scale than that of subsidizing highways. In addition, in the United States, strict local land use controls often constrain the ability of housing developers to respond to infrastructure investments, thus limiting the benefits of such investments.
A second policy choice is between rail and buses to provide urban public transit service. The choice is basically between durability and flexibility. The flexibility of bus services is an advantage in an uncertain world, but the durability of rail infrastructure makes real estate developers feel more confident about developing around rail stations. Public transport is now facing a major challenge: it is an important part of any carbon emissions reduction strategy, but ridership has fallen since the onset of the pandemic.
In chapter 5, Daniel Graham, Daniel Hörcher, and Roger Vickerman, all professors and researchers at Imperial College in London, explore the relationship between infrastructure and the competitiveness of cities. Urban concentration provides more employment opportunities to workers and helps raise productivity for firms. These agglomeration benefits are accompanied by congestion and pollution which are also caused by urban concentration. However, it is methodologically difficult to measure the agglomeration benefits.
To do so and for analytical simplicity, the authors assume a city where residential and workplace locations are fixed, and infrastructure affects only the productivity of city workers and the levels of congestion and pollution. Their main propositions are that urban agglomerations generate both positive and negative externalities and that the failure to consider them together may lead to poor investment and pricing decisions. The positive externalities stem primarily from increases in worker productivity as the agglomeration grows, but also from the realization of economies of scale in provision of public transit services; the negative externalities stem from increases in traffic congestion, pollution, and accidents.
The authors describe the considerable challenges of empirically estimating the agglomeration benefits. They report their own estimates of the effects of agglomeration size on productivity, which have been endorsed by the U.K. government for use in required cost-benefit analyses. It is conceivable, but unlikely, that the agglomeration benefits and public transit scale economies are large enough and the congestion externalities small enough to greatly reduce the net benefit of the conventional recommendation of charging motorists a fee to travel into congested locations during rush hour. These are the kinds of factors cities must consider as they make decisions about infrastructure investment and pricing and subsidies.
José A. Gómez-Ibáñez is the Derek C. Bok Professor Emeritus of Urban Planning and Public Policy at Harvard University. Zhi Liu is senior fellow and director of China Program at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. They are the editors of Infrastructure Economics and Policy: International Perspectives.
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This interview, which has been edited for length, is also available as a Land Matters podcast.
A native Vermonter who was first elected in 2012, Miro Weinberger is serving his fourth term as the mayor of Burlington, Vermont. He attended Yale and Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, and worked for Habitat for Humanity before founding his own affordable housing development company. He’s also a part-time athlete, playing catcher in an amateur over-35 baseball league.
Vermont has long been a progressive kind of place with a population dedicated to environmental measures, whether solar and wind power, electric vehicles, or sustainable farming practices. Burlington, its change-agent capital—the place that gave rise to Bernie Sanders, who served as mayor from 1981 to 1989—became the first city in the country to source 100 percent of its energy from renewables in 2014, a goal set in 2004. Now Weinberger and other leaders are building on that foundation, committing to shifting the city’s energy, transportation, and building sectors away from fossil fuels entirely.
ANTHONY FLINT: Tell us about this ambitious goal of becoming a net-zero energy city by 2030. What is that going to look like, and what are the steps to make that happen?
MIRO WEINBERGER: As a result of decades of commitment to more efficient buildings and weatherization, Burlington uses less electricity as a community in 2022 than we did in 1989, despite the proliferation of new electrical devices and whatnot . . . that sounds exceptional, and it is. If the rest of the country had followed that trajectory, we’d have something like 200 less coal-burning plants today than we do.
When we became a 100 percent renewable electricity city in 2014, there was enormous interest in how Burlington had gotten here. After talking to film crews from South Korea and France and answering question after question about how we did this, I came to think we had achieved it for two big reasons. One, there was political will. Second, we had a city-owned electric department that had a lot of technical expertise and that was able to make this transformation to renewables affordable.
The way we are defining net zero is to essentially not use fossil fuels in—or have a net-zero fossil-fuel use in—three sectors. For the electricity sector, we’re already there. That gets [us] about 25 percent toward the total goal. The [others are the] ground transportation sector and the thermal sector—how we heat and cool our buildings.
The big strategies are electrifying everything, electrifying all the cars and trucks that are based here in Burlington. Moving the heating and cooling of our buildings to various electric technologies, the most common one probably being cold-climate heat pumps. Then, rounding out the strategies, we are looking to implement a district energy system that would capture waste heat [from the city’s biomass facility] and use it to heat some of our major institutional buildings. Then we also are making changes to our transportation network to make active transportation account for more of our vehicle trips and bring down fossil-fuel use that way as well. Those are the major roadmap strategies.
AF: Is there one component of this that you have found particularly tough in terms of trying to go citywide?
MW: In general, I’ve been really pleased with our progress. We actually found in our first update in 2021, we were on target to meet this incredibly ambitious goal of essentially phasing out fossil fuels by 2030. Part of that, admittedly, was that, as we all know, 2020 was a pretty exceptional year and we did see transportation-related emissions drop as a result of the pandemic. We just got a new measurement and we did see some rebounding, so that we are not quite on track through two years the way we were [after] one. The rebound that happened here in Burlington was about a quarter of the nationwide rebound in emissions. Basically, we had a 1.5 percent increase in emissions after the pandemic, whereas the rest of the country grew by 6 percent. We’ve seen a rapid increase in the adoption of heat pumps and electric vehicles over the last couple of years since we came forward with what we call green stimulus incentives very early in the pandemic.
That said, I often have this sensation that we are fighting this battle with one hand tied behind our back, because it is not a level playing field for new electrification and renewable technologies. The costs of burning fossil fuels are not properly reflected in the economics right now. We need a price on carbon in some form. The fact that we don’t have that holds us back. When we get that—and I do think it’s just inevitable that eventually we will get this policy right, like a growing number of jurisdictions around the world—I think we’re going to have a wind at the back of all these initiatives. It will help with everything we’re trying to do.
AF: Now, I want to make sure I understand. Do you want everyone in the city of Burlington to operate an electric vehicle by 2030? Is it that kind of scaling up and adoption?
MW: Basically, yes. That is what it would really take to fully achieve the goal, that or some offset investments to help us get there, but we are very serious about doing everything we can to bring about as quickly as possible this transformation.
A year ago, we passed a zoning ordinance that [says] new construction in Burlington cannot burn fossil fuels as the primary heating source. We didn’t prohibit fossil fuels—we thought that was too onerous, and the technology’s just not there to go that far. Regulating the primary heating source can bring down the impact of a new building by as much as 85 percent. In recent weeks, the state signed off on a change to our charter that gives us the ability to go beyond that and put new regulations in place for all buildings in Burlington. By next town meeting day, next March, we plan to have in front of the voters a new ordinance that would start to put requirements in place for the transformation of mechanical systems for major new and existing buildings when they get to the end of their useful life. When water heaters break, for example, we are both going to have this strategy through our utility, offering very generous incentives, and have actual regulatory standards in place that require transformation.
AF: I want to ask about the utilities. You mentioned Burlington Electric and then, of course, you have Green Mountain Power. How important is that piece, given that utility companies elsewhere seem to be wary of renewables and may even end up hindering that transition?
MW: I’ve got to say, a decade in office grappling with these issues has made me a big believer in publicly owned power. All of the work that I described over the last 30-plus years, the city-owned electric department has been a big part of that. Municipalities, towns, mayors that don’t have their own electric utility, I think it’s harder. I do think there are things that any local community can do to collaborate with and, when necessary, bring public pressure to bear on utilities, which tend to have to answer to some public regulatory authority. I think that there are ways to push other utilities to do what Burlington Electric is doing. I think it’s an exciting story in Vermont that the other utility that has really been quite innovative, Green Mountain Power, is an investor-owned utility.
If we get anywhere near this net-zero goal, it’s going to mean we’re selling a whole lot more electricity than we are now. We estimate at least 60 percent more electricity than today. Every time someone buys an electric vehicle and charges it up in Burlington now, and they do it at night, we’re able to sell them off-peak power in a way that just brings more dollars into the utility. It’s very good, the economics. That’s why we’re able to offer these very generous incentives—every time we bring another electric vehicle or heat pump online, that’s a new revenue stream to the city. These incentives in many ways largely pay for themselves with that new revenue. To me, it seems like good business sense as well to move in this direction.
AF: Vermont has become a very popular destination for mostly affluent climate refugees [who are] buying up land and building houses. What are the pros and cons of this?
MW: You’re right, we are seeing climate refugees here. We also had pandemic refugees. We’ve seen big new pressures on our housing markets, and that’s the downside. We’ve long had an acute housing crisis, [but] it’s worse than it’s ever been now. The silver lining of that may be it may finally force Vermont to get serious about putting in place land use rules at the local and state level that make it possible to build more housing.
We desperately need more housing. We’ve got to get better about that, and I think there’ll be environmental benefits if we do. To me, more people living in a green city like Burlington is a good trade-off for the environment.
AF: Are there other strategies that you have in mind for keeping or making green Burlington affordable? Burlington has a successful community land trust, you encourage accessory dwelling units, you have inclusionary zoning . . . what’s next?
MW: We have a lot of work to do on our zoning ordinance and our statewide land use reform. Many projects in Vermont now—good projects, good green, energy-efficient projects in settled areas—have to go through both local and statewide land use permitting processes, an almost entirely redundant process that slows things down, adds a lot of costs, and creates all sorts of opportunity for obstruction. We have a lot of work to do and we’re focused on it. There are three major upzoning efforts that we’re pursuing right now and there’s a big conversation about Act 250 [Vermont’s land use and development law] reform happening in the state as well.
AF: Finally, what advice do you have for other city leaders to take similar climate action, especially in places that aren’t primed for it quite as well as Burlington is?
MW: Whenever I talk to other mayors about this, I try to make the point that this is an area where political leadership [and community will] can have a huge impact. When I came into office, we had almost no deployed solar here in Burlington. We made it a priority. We changed some rules about permitting. We made it easier for consumers to have solar installed on their homes. The utility played a role, and over a very small number of years, we became one of the cities in the country that had the most solar per capita. We’re number five in the country. The only city in the top 20 on the East Coast at one point, and it’s not an accident. This is making a decision to lead in this area and to make change. You can have a big impact.
At a time when clearly the climate emergency is an existential threat, at a time when clearly the federal government is paralyzed in its ability to drive change, and when many state governments are similarly gridlocked, mayors and cities can really demonstrate on the ground progress. I think when we do that, we show everybody else what’s possible.
Anthony Flint is a senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute, host of the Land Matters podcast, and a contributing editor to Land Lines.
Image: Burlington, Vermont. Credit: Denis Tangney Jr. via iStock/Getty Images.
