Water companies and the communities they serve have been grappling for years with complex issues of water treatment and provision, watershed management, public finance and control over regional land use decisionmaking. The federal Safe Drinking Water Act of 1974 prompted water providers across America to face a dilemma: “to filter or not to filter.” Some states or regions require filtration to ensure water quality, but elsewhere communities explore alternative strategies to both protect natural filtration processes in their watersheds and avoid the enormous costs of installing water treatment plants.

The hard-fought conversion of the New Haven Water Company from a private, investor-owned company to a public regional water authority provides an informative case study of a partnership strategy. In the process of hammering out agreements on difficult land use and tax issues, the city and surrounding suburbs succeeded in breaking down conventional barriers and recognized that regional solutions can meet shared needs for a safe water supply, open space protection, recreation and fiscal responsibility.

The drama unfolded in 1974, when the Water Company attempted to sell over 60 percent of its 26,000 acres of land in 17 metropolitan area towns to generate capital for filtration plant construction. The announcement of this massive land sale created vehement opposition throughout the state. Residents of the affected towns viewed the largely undeveloped land as an integral part of their community character. They feared losing control of the land as well as environmental damage and increased costs associated with potential new development.

Several New Haven area legislators recognized the critical link between the city and its watershed communities. They introduced legislation imposing a moratorium on the land sale and proposing public ownership of the water works. New Haven Mayor Frank Logue countered with an announcement that the city planned to buy the water company under a purchase option in a 1902 contract. The suburban towns responded by promoting regional ownership as the only viable alternative to city control.

After a lengthy feasibility study, and despite a gubernatorial veto, legislation enabling the creation of the South Central Connecticut Regional Water Authority (RWA) was enacted in 1977. In addition, separate legislation classified all utility-owned watershed land and severely restricted its sale. The sale restrictions combined with standards for source protection, provisions for public recreation and consideration of the financial impact on ratepayers, also diminished the land’s market value, thereby limiting the Water Company’s ability to use the land as a source of capital.

Regionalization of the Water Company also required a regional approach to taxation. This was the most difficult obstacle to overcome in passing the RWA enabling legislation. With New Haven Water Company’s projected capital investments in excess of $100 million, the region’s towns had looked ahead to vastly increased tax revenues from the private utility. However, New Haven, with the majority of consumers, was more concerned with keeping water rates low.

The conflict between city and suburbs was resolved through the principle that the regionalization of the water utility would cause no erosion of the tax base. Under the agreement, each town would receive payments in lieu of taxes (PILOTs) on all property acquired by the RWA, equivalent to the taxes that would be paid by a private owner. However, while these payments would rise and fall with future assessments, the RWA would not be required to make such tax-substitution payments for any new capital improvements.

Lessons of Regional Resource Sharing

In addition to forcing a reconsideration of the balance between suburban tax bases and urban water rates, New Haven’s Regional Water Authority has broadened its own mission. While protecting the water supply is the primary focus of all RWA land use policies, the authority also manages recreational use of the land to meet the needs of both inner city and suburban residents.

The early success of the conservation and recreational use plans depended on public participation in formulating the RWA Land Use Plan. Many types of active recreation would have been unsuitable for water supply land, but it was determined that hiking and fishing, the two most popular activities, could be conducted without threatening water quality.

The RWA’s active program for policing the watersheds was reinforced by establishing a center to educate future consumers on water supply protection. Located at the base of the dam at Lake Whitney, the Whitney Water Center annually teaches thousands of children the basics of drinking water science. It emphasizes the interdependence of source protection and safe drinking water.

Primary among the lessons to be learned from the New Haven Water Company’s ill-advised land sale proposal is that the value of a water supply watershed as a natural and human resource is far greater than its value as a market commodity. Management of the watershed’s natural resource potential must extend beyond the collection and distribution of water to include the needs of the people who live within the watershed. At the same time, limiting watershed land activities to low-risk uses minimizes the water treatment costs that are still necessary for safe drinking water.

Regional cooperation need not begin and end with water. Developing economic and ecological partnerships between cities and their suburbs for tax-sharing, recreation, and education recognizes that the economic and ecological concerns of all residents in a metropolitan region are interdependent. Successfully bucking the trend toward privatization, the RWA demonstrates that regional resource sharing is the most viable way of meeting the needs of New Haven and its suburbs.

Watershed Protection vs. Filtration in Other Regions

The public acquisition of the New Haven Water Company in the 1970s provided a preview of 1990s approaches to managing water resources. Today, water supply management is increasingly becoming watershed management, with plans reflecting the broader ecological functions of watersheds and the importance of partnerships with local residents. Conflict resolution has become an essential skill for today’s watershed managers.

Watershed land acquisition continues to be a key filtration avoidance strategy in many areas. New York City has the nation’s largest unfiltered water supply, and some experts have called on the city to develop programs to filter its drinking water. However, New York Governor George E. Pataki has taken the position he would “do whatever it takes to avoid filtration,” from working with farmers and businesses on mutually beneficial voluntary programs to buying up to 80,000 acres from willing sellers to protect the water supply.

New Jersey Governor Christine Todd Whitman has committed to a “hands across the border” $10 million contribution toward purchasing the New York portion of the two-state metropolitan watershed in Sterling Forest, which is threatened with commercial recreational and housing development. The nonprofit Trust for Public Land and the Open Space Institute are negotiating the purchase on behalf of both states, and recent congressional action has guaranteed funding for the project.

In central Massachusetts, the Metropolitan District Commission’s Quabbin Reservoir has met the Safe Drinking Water Act’s criteria as an unfiltered water supply source for the Boston area, but the MDC’s Wachusett Reservoir has not. A recently approved $399 million state open space bond includes funds for land acquisition in the Wachusett watershed.

Acknowledging the essential function that undeveloped land serves in preventing contaminants from reaching water supplies is long overdue. But is watershed source protection alone a viable alternative to filtration?

In North Carolina, where all surface water supplies are already filtered, state legislation requires local water authorities to develop watershed land use plans that must be approved by the state. Although such legislation can reduce the health risks of watershed development and the cost of water treatment, it cannot prevent future development.

Our conclusion is that the combination of watershed protection and filtration is a proven, cost effective approach to ensure safe drinking water while also building partnerships to implement regional land use policies.

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Dorothy S. McCluskey was a Connecticut State Representative from 1975 to 1982 and chaired the Environment Subcommittee on the Sale of Water Company Land. She subsequently served as director of government relations for The Nature Conservancy Connecticut Chapter. Claire C. Bennitt, secretary-treasurer of the Regional Water Authority since 1977, was a resident of North Branford when the threatened land sale galvanized the New Haven region. She worked with Rep. McCluskey as her administrative assistant in the state legislature. They have written Who Wants to Buy a Water Company: From Private to Public Control in New Haven, to be published in early 1997 by Rutledge Books, Inc., of Bethel, Connecticut.

As sprawling, low-density development patterns consume thousands of acres of natural habitat, the force of urban growth is increasingly bumping up against the need to protect biodiversity. The fastest growing states and regions in the South and West are also those with high numbers of endemic species, and species endangered or threatened with extinction.

One tool that has emerged for reconciling species-development conflicts is the habitat conservation plan (HCP). Authorized under Section 10 of the federal Endangered Species Act (ESA), HCPs allow for limited “take” of listed species in exchange for certain measures to protect and restore habitat. These plans vary in their geographical scope from a single parcel or landowner to large areas involving many landowners and multiple governmental jurisdictions.

The HCP mechanism grew out of a controversy over development plans on San Bruno Mountain in the Bay Area of California that threatened several species of butterflies, including the federally listed mission blue. A collaborative planning process generated a biological study of the butterflies’ habitat needs and a conservation plan that allowed some development in designated nodes while setting aside about 87 percent of the butterfly habitat as permanent open space. The HCP also included a funding component, procedures for carefully monitoring development and minimizing its impact, and a long-term program of habitat restoration.

The positive experience of San Bruno led to a 1982 amendment to the ESA specifically allowing HCPs. Since then, their use has grown slowly but steadily. About 40 plans have been approved by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and another 150 are in progress, most of them initiated in the last five years.

The Typical HCP Process

Regional habitat conservation plans usually follow a similar process. They start with the formation of a steering committee with representation from the environmental community, landowners and developers, local governments, and state and federal resource management agencies, among others. Frequently, consultants are hired to prepare background biological and land use studies as well as the actual plan and accompanying environmental documentation. The content of these plans can vary substantially depending on the species and potential threats at issue, but most create habitat preserves through fee-simple acquisition or land dedication. Plans also include provisions for habitat management, ecological restoration, and research and monitoring. Much of the deliberation in preparing a plan centers on how much habitat must be preserved, the boundaries and configuration of proposed preserves, how funds will be generated to finance the plan, and which entities or organizations will have management responsibility for the protected habitat once secured.

While the HCP process has encountered problems, the experience to date suggests it can be a viable and constructive mechanism for resolving species-development conflicts. For the development community, the stick of ESA brings them to the table and keeps them there, realizing that without a strong plan any development might be jeopardized. For the environmental community, the plan represents a way to generate funds to acquire habitat that would be difficult to raise otherwise. The HCP process, thus, provides a useful pressure valve under the ESA–a tool to provide flexibility in what is frequently criticized as being an overly rigid and inflexible law.

Successes and Concerns

From the perspective of preserving biodiversity, the plans, even those not officially adopted or approved, have lead to the acquisition of important habitat. The Coachella Valley HCP in California sets aside three preserves totaling nearly 17,000 acres of desert habitat to protect the fringe-toed lizard. Other plans preserve biologically rich hardwood hammocks in the Florida Keys, desert tortoise habitat in Nevada, and forested habitat for the northern spotted owl in California. The ambitious Balcones Canyonlands Conservation Plan in Austin, Texas, would protect more than 75,000 acres of land, including a newly created 46,000 acre national wildlife refuge. Though this plan has encountered political and financial obstacles, more than 20,000 acres have already been secured.

One of the key concerns about HCPs is the effectiveness of their conservation strategies, especially whether the amount of habitat set aside is sufficient to ensure the survival of threatened species. The long-term ecological viability of preserves is another problem, because many will become mere “postage stamps” surrounded by development. These concerns suggest that more habitat should be protected, that preserves should be configured in larger, regional blocks, and that plans should seek to protect multiple rather than single species within broad ecosystem functions. The Balcones example suggests a positive direction for future HCPs in its emphasis on a regional, multi-species approach, including endangered migratory songbirds, cave-adapted invertebrates and plant species.

Another criticism of HCPs is that they have failed to change the ways we allow development to occur because they generally accept the current pattern of low-density sprawl and wasteful land consumption. In addition, it often takes four or five years before a plan can be prepared and approved. Even given that seemingly long timeframe, plans are often based on limited biological knowledge.

One of the most difficult issues in the HCP process is funding. Habitat acquisition in fast-urbanizing areas is extremely expensive. The Coachella Valley plan cost $25 million; the Balcones plan could cost more than $200 million. Most plans are funded through a combination of federal, state and local funds, with some private funding. At the local level the plans usually impose a mitigation fee assessed on new development in habitat areas ranging from a few hundred dollars per acre to the $1950 per acre in the case of the Stephens’ kangaroo rat HCP in Southern California.

Ideas for future funding sources include the creation of habitat acquisition revolving funds (similar to state revolving funds for financing local sewage treatment plant construction) and the use of special taxing districts designed to capture land value increases of property located adjacent to habitat preserves. Greater reliance needs to be placed on less expensive alternatives than fee-simple acquisition, such as transfers of development rights, tradable conservation credits, mandatory clustering and other development controls.

The Future of HCPs

The considerable progress in habitat conservation made through this mechanism to balance development and conservation could be halted if current proposals in Congress to substantially weaken ESA prevail. Clearly it is the “teeth” of ESA that gets opposing parties to the bargaining table. Without a strong ESA, there will be little reason to expect this form of collaborative habitat conservation to occur.

The experience to date suggests that flexibility does exist under current law, and that the problems encountered with HCPs do require some fine tuning. The challenge is to make the HCP process an even more effective tool for conserving biodiversity. At the same time, if habitat conservation is incorporated into local comprehensive plans, then new development can be steered away from important habitat areas and public investment decisions can minimize potential species-development conflicts.

Timothy Beatley is chair of the Department of Urban and Environmental Planning in the School of Architecture at the University of Virginia and the author of Habitat Conservation Planning: Endangered Species and Urban Growth, University of Texas Press, 1994. He spoke at the Institute’s May 1995 meeting of the Land Conservation in New England Study Group.

Additional information in printed newletter:
Map: Balcones Canyonlands, Austin, Texas. Source: Adapted from maps by Butler/EH&A Team, City of Austin Environmental and Conservation Services, Balcones Canyonlands Conservation Plan, Preapplication Draft, Austin, 1992

Una versión más actualizada de este artículo está disponible como parte del capítulo 5 del libro Perspectivas urbanas: Temas críticos en políticas de suelo de América Latina.

Durante los últimos 50 años las ciudades han sido el escenario de grandes transformaciones con las que han podido dejar de ser principalmente centros de actividades económicas para convertirse en una combinación de funciones más especializadas de servicio, producción y comercio. Los resultados son mixtos, pero en aquellas ciudades consideradas más exitosas, la belleza y el humanismo han logrado coexistir con la eficacia y la efectividad, lo que aumenta considerablemente la generación de riqueza y el bienestar de la comunidad en su conjunto. En este contexto, las obras de desarrollo denominadas “grandes proyectos urbanos” buscan recuperar áreas deterioradas, tales como cascos históricos, antiguas zonas industriales y militares, instalaciones ferroviarias y aeropuertos en desuso y complejos de viviendas decadentes, para transformarlas en áreas residenciales pujantes que generen ingresos tributarios, empleos y beneficios públicos y sociales que eleven la calidad de vida.

La renovación de muelles crea fantásticas oportunidades para reincorporar los cascos históricos junto con sus canales adyacentes y para facilitar el crecimiento que de no ser así se trasladaría hacia las afueras de la ciudad. No obstante, hay que aclarar muchas inquietudes. ¿Qué tipo y escala de desarrollo es deseable y posible? ¿Cómo pueden establecerse relaciones bien fundadas entre lo viejo y lo nuevo? ¿Cuáles son las repercusiones para el medio ambiente y la infraestructura existente? ¿Qué políticas públicas e inversiones se necesitan? ¿Cuáles son las funciones de los sectores público y privado? ¿Cómo organizamos el proceso de planificación, incluida la búsqueda de apoyo político y de la comunidad?

Amsterdam y La Habana son casos en que los muelles plantean desafíos y oportunidades para abordar esta compleja búsqueda de un punto de equilibrio. Ambas ciudades forman parte del patrimonio mundial de la UNESCO y están sometidas a las presiones del desarrollo inmobiliario lucrativo y el deseo de proteger tanto sus cascos históricos como los intereses de sus poblaciones contemporáneas.

En diciembre de 2003 el Instituto Lincoln, junto con el Grupo para el Desarrollo Integral de la Capital (GDIC) de La Habana, la Oficina del Historiador de la Ciudad y la Dirección Portuaria del Ministerio de Transporte, copatrocinó un seminario en La Habana en el cual expertos en materia de muelles de Amsterdam, Rótterdam, Nueva York y Panamá intercambiaron experiencias con planificadores y funcionarios públicos de Cuba. Este artículo profundiza en la presentación sobre Amsterdam, en particular sobre cómo la gestión, la experimentación, la planificación y las políticas de suelo dieron lugar a una transformación impresionante que sufrieron muelles de la ciudad, los cuales tenían anteriormente uso industrial, y ofrece lecciones que muchos pueden encontrar pertinentes para La Habana.

Políticas de planificación y desarrollo en los Países Bajos

Los Países Bajos tienen una tradición bien conocida de solidez en la planificación y desarrollo nacional, producto de la escasez de viviendas después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. La noción de espacio limitado impulsa las políticas de desarrollo del país y su compromiso de preservar las áreas verdes y agrícolas que separan las ciudades. Vivienda, infraestructura, construcción para comercio minorista y oficinas, protección ambiental, agricultura, ordenación de las aguas y espacios abiertos se encuentran entre las principales preocupaciones en la esfera nacional y local. Con dos tercios del país por debajo del nivel del mar, los neerlandeses siempre han buscado nuevas maneras de interactuar con el agua. Por ende, las políticas nacionales de planificación se concentran en facilitar el crecimiento en áreas designadas, controlando la propagación urbana y reorganizando los cascos urbanos sin descuidar las infraestructuras mayores y la gestión y control de las zonas verdes y las masas de agua.

Los neerlandeses redescubrieron la importancia de sus ciudades en la década de 1980 después de que el rápido crecimiento de zonas residenciales y pueblos nuevos provocó una congestión creciente y una carencia de espacios habitables. La idea de una “ciudad compacta”, adoptada en el Cuarto Memorando de Planificación Urbana de la Nación (1988), preconizaba la concentración de los nodos urbanos para así “redesarrollar áreas actualmente abandonadas”. Entre los emplazamientos típicos se encuentran la zona de muelles Kop van Zuid en Rótterdam y los muelles orientales de Amsterdam. El concepto de una ciudad compacta se amplió en los años 1990 con la noción de la “ciudad completa”, la cual fusionaba los conceptos de uso múltiple e intensivo del suelo con la concentración de funciones y actividades en un crisol de estilos de vida.

La reorganización de las áreas de tránsito y rutas de transporte es otra prioridad de planificación que tiene por finalidad combinar diferentes funciones de transporte y reducir el uso del automóvil. Algunos ejemplos son el plan de urbanismo de una ciudad satélite del Aeropuerto Schiphol y el área alrededor de la futura estación de trenes de alta velocidad Zuidas-WTC. El plan general de ordenamiento Zuidas crea suficiente espacio sobre el ferrocarril y la autopista para la construcción de 7 millones de pies cuadrados de oficinas, 1.500 viviendas, espacios para comercios minoristas, hoteles, museos y un nuevo parque.

Pese a los planes y las aspiraciones del gobierno nacional, los recursos financieros determinan su función en los proyectos de desarrollo. La disminución significativa de los subsidios nacionales para la vivienda y el desarrollo desde 1990 ha puesto en relieve la importancia estratégica del gobierno local en el proceso de (re)desarrollo. No obstante, el caso de Amsterdam también demuestra que para lograr el redesarrollo es determinante contar con capacidad de gestión, socios confiables e instrumentos creativos de finanzas y de urbanismo.

Políticas de viviendas y suelo en Amsterdam

Amsterdam es la capital cultural y financiera de los Países Bajos y la ciudad más grande de la llamada Conurbación Holanda o región de la Metrópoli Delta, de 6 millones de habitantes. La ciudad tiene casi 750.000 habitantes, 375.000 viviendas y 417.000 puestos de trabajo, y cuenta con uno de los cascos históricos conservados más grandes del mundo.

Las políticas de suelo de Amsterdam son instrumentos clave en las estrategias de redesarrollo de la ciudad. En 1896 la ciudad democráticamente decidió adoptar un sistema de arriendo de tierra para adquirir tierras y arrendarlas a futuros usuarios. Como razones para sustentar con solidez este sistema se arguyó que los aumentos en el valor del suelo beneficiarían a la comunidad por entero y que la ciudad determinaría el uso del suelo escaso para evitar la especulación y el desarrollo indeseable.

El sistema de arriendo de tierra funciona de esta manera: la empresa de arriendo de la ciudad adquiere la tierra y la arrienda a promotores inmobiliarios privados por períodos de 49 ó 99 años. Los arrendatarios pagan un monto ajustado anualmente por el uso de la tierra, determinado por la ubicación, pies cuadrados de desarrollo, tipo de uso (oficina, comercio minorista, viviendas asequibles o a precio de mercado, espacios abiertos, etc.), edificaciones nuevas o existentes y estacionamiento (en la calle o dentro). La ciudad estipula el precio del suelo a través de un método de valor residual que vincula el valor de mercado de la propiedad, el suelo y los costos de construcción. El valor del suelo equivale al precio de venta de la propiedad menos los costos de construcción determinados según la ubicación (los costos aumentan considerablemente en los vecindarios históricos). En 2002 el monto total de los arriendos ascendió a 59 millones de euros.

La adquisición de tierras de propiedad privada –como en el área de los muelles orientales– se financia con préstamos otorgados a la empresa de arriendo de tierra de la ciudad, cuyos pagos de intereses constituyen el 80% de sus gastos. El exceso de ingresos se usa para apoyar los esfuerzos de desarrollo y rehabilitación de la ciudad, particularmente para proyectos no rentables comercialmente, tales como parques y espacios abiertos. Este sistema también cumple objetivos políticos, tales como el abastecimiento y la distribución geográfica de viviendas asequibles. En una ciudad con alta densidad como Amsterdam, el suelo es escaso y su uso está sometido a mucha presión inmobiliaria. En su carácter de arrendador, la ciudad juega un papel estratégico en la definición del uso, calidad y proporción de suelo disponible para desarrollo.

Amsterdam recurre a sus relaciones con los grupos de desarrollo cívicos y sin fines de lucro de la ciudad para obtener apoyo e implementar sus planes, por lo que la función de las asociaciones inmobiliarias es crucial. Estas asociaciones se crearon a partir de la ley de la vivienda de 1901, la cual permitió que asociaciones afines a sindicatos y organizaciones religiosas establecieran asociaciones inmobiliarias sin fines de lucro. Con los subsidios nacionales y el sólido respaldo de los gobiernos locales, ellas han construido miles de viviendas, especialmente en los vecindarios dañados durante la guerra. En algunas de estas áreas más del 75% de las viviendas pertenece a asociaciones inmobiliarias.

La desregulación del mercado de la vivienda neerlandés a principios de los años 1990 afectó significativamente a las asociaciones inmobiliarias en su condición de propietarios y promotores. Perdieron la mayoría de los subsidios nacionales para la vivienda, pero a cambio el gobierno les otorgó mayor libertad financiera e institucional para administrar sus activos. Como resultado, el sector sin fines de lucro tuvo que profesionalizarse más y muchas asociaciones inmobiliarias se fusionaron para crear economías de escala. Hoy en día Amsterdam cuenta con 13 de estas asociaciones, cada una de las cuales administra entre 1.400 y 37.500 viviendas, para un total de más de 200.000 viviendas. Muchas asociaciones lograron ganarse la confianza de la comunidad y erigirse como promotores inmobiliarios con solidez financiera. Más aún, se convirtieron en aliados estratégicos para los promotores comerciales que buscaban expertos en viviendas asequibles y socios para crear un buen nombre para sus proyectos ante la ciudad y grupos comunitarios. Cada vez más llevan a cabo proyectos para sectores con ingresos mixtos en colaboración con urbanizadores privados usando planes creativos de financiamiento. En el año 2000, por ejemplo, la mitad de las viviendas construidas por asociaciones inmobiliarias se cotizaron a precios del mercado. Con las ganancias obtenidas se financió la otra mitad como viviendas asequibles para sectores de ingresos moderados.

Como consecuencia inesperada de la reforma de la vivienda, estas asociaciones han tomado el liderazgo en la fijación de estrictos parámetros de diseño urbano y planificación. Dado su compromiso respecto de la ciudad y del desarrollo de la comunidad se han arriesgado con diseños de bajo costo pero atractivos, y muchos de sus proyectos se han convertido en ejemplos internacionales para conceptos novedosos de viviendas asequibles.

Redesarrollo de muelles en Amsterdam

Amsterdam es una ciudad que se fundó sobre el agua y alrededor de un dique que separaba el río Amstel del río IJ. En el siglo XVII, Amsterdam era el centro comercial y marítimo más influyente del mundo. Los canales y las vías fluviales que se construyeron en aquella época todavía causan admiración a los millones de turistas que visitan la ciudad cada año. Las relaciones entre la ciudad y sus muelles no siempre han sido armónicas; se han cometido errores, como aquella decisión en 1898 de construir la estación ferroviaria central de Amsterdam en medio de la zona portuaria. La estación terminó por arruinar la relación visual y los vínculos físicos entre el IJ, el puerto y el dique, y destruyó el casco antiguo de la capital.

En los últimos 40 años, la mayoría de las funciones portuarias se han trasladado más cerca del mar a fin de atender los buques portacontenedores, mientras que las instituciones financieras se han desplazado hacia el eje sur de la ciudad debido a la falta de espacio y las limitaciones de acceso. El casco urbano de Amsterdam, adyacente a las zonas portuarias antiguas, continúa siendo el corazón de la región para el comercio minorista, la cultura y el esparcimiento y también es idóneo para peatones, ciclistas y transporte público. Aunque el puerto sigue jugando un papel importante en la economía de Amsterdam, hace muchos años que la ciudad básicamente le dio la espalda al puerto.

Actualmente hay áreas importantes de Amsterdam en proceso de conversión o rehabilitación, al tiempo que se construyen áreas totalmente nuevas en islas artificiales. La red de muelles antiguos y dársenas que se encuentran en el sur y el norte de la ciudad se está convirtiendo en un atractivo distrito residencial y de usos mixtos que comprende centros culturales, comercios minoristas, nuevas rutas de tránsito, parques y paseos, que en su mayor parte combinan el diseño contemporáneo y el carácter marítimo histórico. La construcción del IJburg, un polígono de descongestión en el Lago IJsselmeer, está concebida para acoger a 45.000 nuevos habitantes.

El debate sobre el redesarrollo de los muelles orientales y el resto de la zona portuaria del sur del IJ comenzó a principio de los años 1980. Después de años de negociaciones entre la municipalidad, promotores inmobiliarios y grupos comunitarios bien organizados, el plan –que se encuentra actualmente en la etapa final de construcción– propuso un conjunto de comunidades de alta densidad y elevación moderada sobre el agua, para restablecer el nexo histórico y cultural con ésta. Las viviendas son el principal componente de toda obra de desarrollo en la ribera del IJ y el 40% de ellas tiene precio asequible. En muchos casos han sido las asociaciones inmobiliarias profesionales sin fines de lucro de la ciudad las que han dirigido el desarrollo urbano y estimulado la inversión.

El proceso formal de planificación para la zona portuaria del IJ comenzó con un concurso de diseño en 1984. En un principio el gobierno de la ciudad respaldó el plan general de ordenamiento del Bulevar IJ creado por Rem Koolhaas para toda la extensión de 10 km del muelle del sur. El programa de redesarrollo preveía una gama de usos, pero se concentraba en la construcción de oficinas e instalaciones recreativas adicionales con la finalidad de detener el éxodo de empresas y financiar el programa de infraestructura propuesto. El plan debía implementarlo la compañía financiera del muelle de Amsterdam (AWF), una sociedad público-privada de la ciudad y un promotor/inversionista principal con autoridad sin precedentes. Debido a la polémica que surgió posteriormente sobre las dimensiones y el costo del plan, el colapso del mercado de oficinas ocurrido a finales de la década de 1980 y el creciente descontento que generaba el plan entre los mayores grupos cívicos y comunitarios de la ciudad, la sociedad quedó desintegrada en 1994.

La ciudad entonces cambió su enfoque y aprobó un memorando estratégico titulado Anchors of the IJ [Anclaje del IJ] en 1995. Este plan proponía construir sobre la estructura existente de la isla con obras de desarrollo por etapas que comenzarían en los bordes extremos y avanzarían hacia el área de la estación central. Este enfoque pragmático y orgánico concentraba los esfuerzos y recursos de la ciudad en los planes generales de ordenamiento para áreas más pequeñas y más manejables. El programa de desarrollo se abocó a la construcción de viviendas con edificios públicos y plazas (las anclas) en puntos estratégicos dentro de un marco de inversiones en infraestructuras de mayor envergadura. El gobierno nacional se comprometió a construir un nuevo túnel en las etapas iniciales del proceso de planificación y un sistema de tranvía ligero en una etapa posterior. Los programas de diseño y desarrollo urbano fueron definidos según el potencial de la ubicación y la sólida opinión de la comunidad y fueron modificados con el paso del tiempo en base a la experiencia, nuevas ideas y cambios en las condiciones del mercado. Puesto que la ciudad es propietaria del suelo y por ende controla la extensión del mismo que puede desarrollarse, alentó a los promotores privados para que se aliaran con grupos inmobiliarios sin fines de lucro para licitar por porciones del muelle. El caso de Amsterdam confirma que las estrategias, los instrumentos de planificación, el liderazgo y las alianzas son interdependientes y determinantes para el redesarrollo que beneficia a la comunidad como un todo.

Significado para La Habana

La singularidad del puerto de La Habana lo coloca como un lugar formidable para proyectos de desarrollo innovadores e integrales y para evitar los errores que han malogrado el encanto de muchas otras ciudades en el mundo. La Habana es la capital de Cuba y hogar de más de 2 millones de los 11 millones de ciudadanos que tiene el país. Antes de la revolución de 1959 Cuba era el principal destino comercial y turístico del Caribe, pero su posterior aislamiento político y su falta de desarrollo económico han dado lugar a una ciudad histórica intacta en su mayor parte que ahora tiene una apremiante necesidad de restauración. Desde el derrumbe de la antigua Unión Soviética y la subsiguiente pérdida de mercado para el 65% de las exportaciones de Cuba, La Habana ha centrado sus esfuerzos en atraer la inversión a través de empresas de bienes raíces. La mayoría de estas empresas (había 350 activas en 2001, con un valor de 2.600 millones de dólares) son compañías canadienses y europeas de la floreciente industria hotelera. El turismo y las actividades relacionadas de nuevo generan las divisas que tanto se necesitan, especialmente en La Habana donde se han hecho mejoras a los hoteles del casco histórico y se están construyendo nuevos edificios de oficinas en los cercanos barrios elegantes del oeste de la ciudad.

El gobierno reconoce el valor histórico y económico del patrimonio arquitectónico de La Habana Vieja y respalda con firmeza la renovación y rehabilitación de sus plazas y edificios históricos. El progreso y los beneficios son impresionantes, considerando la escasez de recursos públicos y el estado de la infraestructura y edificios de la ciudad. La Oficina del Historiador, organismo encargado del desarrollo de La Habana Vieja, ha estimulado los ingresos que generaron 50 millones de dólares para los programas sociales y de preservación histórica en el año 1999 solamente (Núñez, Brown y Smolka, 2000).

El puerto de La Habana es considerado un activo clave para el crecimiento en el futuro y por lo tanto constituye un área crucial de preocupación. El puerto abarca el famoso bulevar del Malecón y también los distritos de dársenas menos conocidos en el extremo oriental de La Habana Vieja. A lo largo del litoral de esta bahía se mezclan bodegas históricas y pequeñas comunidades con infraestructura en decadencia, instalaciones portuarias, industrias pesadas y astilleros. Muchos organismos municipales y estatales diferentes intervienen en la planificación de esta vasta área, aunque todavía no se han definido directrices de desarrollo claras y la mayoría de los actores carecen de la autoridad para asumir esa función. En respuesta, algunos organismos han creado planes para propiedades individuales, pero la implementación es improbable porque no se cuenta con los fondos necesarios y las refinerías petroleras ubicadas en la bahía emiten humos densos que no favorecen ciertas actividades turísticas.

Dado que el suelo en La Habana es propiedad pública, la recuperación de plusvalías pudiera servir como una fuente estratégica y sostenible de financiamiento para las inversiones que tanto se necesitan en viviendas asequibles, espacios públicos e infraestructura. El gobierno local puede dirigir el proceso de redesarrollo; no obstante, para las inversiones de mayor envergadura será importante contar con el respaldo y la colaboración de aliados públicos nacionales y regionales. Más que tener una planificación detallada, es esencial que los programas sean flexibles y que se haga énfasis en el proceso, para poder dar cabida a los cambios de las condiciones del mercado y a las nuevas oportunidades que surgen. Esto último es un factor determinante ya que el desarrollo depende en gran medida de las inversiones privadas.

Por su belleza histórica, su proximidad a los Estados Unidos y la falta de desarrollo que ha prevalecido en los últimos 40 años, La Habana despierta el interés de promotores inmobiliarios de todo el mundo. Tiene el potencial para convertirse en una ciudad habitable modélica que ha conservado la mayor parte de su legado y no está malograda por el automóvil. Por el bien de todos, y en especial del pueblo cubano, conviene garantizar que la transformación del puerto de La Habana se fundamente tanto en el redesarrollo de alta calidad como en el bienestar de la población.

Sobre el autor

Frank Uffen es director general de New Amsterdam Development Consultants, un grupo de consultores en desarrollo urbano localizado en Nueva York. Este artículo contó con la contribución de otros holandeses que también participaron en el seminario: Riek Bakker (socio de la firma BVR Consultancy for Urban Development, Landscape and Infrastructure, Rótterdam), Ad Hereijgers (socio de DE LIJN Office for Urban Development, Amsterdam), Willem van Leuven (gerente de proyecto de Amsterdam Project Management Bureau) y Rutger Sypkens (urbanista, Ballast Nedam Construction, Amsterdam).

Referencia

Núñez, Ricardo, Brown, H. James y Smolka, Martim. 2000. El suelo como recurso para promover el desarrollo en Cuba. Publicado en el volumen 12 (2) de la revista Land Lines: 1–4.

In the past decade, nearly 50 mansions have been demolished and replaced in the historic Chicago suburb of Kenilworth. Four demolition permits are currently pending review, while permits have been approved for two other historically significant houses. To slow the teardown trend, Kenilworth has enacted a nine-month waiting period between issuance of a demolition permit and initiation of the teardown process. However, the village does not have a historic preservation ordinance, and local officials generally support the rights of property owners to demolish and replace their houses. The National Trust for Historic Preservation included Kenilworth on its 2006 list of the 11 most endangered places nationwide (Black 2006).

The practice of demolishing and replacing houses in high-priced areas generates passionate controversy. The fight to save the Skiff House in Kenilworth is illustrative (Nance 2005). That property at 157 Kenilworth Avenue is one of the premier locations in one of Chicago’s most expensive suburbs, three blocks west of Lake Michigan and five blocks from the commuter train station in the village center.

The house was built in 1908 for Frederick Skiff, the first director of Chicago’s Field Museum of Natural History. This beautiful and historically significant house was designed by the architectural firm of Daniel H. Burnham, who was considered the preeminent architect in America at the turn of the twentieth century. He oversaw the construction of the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition and helped design a series of lakefront parks as part of the 1909 Plan of Chicago.

Plans to demolish the Skiff House shortly after it was purchased in 2004 for $1.875 million created an uproar. While many neighbors supported the owner’s right to tear down the property—after all, they might want to do the same—others saw it as an assault on the community’s character. “Save 157 Kenilworth” signs began to appear in front yards throughout the village, and a neighborhood group, Citizens for Kenilworth, led a campaign to save the house. After months of controversy, and only days after an auction to sell off valuable parts of the house before demolition, a neighbor purchased the house for $2.35 million in order to save it.

Historic houses continue to be torn down in Kenilworth and elsewhere, but not all teardowns generate controversy. Residents of many Chicago suburbs have been supportive of the teardown trend. Naperville is a representative case. Founded in 1831 and incorporated in 1857, Naperville grew slowly until plans for the East-West Tollway (I-88) were announced in 1954. The population grew from 7,013 in 1950, to 21,675 in 1960, to 140,106 today.

Naperville’s downtown has undergone a renaissance over the last decade, attracting new restaurants, shops, and residences. Although the city has a historic district just to the east of the downtown area, teardown activity has been concentrated in what were formerly more humble areas. Small, older houses are being purchased for about $400,000 and replaced by much larger houses that may sell for $1 million.

The teardown trend in Naperville is illustrated by one small house being sold as a teardown, with an announcement of an upcoming public hearing posted in the yard. It is likely to be replaced by a house that is similar to the recently constructed house next door (see pages 6 and 7). Though teardown activity is not entirely without controversy in Naperville, it does not generate the same passion as the Skiff House did.

How Widespread is the Teardown Phenomenon?

Nationwide the teardown phenomenon has attracted much media and public attention. The decennial Census of Population and Housing offers a way to quantify the practice using the “net replacement method.” For example, suppose the Census lists 10,000 housing units in an area for 1990 and 10,500 units in 2000—an increase of 500 units. Now suppose the Census shows that 800 housing units were built during the decade. Then 300 of the newly built units must have simply replaced existing units. The 300 replacement units are a crude but nonetheless enlightening measure of teardown activity in that community.

Figure 1 shows counties where at least one census tract had a net replacement rate in excess of 4 percent. Teardown activity is clustered in older urban areas in the Northeast, Midwest, and California. In fact, the map does not look substantially different from a map of population density in the United States. This simple analysis shows that replacement of the preexisting housing stock is an extensive phenomenon that is national in scope.

Nevertheless, it is surprisingly difficult to track teardown activity on a case-by-case basis. The classic teardown is a house whose sale is followed by the issuance of both demolition and building permits, but timing is a key factor in tracking these permits. If a demolition permit is issued four years after a sale, was the house really sold as a teardown? Similarly, a building permit may be issued long after a dilapidated house was demolished, yet this situation is not what most people have in mind when they think of teardowns.

Some teardowns are carried out by the current owner without a sale. Other houses are so extensively remodeled that they are effectively teardowns, even though no demolition permit is issued. Even when data on sales, demolition permits, and building permits are available, it is difficult to merge the different sources of information since they frequently come from different agencies that vary in the quality of their database management.

The National Trust for Historic Preservation has described the Chicago metropolitan area as the “epicenter of teardowns.” Aside from Kenilworth, teardowns are common in both the city of Chicago and its suburbs. The Village of Skokie (2005) surveyed 20 of its neighbors in Chicago’s near north suburbs and compared the number of detached single-family housing unit demolition permits from 2000 to 2003 to the total number of such units as reported in the 2000 U.S. Census. Thirteen of the 20 communities reported demolition permits representing more than 1 percent of the housing stock over the four-year period.

Richard Dye and I (forthcoming) have used data from Chicago and six suburban communities to document the degree of teardown activity in the region. We were able to obtain data on house sales and demolition permits for Chicago; one of its suburbs to the west, Western Springs; the northwest suburb of Park Ridge; and four suburbs on the North Shore—Glencoe, Kenilworth, Wilmette, and Winnetka.

Between 1996 and 2003, the number of demolition permits ranged from 29 in Kenilworth to 273 in Winnetka and 12,236 in Chicago. Of course, Kenilworth has only 2,494 residents, whereas Winnetka’s population is 12,419, and Chicago has 2.9 million residents. Figure 2 shows the number of demolition permits as a percentage of total housing units for each community. More than 9 percent of Winnetka’s housing stock was torn down between 1996 and 2003, and teardown rates were also quite high in Winnetka and Kenilworth. Even Chicago, with more than 400,000 housing units, had a demolition rate near 3 percent.

These six suburbs were not chosen randomly. All had high median incomes in 2000, ranging from $73,154 in Park Ridge to more than $200,000 in Kenilworth. All of these suburbs have stations on commuter train lines to downtown Chicago, little or no vacant land on which to build, and good schools and other local public services. In other words, demand to live in these suburbs is high. Teardown activity in Chicago is concentrated in comparable neighborhoods within the city, such as Lincoln Park, West Town, and Lakeview on the near north side.

The Costs and Benefits of Teardowns

Teardowns can impose significant social costs. Local residents often complain that new houses destroy the character of a neighborhood. Those houses may be built to the limits of the zoning code, tower above their neighbors, and reach to the edge of the property line. Sometimes neighbors simply dislike the design of new buildings, particularly those that replace historic houses. When tall apartment buildings replace single-family houses or two-family houses in the city, neighbors complain of the loss of sunlight, lack of parking spaces, and increased traffic congestion. The construction process itself can be noisy and disruptive. New, expensive houses may cause assessments to increase in the neighborhood. And, teardowns may reduce the stock of affordable housing.

Teardowns also carry some benefits, however. In places that rely on the property tax to fund local services, the additional revenue from high-priced replacement houses is often quite welcome. Not all teardown buildings are historic, architecturally significant, or mourned when they are demolished. Some teardowns are simply eyesores.

Some of the new houses being built today will eventually be viewed as historically significant properties in their own right. Once entire blocks are rebuilt, the new housing no longer looks out of place. It is surprising to discover how stark and incompatible some properties built in the early 1900s appear in historic photographs taken before trees grew and the neighborhood filled in with similar houses.

It also is important to recognize that teardowns may help to curb sprawl. One reason people move to the urban fringe is to build a new house in a contemporary construction style. Allowing people to tear down a small, outdated house and replace it with a modern house may induce them to stay in centrally located areas. In general, encouraging housing and economic growth helps maintain the vitality of previously developed areas, which is a strategic complement to anti-sprawl policies designed to limit growth at the fringe.

Policy Responses

Local jurisdictions have been creative in responding to teardowns. Some policies are designed to the slow the amount of teardown activity by making it more costly, through demolition fees and fines for illegal demolitions. Others, such as a moratorium on new demolition permits or an enforced waiting period between permit issuance and the time when demolition can start, are simply designed to cool a potential teardown fever. Such policies also raise the cost of teardowns by making developers wait for some time after purchasing a property before being able to recoup their costs. Complementary policies include landmark designation and historic district designation, which make it more difficult or even impossible to tear down existing structures.

Policies on the other side of the balance sheet may give developers an incentive not to demolish existing structures. Communities may offer tax breaks to owners who rehabilitate existing houses rather than demolish them to build new ones. Or, owners may be granted variances from restrictive zoning provisions in order to enlarge rather than demolish an existing house.

At the same time, jurisdictions often use zoning to influence the type of new housing that is built in their community. Lot-coverage and floor-area restrictions are used to ensure that new structures do not dwarf their neighbors. Other policies include maximum building sizes; set-back and open space requirements; and restrictions on such design elements as garage and driveway locations, roof pitch, bulk limits, solar access, and the alignment of the new house with neighboring structures. Many communities have design review boards that can revoke building permits for structures that are not in compliance. These standards are not always clear beforehand, however, and they can increase the level of uncertainty for developers, delay construction, and raise costs.

Even if communities do not attempt to curb teardown activity, they often adopt policies designed to reduce the disruption caused by new construction. The builder may be required to notify neighbors when construction is about to begin, and a time window may be imposed for completion of the building. Construction activity may be limited to certain hours of day, the site may need to be fenced, and work vehicle and dumpster location requirements are often imposed. Communities also may require that contractors be bonded and certified.

How successful are these policies in slowing the rate of teardown activity? As we have seen, the Skiff House was saved because Kenilworth’s nine-month waiting period between permit issuance and the start of demolition provided enough time for a buyer to step forward before the house was razed. However, the potential for profits in such transactions make it difficult to stop teardowns completely. If a developer can purchase an existing property for $300,000, demolish it for $20,000, and spend $400,000 to build a new house according to current construction standards, then he has incurred $720,000 in costs. With new upscale houses routinely selling in excess of $1 million in communities with many teardowns, it should not be surprising that developers continue this practice.

Implications for Land Values

Assessors encounter enormous difficulties in placing a value on land in built-up areas. When few vacant lots exist, it is nearly impossible to find enough sales of vacant land to assess the value of land accurately. In the absence of direct land sales data, land values can be estimated by subtracting construction costs less depreciation from the sale price of improved properties in the area.

Statistical analysis of mass appraisal data can account for such structural characteristics as square footage in order to control for the contribution of the building to total property value. With a complete set of these characteristics, the residual from the regression reflects the contribution of location to property value—in other words, land value. Unfortunately, any unobserved structural characteristic will also be part of the residual.

Teardowns can help estimate the value of land in developed areas. Consider the earlier example of a property that is purchased for $300,000, demolished for $20,000, and replaced by a million-dollar house. If the developer could purchase a vacant lot of the identical size next door for $290,000, which property would he prefer? If there is no salvage value for parts of the existing house, it will cost the developer $320,000 before it is possible to build on the lot with the existing house. Yet the vacant lot is available in the same general location for $30,000 less. The vacant lot is preferable even though it does not include a house—in fact, it is preferable precisely because it does not include an existing structure.

If the price of the vacant lot rises to $310,000, the developer still obtains a lot that is ready to build upon for $10,000 less than the cost of building on the neighboring lot. Only at $320,000 will the developer be indifferent between the two lots. It follows that the value of land in this case is $320,000. This key insight leads to an extremely useful method of valuing land in areas experiencing teardowns. The value of land is simply the sales price of a teardown property plus any demolition cost.

An important implication of this line of reasoning is that only location determines the value of a teardown property; characteristics of the structure are irrelevant except insofar as they influence demolitions costs or salvage value. This implication is somewhat surprising to people who think that a historic house has intrinsic value. Though it is tempting to think that the Skiff House in Kenilworth is worth approximately $2 million because of its historic and architectural value, a vacant lot next door would sell for nearly the same price. Any house near Lake Michigan in Kenilworth will sell for well more than $1 million. The conclusion to be drawn is simply that land is expensive along Chicago’s North Shore.

Richard Dye and I (forthcoming) test the prediction that only location characteristics influence sales prices in our sample of seven communities in the Chicago area. Our measures of location include such variables as lot size, distance from the nearest commuter train station, and proximity to Lake Michigan. Structural characteristics include such variables as building size, age, and whether the house is built of brick and has a basement, garage, or fireplace. We identify teardowns as houses for which a demolition permit was issued within two years of a sale. As predicted, structural characteristics do not significantly influence the sales price of teardown properties. Teardowns are purchased for the land underneath.

Final Thoughts

The teardown phenomenon is not new. Houses have been demolished and replaced for as long as they have been built. American cities grew rapidly in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and again in the years just after World War II. Tastes now appear to be changing toward larger houses with spacious rooms and high ceilings. Many people find the existing housing stock less desirable than new construction. In this situation, it is not surprising that buyers purchase, demolish, and build new houses, especially in high-demand areas. The trick for local governments is to keep the costs of teardown activity from overwhelming the less obvious benefits.

Daniel P. McMillen is professor in the Department of Economics and the Institute for Government and Public Affairs at University of Illinois at Chicago. He has published widely in urban economics, real estate, and applied econometrics. He is a visiting fellow in 2006–2007 at the Lincoln Institute.

References

Black, Lisa. 2006. Kenilworth added to list of endangered historic towns. Chicago Tribune, May 20.

Dye, Richard, and Daniel P. McMillen. Forthcoming. Teardowns and land values in the Chicago metropolitan area. Journal of Urban Economics.

Nance, Kevin. 2005. Teardown ‘madness has to stop’: Developer rescues historic Burnham house, but says it’s just a start. Chicago Sun-Times, November 6.

Village of Skokie. 2005. Comprehensive Plan Appendix C: Near north suburban housing activity study. http://www.skokie.org/comm/Appendix%20C.pdf.

The character of institutions, political settings, and social relationships is critical in determining whether nonprofit developers are effective in reusing vacant, abandoned, and contaminated properties in their communities.

The central question facing land conservationists today is how to scale up efforts to protect entire landscapes and whole natural systems. The land trust movement has been built on the individual successes of conserved private properties, but increasingly both conservationists and landowners entering into conservation agreements want to know what is being done about their neighbor, their neighborhood, and most significantly their landscape (Williams 2011).

Farmers and ranchers talk of the need to sustain a continuous network of working lands—a critical mass of agricultural activity—or risk losing the supporting businesses and community cooperation they require to survive. Firefighters say that keeping remote lands undeveloped reduces the hazards and costs of firefighting for local communities. Sportsmen are losing access to public lands and wildlife when scattered rural development fragments habitat. Conservation biologists have long suggested that protecting bigger places will sustain more species, and conversely that fragmentation of habitat is the leading cause of species decline and loss. Finally, a rapidly changing climate reinforces the need to protect large, connected ecosystems to be resilient over the long term.

With many funders and public partners seeking to focus on collaborative, landscape-scale conservation efforts, the land trust community has an excellent opportunity to leverage its good work by engaging in landscape partnerships. Land trusts, with their grassroots base and collaborative working style, are in a good position to help support local initiatives. The process of building these efforts, however, requires a commitment beyond the urgency of transactions and fundraising, and necessitates a sustained focus that is much broader than the immediate objectives of many land trusts.

What Does Success Look Like?

Montana’s Blackfoot River was made famous in Norman Maclean’s 1976 story, A River Runs Through It (Maclean 2001), but what really stands out about the Blackfoot region is how the community has worked together over many decades to sustain this special place. Building on conservation work initiated by local landowners in the 1970s, the Blackfoot Challenge was established in 1993 to bring the area’s diverse interests together around consensus-based approaches to sustaining the rural character and natural resources of the valley. Rancher Jim Stone, chairman of this landowner group, says “we were tired of complaining about what we couldn’t do, so we decided to start talking about what we could do.”

This collaborative effort has used innovative conservation approaches for the Blackfoot that have been replicated in many other places. The group’s work began with a focus on better managing increased recreational use of the river and protecting the river corridor. The first conserva-tion easement secured in Montana was on the Blackfoot in 1976 as part of this pioneering effort. From that initial success grew more ambitious initiatives with engagement from an expanding set of partners.

When landowners said they were not getting enough help to control weeds, the Challenge established one of the largest weed control districts in the West. When landowners argued there were not enough resources for conserving working ranches, the Challenge helped create an innovative U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) program to purchase conservation easements with the federal Land and Water Conservation Fund (LWCF), which historically has been used for public land acquisition.

When landowners were concerned about the potential sale of vast forest lands in the valley, the Challenge launched a comprehensive acquisition plan that linked protected private ranches on the valley floor with forested public lands at higher elevations. When landowners recognized the need for systemic river restoration, the Challenge and the Big Blackfoot Chapter of Trout Unlimited helped restore more than 48 tributary streams and 600 miles of fish passage for native trout and watershed health (Trout Unlimited 2011).

The Blackfoot Challenge partners with more than 160 landowners, 30 businesses, 30 nonprofits, and 20 public agencies. Clearly, the Challenge’s vision for the area is not limited to just a few ranches, but rather is focused on the long-term health of the entire river valley, from “ridge to ridge” in Jim Stone’s words (figure 1).

The wonderful aspect of the Blackfoot story is that it is no longer a rare exception but an emblem of a much larger movement of collaborative conservation efforts around the country. These landscape partnerships confirm an emerging consensus about the need to protect and sustain entire landscapes that are vital to the health of fish and wildlife, as well as to the vitality of local communities, their economy, and their quality of life.

Landowner-Driven Conservation Efforts

The Blackfoot story underscores one of the most important lessons emerging from community-based conservation initiatives—local landowners should be in front and everyone else behind. An example from the Yampa River in western Colorado illustrates this approach. In the early 1990s, conservation groups were trying to protect the area, but were met with major mistrust by the local ranchers. The valley had no shortage of community visioning exercises and groups trying to conserve the region, but none of the ideas had really taken hold in a meaningful way, precisely because local landowners were not in the lead.

That dynamic was then turned on its head by several landowner initiatives, the most significant being the Routt County Open Lands Plan. The plan’s recommendations grew out of a series of local landowner meetings held throughout the county. The plan called for eight significant measures to better manage explosive growth in the valley, ranging from a right-to-farm ordinance to a purchase of development rights program on working ranches. Routt County became one of the first rural counties in the West to raise public funds through a local ballot measure to protect working ranches.

The Malpai Borderlands is another enduring example of how landowner leadership can break through decades of gridlock. After years of conflict between ranchers and federal agencies over the management of public lands around the Animas Mountains in the boot heel of New Mexico and southeastern Arizona, Bill Macdonald and other neighboring ranchers helped spearhead a landowner collaborative called the Malpai Borderlands Group to reintroduce fire for the health of grasslands and the local ranching economy. That effort grew into an innovative partnership among ranchers, conservation groups, and public agencies to conserve and sustain this one-million-acre working wilderness through conservation easements, grass banking, and a more integrated stewardship approach to the system as a whole.

Land Trusts and Public-Private Partnerships

As significant as landowner leadership is to collaborative, landscape-scale conservation efforts, land trusts and agencies also can play a vital role in leading from behind as a reliable partner with deep local ties, knowledge of outside resources, and an ability to implement research and conservation projects. On Montana’s Rocky Mountain Front, for example, local ranchers are working together with several land trusts and the USFWS to protect working lands through conservation easements. The local landowner committee has been led by several local ranchers, but their 20-year friendship with Dave Carr of The Nature Conservancy has been pivotal in their staying engaged. Greg Neudecker of the USFWS’s Partners for Wildlife Program has played a similar role in the Blackfoot, given his 21-years of service to community collaboration there.

Many landowners and land trusts hesitate to bring public agencies into landscape partnerships because they often pride themselves on achieving conservation through private action. When engaged as part of landscape partnerships, however, state and federal agencies can be very effective allies. In the Blackfoot, the science, research, monitoring, funding, and restoration work delivered by the State of Montana and the USFWS has made a huge impact on the recovery of the river system.

On the land protection front, public acquisition of extensive timberlands in the Blackfoot has complemented private land trust work by consolidating public lands and maintaining community access to those lands for grazing, forestry, and recreation. Recognizing the problems associated with a century of fire suppression, the U.S. Forest Service has initiated experimental thinning projects of small-diameter stands to restore the structure and function of forestlands and reduce the fire threat to the valley. That work is now being expanded through a new federally funded Collaborative Forest Landscape Restoration Program (CFLRP) across the Blackfoot, Clearwater, and Swan valleys.

The larger principle is that all the major stakeholders have to be at the table, working together toward their common ground. David Mannix, another Blackfoot Challenge rancher, explains what they call the 80–20 rule: “We work on the 80 percent we can agree on and check the other 20 percent at the door with our hat.” Jim Stone claims that when people show up at a Blackfoot Challenge meeting, “We ask you to leave your organizational agenda at the door and put the landscape first,” focusing on the health of the land and the community so closely tied to it.

What’s really important is having the “right people” at the table for private-public partnerships to work—creative individuals motivated by a common vision and humble enough to recognize that they do not have all the answers. Collaboration takes time. Once common-ground approaches are developed, it is critical to have initial success, however small, that can build the kind of foundation needed for bigger solutions down the road.

The Need for Funding

The most serious barrier for local collaborative groups to achieve landscape-level goals is the lack of adequate funding. Without sufficient financial support, collaborative efforts often lose momentum, which can set back this kind of work for years.

Funding is not a static element, but it is responsive to the scale of the outcomes that can be achieved and the breadth of the constituency engaged. Neither private nor public funders want to participate in partial success unless it is a step toward a long-term, sustainable goal. And they do not want to fund places where groups are competing. Increasingly, land trusts and agencies have come to realize the potential of what can be achieved through collaboration. Donors consistently have led on this issue because they understand a resource-constrained world and the value of leveraging diverse strengths and funding.

Even when great collaborative efforts come together around common goals and achieve a heightened threshold of success, a serious funding gap often exists in achieving truly landscape-scale conservation. Mark Shaffer, former director of the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation’s Environment Program, estimated this gap to be about $5 billion per year in new funding and tax incentives needed over the next 30 years to conserve a network of important landscapes in the United States.

The land trust community is now conserving land at the rate of about 2.6 million acres per year—a cumulative total of about 37 million acres according to the last census in 2005 (Land Trust Alliance 2006). However, to sustain whole landscapes before urgent threats close the window of opportunity, that rate needs to double or triple, and efforts must be conducted in a more focused way.

Emerging Opportunities for Landscape-Scale Conservation

There are several major trends and near-term opportunities that could enhance landscape-scale conservation efforts, but their success hinges on land trust engagement and leadership. First, it is critical that Congress make permanent the enhanced deductions for conservation easements. The Land Trust Alliance (2011) points out that these deductions can protect more than 250,000 additional acres per year. Given the current congressional focus on spending cuts and tax cuts, this is one of the few conservation finance tools that may be achievable in the near term. Over the longer term, a national transferable tax credit program, similar to those in Colorado and Virginia, could create an enormous incentive for securing conservation easements.

The second trend relates to increasing the federal focus on protecting whole landscapes by empowering communities that are already working together. In 2005 the Bush administration launched a Cooperative Conservation Program that provided improved agency coordination and capacity grants for local collaborative work. In 2010, the Obama administration launched the America’s Great Outdoors Initiative to help communities better sustain their land and water resources through locally driven partnerships and to reconnect America’s youth to the natural environment (Obama 2010).

While federal resources are highly constrained in the near term, existing programs and funding could be more focused on whole landscape conservation projects. Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack has announced a major policy shift for the department to an “all lands” approach to conserving and restoring the big systems of the United States. For example, the Natural Resources Conservation Service recently announced that it would reinvest $89 million of unspent Wetland Reserve Program funds to purchase conservation easements over 26,000 acres of working ranches in the Florida Everglades. The opportunity facing the land trust community is to ensure that these projects are implemented in a manner that builds broad support for this work over the long term.

The third opportunity is passing local and statewide measures to increase funding and tax incentives for conservation. Despite the weak economy and pervasive talk of less government and lower taxes, voters in the 2010 elections passed 83 percent of the ballot initiatives presented nationwide to fund land and water conservation. Overall, 41 of 49 funding measures passed, generating more than $2 billion for land, water, parks, and farmland conservation over the next 20 years (The Trust for Public Land 2010).

The final trend and opportunity for the land trust community is partnering with private capital funders on major land conservation projects. Between 1983 and 2009, more than 43 million acres of forest lands traded hands (Rinehart 2010). New private equity groups, called Timber Investment Management Organizations (TIMOs) and Real Estate Investment Trusts (REITs), picked up 27 million acres of this land in a very short period, and many of these investment groups, including Lyme Timber, Conservation Forestry, Ecosystem Investment Partners, Beartooth Capital Partners, have conservation as part of their business model.

The Question of Scale

An ongoing trend in conservation has been an expanding focus from individual properties to neighborhoods, landscapes, ecosystems, and now networks of ecosystems. For example, landowners in the Blackfoot, Swan Valley, and Rocky Mountain Front have come to realize that the health of their landscapes depends on the health of the larger Crown of the Continent (figure 2).

Surrounding the Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park, the 10-million-acre Crown is one of the most intact ecosystems in North America. Thanks to a century of public land designations and 35 years of private land protection by local communities, this ecosystem has not lost a single species since European settlement. Landowners and other partners have been reaching across the Crown in a variety of ways to see how they can work together more closely for the good of the whole.

Even in the Crown’s large expanse, the sustainability of its wildlife populations depends on their connections to other populations throughout the Northern Rockies. That even larger network of natural systems can only be realized, however, if critical linkage areas can be sustained. For this reason, land trusts in Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, and Canada have been collaborating through a framework called the Heart of the Rockies to identify common priorities and conservation needs. This level of regional collaboration has resulted in both a new level of conservation and more attention from funders. It has also been pivotal for land trust collaboration around common policy priorities.

Organizing at these larger scales is truly imperative if we are to sustain well-connected natural systems, but it is also important to understand what can be achieved at each scale. Large regional initiatives are important for creating a broad, compelling vision, but not for implementing conservation on the ground. Such large-scale approaches are good at applying science at nature’s scale, creating regional collaboration around common priorities and a forum for exchange on innovative ideas, and bringing greater attention to the area. They also provide an important context for why local work is so significant.

Melanie Parker, a local leader for collaborative conservation efforts in the Swan Valley, cautions: “We need to aggregate our efforts across the larger region to influence policy and to access resources, but anyone who thinks that conservation work can or should be done at the scale of 10 million acres is seriously misguided. This kind of work has to be done at the scale at which people live, work, and understand their landscapes.”

Local people are moved to act by the power of their own place and in their own way. Designing strategies at a large scale is often too abstract for landowners at best, or outright alienating at worse. As in politics, all conservation is local. Likewise, politicians are most responsive to homegrown projects devised and backed by local residents. How large place-based efforts really can be and still hold community cohesion is an important question, but certainly the Blackfoot, Rocky Mountain Front, and Swan Valley are pushing the outer limits. Each is addressing lands at the scale of 0.5 million to 1.5 million acres.

Land trusts can add value to local efforts through regional collaboration. While landowners and local residents often do not have the additional time to participate in these larger initiatives, they want their place and specific issues to be well-represented. Land trusts and conservation organizations can play the very important role of connecting local, place-based groups, but they need to coordinate with those groups and not get out in front of them. In the end, the land trust community could be well served by strengthening its collaborative work, by deepening its engagement in landscape partnerships, and by working at larger scales to achieve conservation success.

Conclusion

After many decades of outstanding work, the more than 1,700 land trusts across the country can use their momentum to conserve the large systems that matter for people and nature. Indeed, this is what communities are asking for and what nature needs to survive. Moving beyond isolated victories to a more interconnected conservation vision is just as important for local sustainable economies and recreational access as it is for wildlife corridors and healthy watersheds. To be successful at this scale requires real collaboration and a reorientation for everyone involved. With the many opportunities currently rising for whole-landscape conservation, the moment is ours to seize.

References

Land Trust Alliance. 2006. 2005 national land trust census. Washington, DC. 30 November.

———. 2011. Accelerating the pace of conservation. www.landtrustalliance.org/policy

Maclean, Norman. 2001 [1976]. A river runs through it and other stories. 25th anniversary edition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

Obama, Barack. 2010. Presidential Memorandum: America’s Great Outdoors, April 16. http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/presidential-memorandum-americas-great-outdoors

Rinehart, Jim. 2010. U.S. timberland post-recession: Is it the same asset? San Francisco, CA: R&A Investment Forestry. April. www.investmentforestry.com

The Trust for Public Land. 2010. www.landvote.org

Trout Unlimited. 2011. Working together to restore the Blackfoot Watershed. February. www.tu.org

Williams, Jamie. 2011. Large landscape conservation: A view from the field. Working Paper. Cambridge, MA: Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.

About the Author

Jamie Williamsis The Nature Conservancy’s director of landscape conservation for North America, based in Boulder, Colorado. He focuses on programs to protect large landscapes through innovative public and private partnerships. He was a Kingsbury Browne Fellow at the Lincoln Institute in 2010–2011. He holds a Master in Environmental Studies from the Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies and a B.A. from Yale University.

Policies affecting the use, regulation, and taxation of land in the United States are promulgated and applied primarily by states and local governments, and real estate markets are largely local and not national in scope. However, national policies including those on taxation, property rights, and mortgage financing have a significant impact on local land and housing policies and their outcomes. Accordingly, it often makes sense for local policy makers and activists to combine forces so they can learn from each others’ experiences and ensure that their viewpoints are present in national land policy debates. The Lincoln Institute has played, and continues to play, an important role in sponsoring research and fostering training, communication, and organizational activities that promote land policies consistent with the its mission.

One example is the Lincoln Institute’s role in helping to establish the Land Trust Alliance (LTA), the national network of nonprofit conservation organizations that protect natural resources such as farmland, forests, and wilderness areas. The Lincoln Institute in 1981 provided a fellowship to Kingsbury Browne, a Boston-based conservationist and lawyer, to visit land trust leaders throughout the country. He discovered that they had no organized means to communicate and learn from each others’ experience. His work and counsel led the Lincoln Institute to carry out a national survey of the 400 known local and regional land conservation organizations at the time and to sponsor a national meeting for 40 representatives in October 1981. As a result of that meeting, the Land Trust Exchange was incorporated and initiated activity in July 1982. This year, as the Land Trust Alliance, the organization is celebrating its 30th anniversary.

LTA has become a major presence in the conservation community, and the Lincoln Institute continues to support its networking goals. For example, the Lincoln Institute sponsors the annual Kingsbury Browne Fellowship, which supports research, writing, and mentoring by outstanding individuals whose vision and creativity have contributed to land conservation and the land trust community. The Lincoln Institute also participates in LTA’s annual Rally and has supported selected projects, such as the 2010 National Land Trust Census Report that summarizes the land conservation and organizational activities of the 1,760 known land trusts at the time of the survey.

The Lincoln Institute has also played a key role over the past few years in developing a practitioners’ network on large landscape conservation, bringing together those working on projects at a regional scale, such as the Crown of the Continent, an 18-millionacre area spanning the US–Canadian border including portions of Montana, Alberta, and British Columbia. Still in its formative stages, this international network provides a semiannual forum to exchange information and best practices, examine emerging policy initiatives, and advance the theory and practice of large landscape conservation.

In a similar initiative, the Lincoln Institute supports the National Community Land Trust Network, formally organized in 2006. Community land trusts (CLTs) are local nonprofit organizations that own land and provide housing whose affordability is preserved permanently. While CLTs have existed for more than 30 years, coordination and communication among them was limited until the national network was established. With about 200 member CLTs in 2012, the network provides training, supports research, and disseminates guidelines and good practice to its members.

The Lincoln Institute maintains a role in the network’s training program, the Community Land Trust Academy, which offers courses, conferences, and other activities ranging from a general introduction for new residents and staff members to sessions on standard legal documents, financing, and city-CLT partnerships. The Lincoln Institute published The Community Land Trust Reader (2010), a compendium of articles on the historical background and current practices of the international CLT movement, edited by John Emmeus Davis, former dean of the Academy. In addition, the Lincoln Institute sponsors research disseminated in working papers and analytic work, including a 2007 survey of CLTs in the United States.

Information about these conservation and community land trust networks and their related programs and publications is available on the Lincoln Institute website at www.lincolninst.edu.

En vista de que, en los Estados Unidos, existen más de 25.000 gobiernos municipales involucrados en el análisis y aprobación de cambios propuestos en referencia a la zonificación, planificación y desarrollo de propiedades, la cantidad de decisiones sobre el uso del suelo que se toma a nivel municipal por año probablemente ronda los millones. Si bien la gran mayoría de estas resoluciones siguen el curso normal, los cambios en el uso del suelo y la zonificación que resultan más complejos y conflictivos con frecuencia implican conflictos amargos y duraderos. El exceso de derechos de desarrollo en la región intermontañosa del oeste de los Estados Unidos (página 4) es un ejemplo de este problema tan complicado sobre el uso del suelo.

Los conflictos sobre el uso del suelo y el desarrollo inmobiliario están clasificados entre los tipos más comunes de desacuerdos civiles en los Estados Unidos y, por lo general, involucran a muchas partes, propiedades e intereses. Estos conflictos generan costos para todas las partes directamente implicadas, así como también para el público en general. Sin embargo, una larga experiencia en la resolución de conflictos sobre el uso del suelo indica que los cambios en el proceso de toma de decisiones sobre el uso del suelo pueden producir mejores resultados a un costo menor.

Los gobiernos municipales por lo general tienen una junta encargada de tomar las decisiones referentes a los cambios en el uso del suelo, para lo cual emplean un proceso de cuatro pasos. En primer lugar, la parte que desea obtener un cambio o permiso para desarrollar una propiedad debe presentar una solicitud ante dicha junta. En segundo lugar, la junta analiza la solicitud y puede requerir al solicitante respuestas adicionales o modificaciones. En tercer lugar, se da la oportunidad al público para que realice comentarios, lo que puede derivar en un diálogo más entre la junta y el solicitante, así como en nuevas modificaciones a la solicitud. Finalmente, la junta emite su decisión. Este proceso funciona bien en la mayoría de las solicitudes que se procesan con una celeridad razonable. No obstante, la junta invierte la mayor parte de su tiempo en aquellos casos, una minoría, que involucran muchos intereses y numerosos derechos que pueden superponerse o ser contradictorios o imprecisos.

El proceso típico de cuatro pasos se centra en la adjudicación de derechos; así, cuando se trata de pocas cuestiones simples y los derechos se encuentran bien definidos en relación con las propiedades en cuestión, este método funciona bien. Sin embargo, en los casos más complejos, resulta más prometedor utilizar un enfoque más amplio centrado en el beneficio mutuo de todas las partes involucradas. El enfoque de beneficio mutuo resulta más productivo cuando se dan las siguientes condiciones: existen muchas partes interesadas; la junta que toma las decisiones posee algún nivel de discreción en la decisión en particular; el impacto de la decisión es de largo plazo y largo alcance; y es probable que todo resultado que no sea colaborativo finalmente sea apelado por una o más de las partes interesadas. El enfoque de beneficio mutuo no debe considerarse como una alternativa al proceso normal de los cuatro pasos, sino como una ampliación del mismo, básicamente, mediante la suma de pasos adicionales o la ampliación de los pasos existentes en el proceso estándar.

La clave para utilizar con éxito el enfoque de beneficio mutuo es lograr descubrir los intereses subyacentes de las partes interesadas, es decir, de aquellos intereses situados tras la posición adoptada públicamente, y, luego, desarrollar nuevas opciones o soluciones que den respuesta a dichos intereses. La situación ideal se da cuando este paso tiene lugar en las primeras etapas del proceso cuando las posiciones de las partes interesadas todavía son flexibles.

Este proceso de investigación y detección es un elemento de la primera etapa del enfoque de beneficio mutuo, la cual implica identificar a las partes interesadas, escuchar atentamente sus motivos de preocupación y tomar como base sus intereses. En el proceso habitual de cuatro pasos, estas actividades probablemente tendrían lugar en una fase previa a la solicitud, en la que se considerarían los conceptos de desarrollo y diseño antes de formular las propuestas definitivas. La segunda etapa del enfoque de beneficio mutuo consiste en diseñar un proceso de colaboración que involucre a todas las partes interesadas y ofrezca oportunidades para que dichas partes compartan información y aprendan unas de otras. La tercera etapa consiste en promover un diálogo exitoso entre las partes interesadas, por lo general mediante la intermediación de un buen facilitador que logre generar relaciones y confianza entre las partes involucradas. La etapa final consiste en implementar los acuerdos que se hayan logrado, garantizando que las soluciones propuestas incluyan los acuerdos que se hayan alcanzado entre los participantes, a la vez que cumplen con los requisitos que establezca la junta encargada de tomar las decisiones.

El nuevo libro publicado por el Instituto Lincoln, Land in Conflict (Suelo en conflicto), escrito por Sean Nolon, Ona Ferguson y Pat Field, que contiene una descripción más detallada del enfoque de beneficio mutuo, junto con estudios de casos informativos. Está disponible tanto en formato impreso como electrónico.

The Lincoln Institute of Land Policy partnered with a team of nonprofit organizations and federal agencies to host the National Workshop on Large Landscape Conservation (NWLLC) on October 23 and 24, 2014, at the Ronald Reagan Building in Washington, DC. The meeting drew some 700 participants to consider how—working across the public, private, civic (NGO), and academic sectors; across disciplines; and across parcel, town, county, state, and even international boundaries—large landscape conservation practitioners could achieve creatively conceived, strategically significant, measurably effective, transferable, and enduring results on the land in this era of climate change.

The policies, practices, and case studies discussed at the NWLLC offered a broad spectrum of solutions and promising paths for enhancing wildlife conservation efforts on a regional level; substantially improving water quality and quantity across large watersheds; achieving sustainable production of food, fiber, and energy; and protecting internationally significant cultural and recreational resources. The conference organizers greatly appreciate the productive contributions of all participants—ranging from Interior Secretary Sally Jewell, Iroquois elder Sid Jamieson, and National Wildlife Federation President Collin O’Mara, to on-the-ground land managers, scientists, and project coordinators from Alaska’s Bering Strait to the Florida Keys.

A version of this article originally appeared in Expanding Horizons: Highlights from the National Workshop on Large Landscape Conservation, the complete NWLLC report. Prepared by the Lincoln Institute and three conference partners—the National Park Service Stewardship Institute, the Quebec-Labrador Foundation/Atlantic Center for the Environment, and the Practitioners’ Network for Large Landscape Conservation—the full report is available on the Practitioners’ Network website (www.largelandscapenetwork.org)

—James N. Levitt
Lincoln Institute of Land Policy and the Harvard Forest, Harvard University

Big ideas about nature and people and a new approach to conservation cascaded through the first-ever National Workshop on Large Landscape Conservation. So much happened so quickly that the usual phrases for describing heartening and enlivening events don’t fit.

A watershed event? It felt more like white-water rafting down Niagara Falls or along an Ice-Age Flood.

A coming of age? Perhaps, if what you’re thinking about is the “rocket stage” in the growth of a longleaf pine tree: the tree can spend years looking like no more than a clump of grass, although it’s been invisibly sinking a deep taproot; then, in a single season, it leaps four feet toward the sky, putting it past the reach of ground-hugging wildfires.

Variety of input? The medieval Spanish king, Alfonso the Wise, is remembered for saying that if he’d been present at the Creation, he could’ve offered some useful hints. But at the oversubscribed Large Landscape Workshop, 117 hours of experience, advice, and data had to be packed into seven sets of concurrent sessions that occupied most of the 17 hours of the conference. There were thoughtful talks and panels and carefully prepared reports and slideshows by 269 presenters from inner cities, remote rocky heights, far-flung islands, and landscapes of all types across the United States, with connections to Canada and Mexico.

Continuing momentum? Ben Franklin said on the last day of the U.S. Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia in 1787 that, after spending three months listening to back-and-forth debate and looking daily at a gilded sunburst on the back of the president’s chair, he finally had the happiness of knowing he was seeing a rising sun, not a setting one. But Secretary of the Interior Sally Jewell, one of two cabinet members to address the NWLLC audience and applaud its efforts, told a lunchtime plenary session on the very first day: “This room is bursting with vision. You will be pioneers of landscape-level understanding, as Teddy Roosevelt was of conservation a century ago. Let’s make it happen!”

Landscape-level conservation—the term is still relatively new—is a different way of making sense of the world, and of assessing and nurturing its health. It steps beyond the laudable but limited 20th-century practice of designating reserves and cleaning up pollution. Taking a wide-angle, big-picture view of things, it sees every landscape, designated or not, as an intricately connected network of living beings sustained by a wide-ranging community of people. Landscape-level conservation has been reenergizing and broadening the environmental movement. And as its perspective is adopted, the first thing that grows is not necessarily the size of the property to be protected, but the possibility for actions, some large, some small, that will make a lasting difference for the future of the biosphere and its inhabitants, including humanity.

Many of these inaugural projects were on display in the workshop presentations and in the 34 posters that adorned the vast Reagan Building atrium. At times, the workshop felt like an enormous bazaar, displaying programs, concepts, research findings, explorations, cooperative agreements, and other early successes, as well as questions to ponder. Unexpected jewels, efforts hitherto known only to small groups, gleamed brightly in corners and were freely offered to all.

Yellowstone-to-Yukon, known as “Y2Y,” is perhaps the granddaddy of citizen-generated large-landscape projects—an idea for a connected, binational wildland corridor 2,000 miles long, from Yellowstone National Park north to the Alaskan border along the world’s last intact mountain ecosystem. At the NWLLC, Y2Y was literally coming of age, celebrating its 21st birthday. In 1993, only 12 percent of this 321-million-acre landscape had been conserved, but by 2013 the total had surged to 52 percent.

National Heritage Areas, honoring this country’s history and achievements, are even more well-established: the program embraces tens of millions of acres, including the entire state of Tennessee. It has just turned 30.

Y2Y has inspired plans for “H2H”—a 50-mile corridor of land that has been identified as a “resilient landscape,” just beyond the affluent northern suburbs of New York City, stretching from the Housatonic River, in Connecticut, to the Hudson River, in New York. Once protected, it could dramatically slow the effects of climate change.

The Staying Connected Initiative—a coalition of Canadians and Americans working across 80 million acres of forested land in four provinces and four states anchored by northern New England (a landscape the size of Germany)—calls itself “the very young cousin to Y2Y that, 15 years from now, they’ll call its northeast equivalent.”

Shortly before the workshop began, an Oregon county sewerage agency began adding trees and shrubs to the meandering banks of the 80-mile-long Tualatin River west of Portland, Oregon, to keep the fish in the river cool; it will have planted a million of them by World Environment Day on June 5, 2015.

The effect, workshop participants told me during breaks (there were a few), was somehow both exhilarating and sobering. Landscape-level conservation is hope-propelled rather than fear-accelerated. It’s a banding together in the face of grave environmental threats of extinctions and degradation. By widening our horizons, the focus shifts from salvage operations to the astounding number of things that can and need to be undertaken to restore, replenish, safeguard, protect, and celebrate the long-term integrity of this gigantic continent’s astonishing natural and cultural heritage.

When human ancestors first stood upright millions of years ago and could see over the tall savanna grasses of East Africa, their world went in an instant from being about 20-to-30 feet wide to something like 20-to-30 miles wide. This redefined what was practical, necessary, and possible to think about. In a similar fashion, scaling up or accelerating our own awareness of conservation to the landscape level is a useful way of dealing with the ever-proliferating complexities of modern America, a country of 320 million people that within half a century will have 400 million.

It’s a country where, the last half-century of science tells us, existing conservation methods aren’t enough to protect these places properly—in part because plants and animals move across lines drawn on a map and because, as these places become more isolated, former inhabitants can’t move back in again, either for full-time or part-time residence. Even high-flying Alaskan shorebirds, which winter in Mexico or China or New Zealand, are finding their round-trips impeded by oil spills in San Francisco Bay and invasive mangroves in New Zealand; Tom Tidwell, chief of the United States Forest Service, calls birds, bats, and butterflies the “winged messengers” of landscape-scale conservation. In recent years, we’ve also seen that, though maps and land designations remain stationary, places may soon be on the move in their entirety, as climate change nudges one ecosystem aside and draws in another.

Perhaps mapping itself is finally entering a non-Euclidean, or post-Jeffersonian, phase. For almost 230 years—ever since 1785, when Thomas Jefferson, even before the Constitutional Convention, suggested that geometry should trump topography for surveying what were called the “vacant lands” west of the Appalachians—we’ve had the “Jeffersonian grid,” still inescapably seen from the windows of any transcontinental flight in the way roads and fields are laid out. This grid used the otherwise invisible (and only recently computed) lines of longitude and latitude to partition the landscape into square-mile “sections” for property lines that ignored ecosystems, watersheds, and even mountain chains. It created a right-angled reality for settlers moving west to set up towns, unencumbered by what they were inheriting—the natural organization of the landscape and the age-old ways and knowledge of its previous human inhabitants.

Banding together. If working across more of the land is something that follows the realization that there’s more to the land (and beneath it and above it), the new conservation equation places as much emphasis on the who part of the work as it does on the what of it. In yet another departure from traditional practices, another thing to grow is the number and kinds of people who need to get behind any landscape-scale project. The entire process, said Dan Ashe, director of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, relies on “epic collaboration,” which became the workshop’s most frequently repeated phrase. Epic resonated because it spoke of reaching across so many divides. “De-railers” was another popular workshop word:

Private landowners partnering with public-land managers. The migration path of the pronghorn antelope, which traverses both public and private land, has been protected, but it’s the last of what were seven such corridors, and the others have all been expunged. Working with 953 ranchers across 11 Western states, the National Resources Conservation Service’s Sage Grouse Initiative has moved or marked with white plastic tags 537 miles of barbed-wire fences, so these low-flying birds won’t impale themselves. “I work with the hopefuls, not the hatefuls,” one rancher said.

Private landowners partnering with their next owners. Tens of millions of acres of farms and ranches will change hands within the next 20 years, along with more than 200 million acres of “family forests.” The average age of a forest landowner is 62½, and “affinity to the land,” one commentator pointed out, “can be harder to pass along than a legal deed.”

Public-land managers working with other public-land managers. Too many sister agencies have longstanding habits of treating each other as disdained step-sisters, or they function like the three Gray Sisters in Greek myths, sharing a single eye. Over the last 30 years, the Bureau of Land Management has developed a Visual Resource Management (VRM) system for evaluating intrusions on lands in the West that includes listing scenic qualities at various distances from Key Observation Points (KOPs). But VRM methods have not yet made it back East, where the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission tends to approve without question all proposals for new gas pipelines and electric-transmission corridors, even if they might affect views from a National Historic Landmark such as Montpelier, the Virginia estate surrounded by old-growth forest where James Madison drafted an outline for the U.S. Constitution.

Other disparities yet to be bridged. Eighty-five percent of Americans live in urban areas, leading to a generation of kids who have “walked only on asphalt.” Within the workshop, most presenters were male—engaged in “mansplaining,” as one woman said. Another participant was shocked to find the conference so “overwhelmingly white.” Dr. Mamie Parker, retired assistant director of the Fish and Wildlife Service (the first African-American woman in that position), was a plenary speaker who got a sustained ovation equaled only by Secretary Jewell’s. “For many years,” Dr. Parker said, “we’ve been stuck, stalled, and scared of nontraditional partnerships. Fear has kept us from reaching out to people who want to feel respected, to know that they’re a valued member of the team.”

“Change happens at the rate of trust,” said one workshop participant. “I don’t think we’ve tested the trust yet,” said another. It’s abundantly clear that, from here on out, successful conservation is going to need a lot of successful conversations, many of which might be awkward at first. It will be a challenging stretch—standing upright brought human ancestors out of their comfort zone; a sense of belonging to other tribes is something we’re still working on.

City People, a groundbreaking book by the historian Gunther Barth, showed how 20th-century American cities became cohesive places because of late-19th-century inventions: millions of small-town Americans and Eastern European immigrants learned how to live and work together thanks to apartment houses, department stores, newspapers (which gave them the same information base), and baseball parks (which taught them the rules of competition and cooperation). Public libraries and public parks could be added to the list.

Baltimore’s Masonville Cove, the country’s first Urban Wildlife Refuge Partnership, launched in 2013, is perhaps a new kind of public library for the large-landscape era. A waterfront neighborhood in the southernmost part of town—torn up after World War II for a harbor tunnel thruway, and littered with abandoned industrial sites that have regenerated and then been rediscovered by 52 species of birds—the Masonville Cove Urban Wilderness Conservation Area now offers classes taught by staffers from the National Aquarium about the Chesapeake Bay and its 64,000 square-mile watershed (the size of 18½ Yellowstones). There are also field trips, walking trails, a kayak launch, and opportunities to help clean up charred debris, which may date back to the Great Baltimore Fire of 1904.

Nationally, landscape-scale conservation has an informal and unofficial steering committee—the Practitioners’ Network for Large Landscape Conservation, an alliance of government land managers, land trusts, academics, citizens, and national nonprofits who save lands and protect species. And officially, as the result of an early Obama administration initiative, there’s now a nationwide underpinning to the work: a network of federal fact-finders and conveners, organized as 22 Landscape Conservation Cooperatives. The LCCs don’t own anything or run anything, nor do they issue regulations, but they generate and compile reliable scientific data about all of the country’s landscapes (and many of the adjoining landscapes in Canada and Mexico), creating a shared information base. They necessarily cover a lot of ground and water (one LCC takes in both Hawaii and American Samoa, 4,000 miles to the west). And they bring a lot of people together; each LCC has at least 30 partners who represent separate government agencies, nonprofits, and tribal governments.

What’s next? That was the question asked over and over, with excitement and urgency, in the building’s sprawling, mall-length hallways. There were those buoyed by a recent survey showing that Americans think 50 percent of the planet should be protected for other species (Brazilians say 70 percent). Some foresee a seamless continental system of interlocked large landscapes, and the establishment of an international peace park on the U.S.–Mexico border to complement the one set up in 1932 across the U.S.–Canada boundary. There were, on the other hand, those in anguish who see all efforts falling short, confining North Americans to a continent with more development, less biodiversity, and fewer wolves, salmon, and spotted owls. There were those who thought that, at the next national workshop, partnership must be made an official part of the proceedings, built into the planning of sessions, into their presentations, and into follow-up discussions and initiatives.

What is next? People may need to take some time to assimilate the ascendancy of a new insight, a permanent expansion in the perception of landscapes. No more NIMBY (“Not In My Backyard”); there’s only one backyard (OBY), and it’s our care and delight, our inheritance and responsibility.

When you gain a new capacity, where will you set your sights? If someone gives you a telescope, what will you look at first?

About the Author

Tony Hiss was a New Yorker staff writer for more than 30 years and is now a visiting scholar at New York University. He is the author of 13 books, including The Experience of Place and, most recently, In Motion: The Experience of Travel.

Una versión más actualizada de este artículo está disponible como parte del capítulo 4 del libro Perspectivas urbanas: Temas críticos en políticas de suelo de América Latina.

En los últimos cinco años el Instituto Lincoln ha respaldado el estudio de las políticas e instrumentos de recuperación de plusvalías en muchos países latinoamericanos. Pese a la diversidad de enfoques y la variedad de casos específicos, hemos podido identificar siete lecciones preponderantes que pueden ayudar a aclarar parte de la confusión y los conceptos errados que se asocian con la implementación de los principios de recuperación de plusvalías. Cada lección resumida más adelante presenta uno o dos ejemplos tomados de libro Recuperación de Plusvalías en América Latina: Alternativas para el Desarrollo Urbano.

La recuperación de plusvalías se refiere al proceso por el cual el sector público recupera la totalidad o una porción de los incrementos en el valor del suelo atribuibles a los “esfuerzos comunitarios” más que a las acciones de los propietarios. La recuperación de estos “incrementos inmerecidos” puede hacerse indirectamente mediante su conversión en ingresos públicos en forma de impuestos, contribuciones, exacciones y otros mecanismos fiscales, o directamente mediante mejoras locales para beneficio de la comunidad por entero.

1. El concepto de recuperación de plusvalías no es nuevo en América Latina. La experiencia latinoamericana en este campo tiene largos años de precedentes históricos. En varios países los debates públicos sobre el uso de la recuperación de plusvalías e instrumentos asociados comenzaron a principios del siglo XX. En los años de 1920, el debate surgió por acontecimientos concretos, como el problema de la pavimentación de las calles en São Paulo, Brasil y la falta de financiamiento externo para obras públicas necesarias en Colombia. En otros casos, los factores políticos e ideológicos han motivado discusiones de alcance nacional. Los representantes del Partido Radical en Chile intentaron introducir la idea en varias ocasiones y en los años 1930 el Presidente Aguirre Cerda propuso una ley para crear un impuesto nacional sobre las plusvalías (incrementos en el valor del suelo) con fundamento en las ideas de Henry George.

2. No obstante, sigue siendo limitada su aplicación en los planes de política urbana. A pesar de los numerosos informes sobre experiencias pertinentes que integran los principios de la recuperación de plusvalías, el tema no están bien representado ni ha ganado suficiente reconocimiento dentro de la esfera de las políticas urbanas. En algunos casos, han surgido valiosas iniciativas para la recuperación de plusvalías que han cobrado notoriedad en su momento, sólo para quedar olvidadas más tarde. Un ejemplo destacado es el conocido Informe Lander en Venezuela durante los años 1960, en el cual se proponía que el suelo y los incrementos de su valor debían ser la fuente principal de financiamiento para los proyectos de desarrollo urbano. Sentaba las bases para recomendaciones sobre las finanzas del desarrollo urbano incluidas en las deliberaciones de la cumbre Habitat I (1976).

En otros casos, se están perdiendo o desestimando oportunidades interesantes para usar la recuperación de plusvalías como una herramienta de las políticas urbanas. Actualmente algunos países de América Latina no están aprovechando los posibles incrementos del valor del suelo generados por grandes proyectos de renovación en los cascos urbanos. Aunque está generalmente aceptada la noción de recuperación de plusvalías, en realidad es poco lo que efectivamente se ha recuperado y redistribuido de los incrementos del valor del suelo derivados de las acciones urbanísticas.

3. A menudo existe la legislación, sólo que no se aplica. Como en muchos otros países de la región, la variedad de los instrumentos de recuperación de plusvalías existentes en México –desde la contribución por mejoras (una tasación especial o gravamen por mejora dirigido a recuperar los costos de las obras públicas), hasta los impuestos sobre las plusvalías– ilustra la discrepancia entre lo que es legalmente posible y lo que verdaderamente se implementa. Contrario a lo que suele aducirse, el problema general no radica en que los planificadores o funcionarios públicos carezcan de acceso legal o práctico a estos instrumentos, sino que tienden a prevalecer las siguientes condiciones:

• Con frecuencia se concibe y diseña la legislación y los instrumentos –algunas veces adrede– de una manera tan confusa y contradictoria que prácticamente paralizan toda iniciativa de política operativa. Por ejemplo, la ley nacional de expropiaciones de 1947 estipula un impuesto del 75% de los incrementos del valor del suelo resultantes de obras públicas, mientras que la constitución municipal general (Ley Orgánica de Régimen Municipal) limita el impuesto al 5% del valor total de la propiedad en cuestión. En realidad, ni siquiera se recauda este pequeño gravamen.
• Incluso cuando la ley hace posible la recuperación de plusvalías, puede ser difícil de interpretar. Por ejemplo, el debate entre juristas eminentes en los años 1970 en Brasil con respecto a la constitucionalidad de la legislación de “Solo Criado” (un instrumento basado en la separación del suelo y los derechos de construcción) reflejó una falta fundamental de comprensión de los antecedentes legales de la recuperación de plusvalías y sus correspondientes instrumentos.
• No siempre se conocen bien las posibilidades que ofrece la ley, ni siquiera en sus respectivos países. Este parece ser el caso en México, donde el impuesto tradicional a la propiedad en la ciudad de Mexicali, basado en el valor combinado del suelo y las construcciones, fue reemplazado con éxito por un impuesto basado exclusivamente en el valor del suelo (Perló 1999). Otras ciudades mexicanas no parecen estar enteradas de disposiciones similares en la legislación de sus estados o no las han aprovechado.

4. La resistencia obedece más a la ideología que a la lógica. Incluso cuando se entienden la legislación y los instrumentos para la recuperación de plusvalías –o en algunos casos justamente porque se entienden–, es posible que no puedan implementarse a cabalidad debido a la manifiesta “falta de voluntad política”. Esta resistencia puede tomar la forma de interpretaciones engañosas, racionalizaciones estereotipadas y hasta “prédicas” puramente ideológicas.

Resulta sencillo encontrar justificación pública de que la aplicación de tales instrumentos es inoportuna o inapropiada, especialmente si la justificación se basa en interpretaciones engañosas. Algunos de estos argumentos sostienen que las imposiciones sobre el valor del suelo son inflacionarias y alteran el buen funcionamiento de los mercados, o que provocan una doble tributación inaceptable de la misma base. Estos conceptos erróneos parecen hallarse detrás de la renuencia que muestra el Ministerio de Vivienda y Urbanismo de Chile para promover la revisión y reintroducción ante el Congreso de algunas disposiciones sobre la recuperación de plusvalías en el nuevo marco legal de urbanismo del país.

Las objeciones basadas en racionalizaciones estereotipadas pueden recurrir a los siguientes argumentos:

• los ingresos correspondientes no son significativos o no están justificados al compararlos con los costos administrativos causados;
• las administraciones públicas no serían competentes en términos de recursos técnicos y humanos; o
• la aplicación de los instrumentos de recuperación de plusvalías sería antisocial y regresiva, ya que la población pobre, que tiene la mayor necesidad de nuevas obras de infraestructura urbana, posee la menor capacidad de pago.

No obstante, en oposición a estos argumentos, están los programas participativos de mejoras que se han llevado a cabo con éxito en áreas pobres de muchas ciudades (por ejemplo, en Chile, Brasil y Perú). Estos programas han sido eficaces técnica y económicamente y por lo general han contado con un apoyo sólido de la población de bajos ingresos afectada.

Finalmente, algunas objeciones son de índole netamente ideológica. Por ejemplo, la resistencia a la implementación de la participación en plusvalías en Colombia se basa en la aseveración de que este mecanismo, si bien se reconoce que tiene una buena formulación técnica, representa una forma más de “interferencia” pública indeseable en el negocio inmobiliario urbano, como lo son una mayor carga fiscal, limitaciones de los derechos de propiedad o más regulación (Barco de Botero y Smolka, 2000). Esta posición ha quedado sustituida recientemente por un amplio consenso entre los políticos, líderes empresariales y el público general de que la aceptación de este instrumento es una mejor opción que la exigencia de otros impuestos a la propiedad.

5. La recuperación de plusvalías se va haciendo cada vez más popular. A pesar de los obstáculos y la resistencia política, la experiencia reciente en América Latina con la recuperación de plusvalías muestra un creciente interés en el tema y en las condiciones que justificarían su utilización. Atrae la atención de planificadores municipales en toda la región y comienza a percibirse como una iniciativa importante de las políticas urbanas. Esta popularidad creciente está vinculada a varios factores que se presentan en la región.

En primer lugar, una mayor descentralización administrativa y fiscal exige más autonomía para redefinir y obtener fuentes alternativas de fondos públicos para financiar el proceso de urbanización. La necesidad de más recursos locales se ha visto acentuada por las demandas sociales y las presiones políticas asociadas con los actuales procesos de redemocratización y el mayor grado de participación popular. La generación de fondos no presupuestados requeridos para financiar programas sociales especiales está vinculada a casi todas las nuevas iniciativas de recuperación de plusvalías y ha sido una de las razones más poderosas para implementar dichas políticas.

En segundo lugar, la redefinición de las funciones del estado (incluida la privatización), en conjunto con la disminución de la planificación integral, ha dado pie a la materialización de intervenciones públicas más flexibles y negociaciones directas sobre la regulación del uso del suelo y las alianzas entre los sectores público y privado. También cobra significación la apertura de áreas públicas al mercado inmobiliario privado, así como una mejor coordinación entre los intereses de los propietarios privados y el sector público con miras a fomentar nuevas áreas en las ciudades. Cabe destacar que incluso en Cuba encontramos un programa pujante mediante el cual la Oficina del Historiador de la Ciudad de La Habana, que funciona como una suerte de compañía inmobiliaria, refinancia las operaciones del estado con los incrementos del valor del suelo provenientes de proyectos de rehabilitación urbana en forma de impuestos cobrados a los “socios” privados en las obras de desarrollo (Núñez, Brown y Smolka, 2000).

Otros factores favorables incluyen las condiciones estipuladas por los planes de los organismos multilaterales, que claramente promueven la universalización de los gravámenes al usuario y la recuperación de los costos de las inversiones públicas. La creciente popularidad de los nuevos instrumentos de recuperación de plusvalías también puede atribuirse a cierta frustración causada por los resultados mediocres que se obtuvieron en décadas anteriores con la aplicación de impuestos y otras contribuciones tradicionales relacionadas con el suelo urbano, en cuanto a los ingresos y los objetivos de las políticas urbanas.

6. El pragmatismo prevalece sobre las justificaciones éticas o teóricas. Como corolario al punto anterior tenemos que la creciente popularidad de la recuperación de plusvalías parece inspirarse más en razones fundamentalmente pragmáticas que en criterios éticos, nociones de igualdad o justificaciones teóricas o políticas. Algunas reformas tal vez se han introducido sin plena conciencia política del proceso, o de su importancia teórica, como se ilustró anteriormente en el caso de Mexicali. Los indicios históricos muestran que en su mayoría las iniciativas de recuperación de plusvalías han respondido más que todo a la necesidad de enfrentar las crisis fiscales y otros problemas locales en el financiamiento del desarrollo urbano. Es el mismo caso que ocurre en Argentina, donde la necesidad de ingresos predominó sobre los principios establecidos que se oponían a nuevos impuestos cuando se recurrió a un aumento provisional del 5% en el impuesto a la propiedad como una de las iniciativas para financiar las inversiones en el nuevo sistema de subterráneo de Buenos Aires.

No obstante, no debería darse por sentado a partir de los ejemplos anteriores que la acumulación de experiencia no es importante para el perfeccionamiento de instrumentos y la evolución de las políticas de recuperación de plusvalías. Un caso pertinente es la experiencia colombiana con la contribución de valorización desde los años 1920 y los innumerables intentos para resolver algunas de sus limitaciones, especialmente en los últimos 40 años. La participación en plusvalías promulgada recientemente es una versión de mayor logro técnico y políticamente aceptable de un instrumento dirigido a recuperar los incrementos –en ocasiones enormes– del valor del suelo asociados con las decisiones administrativas con respecto a la zonificación, niveles de densidad y otras normas y regulaciones urbanísticas.

7. La recuperación de plusvalías no es necesariamente progresiva o redistributiva. Es necesario señalar que de ninguna manera la referencia a las plusvalías es un monopolio de la izquierda política. Las experiencias recientes de Argentina y Chile indican claramente la disposición hacia el tema en contextos neoliberales. Además, las operacões interligadas (operaciones interligadas), desarrolladas en São Paulo y aplicadas con efectividad por administradores con tendencias políticas e ideológicas opuestas, fungieron como argumento convincente de la imposibilidad de etiquetar estos instrumentos a priori.

Los gobiernos locales progresistas, por otra parte, a veces son renuentes a utilizar estos instrumentos, y hasta pueden rechazar de un todo la noción, por tres razones: Primero, es posible que crean que tales contribuciones serían un mero mecanismo para imponer nuevos gravámenes fiscales sin ningún efecto redistributivo. Segundo, incluso cuando los ingresos generados se destinen a la población de bajos ingresos, pueden resultar insuficientes para reducir las diferencias entre ricos y pobres en lo concerniente al acceso al suelo urbanizado (Furtado 2000). Tercero, el argumento intergeneracional de que tales gravámenes se imponen a los residentes más nuevos –generalmente pobres– que necesitan servicios, mientras que las generaciones anteriores no pagaron por servicios de infraestructura o instalaciones recreativas.

De tal modo, la naturaleza progresista de dichas políticas no se resuelve “creando impuestos” sobre los incrementos del valor del suelo ni tampoco apuntando hacia los contribuyentes de altos ingresos. La imagen de Robin Hood de tales políticas se diluye en cuanto queda claro que la parte del valor realmente recuperada de esta manera tiende a ser sólo una fracción –a menudo pequeña– de lo que el propietario recibe en realidad en beneficios. Este punto parece haber sido bien entendido por muchas poblaciones de bajos ingresos, como las de Lima, donde un programa exitoso que comprendía unos 30 proyectos se valió de la contribución de mejoras para financiar obras públicas a principios de la década de 1990.

Este ejemplo y otros indicios fuertes confirman la necesidad de reconsiderar las nociones convencionales sobre la tensión que existe entre los principios de beneficio y la capacidad de pago. En la práctica, la estrategia de atraer cierta intervención pública hacia nuestro vecindario (incluso si ello implica pagar su costo) es más ventajosa que la alternativa de quedar relegado. Sin embargo, este punto debería tratarse con cautela, a la luz de ciertas experiencias en las que se ha aplicado la contribución de mejoras en áreas de bajos ingresos con fines distintos al beneficio de los ocupantes; por ejemplo, para justificar el desalojo o provocar la partida de aquellos residentes que no pueden pagar las mejoras (Everett 1999).

Consideraciones finales

A pesar de las dificultades de interpretación y resistencia a la implementación descrita más arriba, las políticas de recuperación de plusvalías sin duda están despertando nuevo interés y logrando mayor aceptación. Los esfuerzos para utilizar la recuperación de plusvalías se han multiplicado en número y creatividad y sus virtudes, aparte de ser una fuente alternativa de financiamiento público, se entienden cada vez más. Los funcionarios de la administración pública se están dando cuenta del “valor de mercado” de su competencia privativa para controlar los derechos de uso del suelo, así como para definir la ubicación y fecha adecuada de las obras públicas. Asimismo ven que la negociación transparente del uso del suelo y las relaciones de densidad reducen el margen de transacciones que solían realizarse “por debajo de la mesa”. Como el vínculo entre la intervención pública y el incremento del valor del suelo se hace cada vez más notorio, las actitudes están cambiando para hacerse más favorables a la creación de una cultura fiscal que fortalezca los impuestos a la propiedad y los ingresos locales en general.

Sin embargo, todavía queda mucho por hacer en ambas esferas: investigar la naturaleza compleja de las políticas de recuperación de plusvalías y promover un mayor entendimiento por parte de los funcionarios públicos de la manera en que pueden usarse para beneficiar a sus respectivas comunidades. Es indispensable conocer mejor ciertas idiosincrasias latinoamericanas, como cuando los incrementos significativos del valor del suelo se generan bajo regímenes alternativos de tenencia de la tierra que no gozan de la protección del estado, y en casos en que el suelo representa un importante mecanismo de capitalización para los pobres.

Más allá de las limitaciones tradicionales estructurales de patrimonialismo, corrupción, intereses velados, insensibilidad ideológica y demás, una parte considerable de la “variación inexplicable” en las diferentes experiencias con la recuperación de plusvalías en América Latina puede atribuirse a la falta de información. Con el fin de mejorar la comprensión de los principios e implementación de la recuperación de plusvalías, quedan muchas oportunidades para documentar y analizar las experiencias actuales con valoración alternativa del suelo y los instrumentos impositivos.

Martim Smolka es miembro principal y director del Programa para América Latina y el Caribe del Instituto Lincoln, y Fernanda Furtado es miembro del Instituto y profesora del Programa de Posgrado en Urbanismo de la Universidad Federal de Río de Janeiro.