A pesar de que la espera, Frances Acuña filtra mi llamada. “Me llaman muchas personas que quieren comprar mi casa”, explica cuando me devuelve la llamada. “A veces recibo cinco cartas por correo y hasta 10 llamadas”.  

El barrio Dove Springs en el sureste de Austin, Texas, donde Acuña lleva 25 años viviendo, se encuentra a 15 minutos del centro y en el límite de la última ola de aburguesamiento. Hace una década, dice, aquellos que no eran locales no querían involucrarse con la comunidad trabajadora de las casas de campo modestas: “Para ellos era una especie de gueto”.

En 2013, el arroyo Onion Creek desbordó, tras recibir casi 255 milímetros de lluvia en un solo día, e inundó las calles. Murieron cinco habitantes y se inundaron más de 500 viviendas. Dos años más tarde, se produjo otra inundación histórica. La ciudad de Austin, que ya había comenzado a comprar y demoler las viviendas de esta área baja con la ayuda de préstamos federales, aceleró sus esfuerzos y logró adquirir y demoler más de 800 casas.

Las propiedades adquiridas mediante programas de compra de viviendas financiados por la Agencia Federal para el Manejo de Emergencias (FEMA, por su sigla en inglés) deben permanecer “abiertas a perpetuidad”, para permitir que se inunden de manera segura en el futuro. En este caso, la ciudad transformó cientos de hectáreas de suelo abandonadas cerca de Dove Springs en un parque. Ahora, la zona cuenta con instalaciones atractivas: un área de recreación, un parque para perros, senderos y áreas con sombra para relajarse. Estas mejoras urbanas, impulsadas explícitamente por políticas de adaptación climáticas, hicieron que el área sea incluso más atractiva para los nuevos habitantes recién llegados (con un promedio de 180 recién llegados por día en 2020, Austin se encuentra entre las áreas metropolitanas de crecimiento más rápido del país).

Sin embargo, para Acuña el parque es un recordatorio doloroso de los vecinos que sufrieron pérdidas y de que incluso los esfuerzos bienintencionados de poner a salvo a las personas pueden causar daño. “Para mí no es un lugar alegre”, dice Acuña. “Quizás [los recién llegados] no lo saben porque solo ven un espacio verde”.

A medida que aumenta la magnitud de las inundaciones, los incendios, los huracanes y otras catástrofes naturales por el cambio climático, los expertos del Consejo para la Defensa de Recursos Naturales (NRDC, por su sigla en inglés) de la Oficina de Responsabilidad Gubernamental de los EE.UU. recomiendan enfáticamente que las municipalidades retiren las viviendas y la infraestructura de las zonas propensas a riesgos, a fin de ahorrar dinero y salvar vidas. Pero ¿cómo puede producirse la reubicación por el clima de forma que evite el aburguesamiento y el desplazamiento, honre la cultura y la historia de los habitantes originales, fomente el cambio de la planificación reactiva a la proactiva y garantice que aquellos que deben reubicarse puedan encontrar lugares seguros y asequibles para vivir?

Estas son las preguntas que Acuña y una creciente red de dirigentes, planificadores, investigadores, funcionarios de agencias y gestores de políticas locales buscan responder como parte de Climigration Network.

Fundada en 2016 por el Consensus Building Institute, Climigration Network busca posicionarse como la fuente central de información y apoyo para las comunidades de los EE.UU. que deben reubicarse o que lo están considerando debido a los riesgos climáticos. Más del 40 por ciento de los habitantes de los EE.UU., alrededor de 132 millones de personas, viven en un condado que padeció alguna condición climática extrema en 2021 (Kaplan y Tran, 2022). El crecimiento poblacional en las áreas propensas a incendios forestales se duplicó entre 1990 y 2010, y continúa creciendo. La FEMA dice que hay 13 millones de estadounidenses viviendo en zonas inundables para un período de retorno de 100 años (uno por ciento de probabilidad anual), mientras que al menos un estudio destacado indica que son 41 millones (Wing et al., 2018). 

Las Naciones Unidas, el Banco Mundial y los académicos admiten que la mayoría de las migraciones climáticas se producen dentro de los límites nacionales, no hacia afuera. Pero en los Estados Unidos, la conversación sobre los sistemas necesarios para apoyar la migración climática fluye lentamente, incluso a pesar de que el cambio climático redobla su impacto en las riberas, las costas y otras regiones vulnerables. Un informe publicado el año pasado por la Casa Blanca sobre el tema marcó, según su propio cálculo, “la primera vez que el gobierno de los EE.UU. informa oficialmente la relación entre el cambio climático y la migración” (Casa Blanca 2021). 

En la actualidad, la mayoría de las reubicaciones relacionadas con el clima en los Estados Unidos se producen del mismo modo que sucedió en Dove Springs. Luego de una catástrofe natural, se envía dinero federal para la recuperación, por lo general mediante la FEMA o el Departamento de Vivienda y Desarrollo Urbano de los Estados Unidos, a los estados y las municipalidades para comprar las viviendas dañadas. Los propietarios particulares le venden sus viviendas al gobierno al valor del mercado previo a la catástrofe natural y se mudan a otro sitio. Según el NRDC, la FEMA financió más de 40.000 compras en 49 estados desde la década de 1980.

Sin embargo, a pesar de los programas federales de compra establecidos hace décadas, no existe un conjunto de buenas prácticas o estándares oficiales. El tiempo promedio de compra es de cinco años. Mientras tanto, los costos de los arreglos y las viviendas temporales se acumulan. La orientación para los propietarios sobre cómo transitar el proceso de compra es confusa o casi inexistente, y las políticas y el financiamiento de la reubicación se centran en los casos particulares, no en los barrios o las comunidades que quieren permanecer juntas.  

A nivel local, las comunidades que evalúan la reubicación se enfrentan a varias barreras sociales y financieras. Las municipalidades no suelen fomentar la reubicación porque no quieren perder a la población ni la renta de los impuestos. Los habitantes, en especial aquellos que se enfrentan a una crisis, no suelen tener la capacidad y los recursos para encontrar un nuevo lugar seguro donde vivir, incluso aunque estén dispuestos a trasladarse.

A pesar de esos obstáculos, algunos pueblos pequeños diseñaron barrios nuevos e incluso pueblos nuevos a los que trasladarse. En la década de 1970, un par de pueblos del centro de los EE.UU. (Niobrara, Nebraska y Soldiers Grove, Wisonsin) iniciaron algunos de los primeros proyectos de reubicación de comunidades. En la década de 1990, Pattonsburg, Missouri y Valmeyer, Illinois, entre otros, se reubicaron a tierras más altas tras la Gran Inundación de 1993 sobre el río Misisipi. A medida que aumenta el impacto climático, los pueblos y los barrios, desde Carolina del Norte y del Sur hasta Alaska, desarrollan planes similares. Sin embargo, es poco frecuente que se compartan los conocimientos o que haya una coordinación que podría ayudar a las comunidades a ajustar o incluso rediseñar el proceso.

Climigration Network, en conjunto con el Instituto Lincoln y otros, conecta las comunidades afectadas por el clima entre sí y con profesionales que pueden ayudar. Una de las preocupaciones iniciales era cómo presentar el concepto de “retirada controlada” como opción de adaptación para las comunidades que se enfrentan a un riesgo importante. El término, pensado para referirse a movimientos estratégicos hacia fuera de las áreas propensas a catástrofes naturales, se volvió común en los debates sobre políticas que se produjeron tras huracanes y grandes inundaciones en la década pasada. ¿La ciudad de Nueva York debería analizar una retirada controlada de su costa, en lugar de invertir en paredes costosas y posiblemente ineficaces, tras el huracán Sandy? ¿Debería hacerlo Houston tras el huracán Harvey? Los gestores de políticas, los planificadores y los investigadores debatieron estas preguntas en profundidad, muchas veces sin la participación de las comunidades afectadas, que consideraron el término y el concepto alienantes.

Cuando Climigration Network comenzó su trabajo, en seguida quedó en evidencia que se necesitaba un tipo diferente de conversación, dice la directora Kristin Marcell. Con financiamiento de la fundación Doris Duke Charitable Foundation, la red creó un equipo creativo liderado por personas de color y originarios de pueblos indígenas; los miembros del equipo provienen de comunidades afectadas por la crisis climática. El equipo, dirigido por Scott Shigeoka y Mychal Estrada, propuso rediseñar el debate sobre el problema actual que enfrentan los pueblos y los barrios que deberían reubicarse.

Los dirigentes del proyecto invitaron a más de 40 dirigentes de primera línea para que compartan sus experiencias tras una catástrofe natural, y la red los compensó por ese trabajo. El resultado fue un conjunto de datos sobre el mundo real que ahora están recopilados en una guía sobre la reubicación climática.

Una conclusión clara es que, cuando se trata de la “retirada controlada”, hay más cuestiones involucradas que solo la mala publicidad. Los dirigentes de las comunidades les explicaron a los investigadores que la palabra “controlada” resuena a paternalismo y programas gubernamentales jerárquicos. En las comunidades de color, trae recuerdos no muy lejanos del desplazamiento forzoso: el comercio de esclavos, el Sendero de las Lágrimas, los campos de reclusión y prácticas discriminatorias. El concepto de “retirada” dejó muchas preguntas sin responder.

“Crea una idea negativa de que las personas están huyendo de algo, en lugar de trabajar para lograr un objetivo”, escribieron los investigadores en la guía. “La palabra comunica qué se debería hacer, pero no adónde ir o cómo hacerlo” (Climigration Network 2021). 

Ahora, Climigration Network aprovecha esa información en conversaciones con tres organizaciones comunitarias en el medio oeste, la costa del golfo de los EE.UU. y el Caribe que apoyan a los habitantes locales que analizan estrategias de adaptación, incluida la reubicación. Entre los socios que participan en estas conversaciones, se encuentran Anthropocene Alliance, una coalición de sobrevivientes de inundaciones y otras catástrofe naturales en los Estados Unidos, y Buy-In Community Planning, una organización sin fines de lucro que busca mejorar los procesos de compra de viviendas.

Los miembros de Climigration Network comenzaron a usar alternativas más inspiradoras a “retirada controlada”, incluidas “reubicación organizada por la comunidad” y “reubicación con apoyo”. Pero el objetivo no es encontrar un solo término nuevo o crear un plan estructurado que pueda adoptarse de forma universal. Como dice Marcell, puede ser “muy ofensivo” cuando personas externas se acercan a las comunidades con solo modelos y plantillas.

“No podemos ganarnos la confianza de una comunidad si no se empieza con una conversación abierta sobre cómo abordar el problema, porque [cada] contexto es único”, dice.

En cambio, la red busca cocrear con cada una de las organizaciones un método para identificar las necesidades y los objetivos específicos de cada lugar. Eso implica identificar y entrevistar a personas influyentes de la comunidad y, con la ayuda de Buy-In Community Planning, desarrollar preguntas para una encuesta puerta a puerta.

“Hay todavía mucho trabajo por hacer en la interacción y orientación individual con las personas que están en las peores situaciones del cambio climático”, dice Osamu Kumasaka de Buy-In Community Planning. Llegó a esta conclusión mientras trabajaba como mediador en el Consensus Building Institute en Piermont, Nueva York, en 2017. El pueblo ubicado sobre el río Hudson sufría el comienzo de lo que sería una inundación crónica: agua en los sótanos, patios traseros inundados, habitantes chapoteando en las calles de camino al trabajo. Piermont, un pueblo pequeño y rico con su propio comité de resiliencia ante inundaciones y acceso a datos de primer nivel sobre el riesgo de inundaciones, se vio invadido por la incertidumbre en cuanto a cómo proseguir.

“Nos costó definir cómo incluir todo el trabajo que debía hacerse con estos propietarios en reuniones públicas”, dice Kumasaka. Cada hogar tenía factores muy específicos que influenciaban la decisión de quedarse o irse: personas mayores con necesidades especiales, hijos a punto de terminar la secundaria, planes de jubilarse. Según Kumasaka, organizar encuestas, pequeños debates y evaluaciones de riesgos personalizadas fue un enfoque más eficaz para ayudar a la comunidad a entender mejor dónde estaba parada y cuáles eran sus objetivos.

En resumen, se espera que este tipo de trabajo ayude a determinar una estrategia comunitaria, desde identificar la tolerancia a riesgos hasta enviar una solicitud a un programa de compra. La red y sus socios esperan que este enfoque altamente personalizable ayude a las comunidades a superar las dificultades que otros ignoran.

Tal como hizo Climigration Network cuando recopiló información de los dirigentes de primera línea para su guía, Buy-In Community Planning compensa a los miembros de las tres organizaciones comunitarias por su tiempo y la información que brindan. Un elemento clave del proceso es ayudar a invertir una dinámica en la que las personas externas realizan una investigación general y brindan experiencia a una de colaboración real en la que se les paga a los habitantes locales y a los profesionales para lograr un objetivo en común.

La reubicación es un tema espinoso en las comunidades de ingresos bajos y mayoritariamente de color porque, históricamente, los habitantes no recibieron la misma protección contra las inundaciones que aquellos en áreas de mayores ingresos. En debates sobre la compra de viviendas, como indica Kumasaka, suele haber una “sensación de que no es justo pasar directamente a la reubicación”.

Es un argumento válido y representa un círculo vicioso. En 2020, el Consejo Asesor Nacional (NAC, por su sigla en inglés) de la FEMA respaldó los resultados de una investigación en la que se indicaba que “cuanto más dinero de la Agencia Federal para el Manejo de Emergencias recibe un condado, más aumenta la riqueza de los blancos y más disminuye la de las personas de color; lo demás se mantiene igual”. Dado que el financiamiento suele destinarse a las comunidades más grandes y mejor posicionadas para igualar y aceptar esos recursos, “las comunidades con menos recursos e ingresos no pueden acceder al financiamiento adecuado que les permitiría prepararse para una catástrofe natural, lo que desemboca en una respuesta y recuperación insuficientes, y pocas oportunidades de migrar. Durante todo el ciclo de catástrofes naturales, las comunidades que no recibieron apoyo no cuentan con recursos suficientes, por lo que sufren innecesaria e injustamente” (NAC de la FEMA, 2020).

El concepto de reubicación voluntaria está plagado de tensión, y los tres socios comunitarios de Climigration Network prefirieron que no se los entreviste ni identifique en este artículo. Hay mucho en juego a medida que la crisis internacional se hace presente a nivel local, y la participación dedicada puede hacer la diferencia entre mantener unida a una comunidad o no.

Con su enfoque en la opinión de la comunidad, un proyecto como este podría marcar un cambio radical en cómo los Estados Unidos abordan la migración climática, dice Harriet Festing, directora ejecutiva de Anthropocene Alliance. Festing, que ayudó a Climigration Network aestablecer relaciones con las tres organizaciones comunitarias que forman parte de la red de Anthropocene Alliance, destaca el tema que surge de este trabajo: “En realidad, las únicas personas que pueden cambiar la conversación [son] las víctimas del cambio climático”.

En Austin, Texas, Frances Acuña trabaja como organizadora en Go Austin/Vamos Austin (GAVA), una coalición de habitantes y dirigentes comunitarios que buscan apoyar una vida saludable y estabilidad barrial en Eastern Crescent, que incluye Dove Springs, en Austin. Una de sus funciones es ayudar a los vecinos a prepararse mejor para las catástrofes naturales de a poco, por ejemplo, mediante la contratación de un seguro contra inundaciones, charlas con los agentes de las aseguradoras y conocimiento de las rutas de evacuación. Juntó las pertenencias empapadas de los propietarios desplazados por las inundaciones, invitó a funcionarios de la ciudad a reunirse con los residentes locales en su sala de estar y analizó situaciones de emergencia, como cuando una pareja mayor que tuvo que evacuar tras una inundación se encontró con tres perros, dos gatos y sin lugar adonde ir. 

“Solían gustarme las tormentas con rayos, relámpagos y lluvia torrencial. Era como ver a Dios”, dice Acuña. Sin embargo, admite que ahora mira nerviosamente por la ventana al poco tiempo de que empieza una tormenta. 

El programa de compra de Austin en su área brinda ayuda de reubicación a los propietarios, que tuvieron la oportunidad de rechazar u oponerse a las ofertas de compra que recibieron. Muchos no querían marcharse y protestaron sin éxito para que la ciudad implemente soluciones, como un muro de contención contra inundaciones o la limpieza del canal. 

A pesar de las inundaciones cercanas y las llamadas y cartas que recibe de agentes y emprendedores inmobiliarios, Acuña no planea abandonar su vivienda en el futuro inmediato. Dice que participar en conversaciones de Climigration Network con otros dirigentes locales que guían a sus comunidades en inundaciones, incendios y sequías la ayudó mucho: “Al menos para mí, fue un proceso muy terapéutico”. 

Además de la guía, la información que brindaron esos dirigentes de primera línea (provenientes de 10 comunidades de color y latinas de bajos recursos desde Misisipi hasta Nebraska y Washington) derivó en una declaración que reconoce “la gran migración climática de los Estados Unidos” y que exige la creación de una agencia de migración climática que “ayude a planificar, facilite y apoye la migración en los Estados Unidos”. 

Muchas de las sugerencias del grupo, la mayoría de las cuales apuntan directamente a funcionarios gubernamentales, pueden ponerse en práctica de manera fácil, casi automática: brindar información clara. Se debe optimizar el proceso de compra de viviendas de la FEMA a fin de que los propietarios no tengan que esperar cinco años para recibir el dinero. Se deben reducir los requisitos para el otorgamiento local de préstamos federales en las comunidades pequeñas y con pocos recursos. 

Otra recomendación es abordar el contexto más amplio de la desigualdad racial y aceptar que se demostró que los programas de la FEMA benefician más a los propietarios ricos.

“Aquí la gente vive en tiendas de campaña”, dice un testigo en la declaración. “Miles aún no tienen vivienda desde las tormentas. Me frustra porque sé que el gobierno tiene el dinero y la capacidad de ayudarnos. La única razón por la que no podemos recibir los servicios que necesitamos es el código postal”.

Esta declaración presiona a las autoridades para que apoyen los planes que les permiten a las comunidades unidas reubicarse juntas, en lugar de separar a los propietarios.

Es una opción que Terri Straka de Carolina del Sur apreciaría. Como Acuña, es una dirigente activa en su comunidad que participó en conversaciones de Climigration Network y se unió al pedido de una oficina de migración climática nueva. Vive en Rosewood Estates, un barrio de trabajadores en Socastee, Carolina del Sur, sobre el Canal Intracostero del Atlántico, a las afueras de Myrtle Beach, desde hace casi 30 años. Durante mucho tiempo, las inundaciones no fueron un problema, pero eso cambió recientemente: en 2016, el condado de Straka se vio afectado por al menos 10 huracanes y tormentas tropicales. Los pagos nacionales promedio de los seguros contra inundaciones en esa zona quintuplicaron su valor en menos de una década, desde un poco menos de US$ 14.000 hasta US$ 70.000. En la inundación más reciente, la casa de campo de 120 metros cuadrados de Straka recibió 1,2 metros de agua que tardó dos semanas en desagotarse.

“No es fabulosa, pero es mi hogar”, dice Straka. “Crie a todos mis hijos aquí. Conozco a todos”. Sus padres viven en el barrio. Los adolescentes locales aprovechan las calles para aprender a conducir. “Vi a tantos niños crecer”.

Hoy en día, dice, “me llaman Terri Jean, la reina de Rosewood”. Es un nombre que se ganó tras las inundaciones del barrio, ya que representó a sus vecinos en visitas a las oficinas de vivienda del condado y la FEMA local, llamó por teléfono a funcionarios de recuperación estatales y organizó protestas en reuniones del consejo del condado. Muchos de los vecinos se habrían mudado después de las primeras inundaciones si hubiesen podido, dice Straka. Ella y otros presionaron para obtener un programa de compra, pero las ofertas con financiación federal eran muy bajas para cuando llegaron en 2021. Los miembros de la comunidad siguen presionando para obtener ofertas mejores. Muchos de sus vecinos proveen servicios en el pujante sector turístico de Myrtle Beach. Otros se jubilaron con un ingreso fijo. Muchos ya habían destinado dinero a las reparaciones de sus viviendas. Para otros, el dinero de la compra solo pagaría la hipoteca actual, por lo que no cubriría el monto necesario para comprar viviendas nuevas similares, y mucho menos el seguro contra inundaciones. “Si uno vive en las afueras de Myrtle Beach es porque, en primer lugar, no puede darse el lujo de vivir en Myrtle Beach”, dice Straka. “Incluso si tuviese la opción, si la compra fuese beneficiosa en términos económicos, ¿adónde iría? ¿Cómo lo haría?”.  

Climigration Network y sus socios están abordando estas preguntas desde distintos ángulos. Las tres organizaciones comunitarias que trabajan con la red están encaminadas para realizar sus propias encuestas y usar los resultados, a fin de comenzar a desarrollar estrategias locales este verano. La red espera crear un pequeño programa de subsidios que podría financiar esfuerzos similares en otras comunidades. Mientras tanto, los miembros formaron seis grupos de trabajo con expertos técnicos y dirigentes de la comunidad, con el objetivo de enfocarse en áreas diversas, desde políticas e investigación hasta la creación de historias y comunicados. Se reúnen periódicamente para debatir cómo identificar y abordar los desafíos a los que se enfrentan las comunidades. En conjunto, estos esfuerzos son un intento de sentar las bases para un nuevo panorama de adaptación al clima.

“No todos están haciendo el esfuerzo para construir un sistema que ayude a 13 millones de personas a mudarse en los próximos 50 años”, dice Kelly Leilani Main, directora ejecutiva de Buy-In Community Planning, presidenta del grupo Ecosistemas y Personas de Climigration Network y miembro de su Consejo interino. “Vamos trabajando sobre la marcha”.

Según Main y otros miembros de la red, hacerlo requiere que se sigan forjando vínculos de trabajo de confianza con los habitantes. Como Acuña, Straka dice que compartir sus propias experiencias con otros en Climigration Network fue un primer paso fundamental. “Cuando teníamos reuniones, era completamente honesta”, dice Straka. “Me daban la capacidad de ser vulnerable porque lo soy”. 

Agrega que el proceso completo estuvo muy lejos de sus experiencias chocándose contra paredes con funcionarios federales y estatales. Los funcionarios con los que trató “no lo entienden. Para ellos es trabajo. Van a la oficina y tienen que hacer estos proyectos”, dice ella. “Involucrarse a un nivel personal es lo que hará la gran diferencia. Eso es lo que necesitamos”.  

Alexandra Tempus está escribiendo un libro sobre la gran migración climática de los Estados Unidos para St. Martin’s Press. 

Imagen principal: Frances Acuña camina por el área de una cuenca de detención destinada a ayudar a proteger el barrio de Austin, Texas, en el que vive de las inundaciones. Crédito: Austin American-Statesman/USA TODAY Network.

Referencias 

Climigration Network. 2021. Lead with Listening: A Guidebook for Community Conversations on Climate Migration. https://www.climigration.org/guidebook.

FEMA NAC. 2020. “National Advisory Council Report to the Administrator”. Noviembre. Washington, DC: Agencia Federal para el Manejo de Emergencias.

Kaplan, Sarah y Andrew Ba Tran. 2022. “More Than 40 Percent of Americans Live in Counties Hit by Climate Disasters in 2021”. The Washington Post. 5 de enero.

La Casa Blanca. 2021. “Report on the Impact of Climate Change on Migration”. Octubre. Washington, DC: La Casa Blanca.

Wing, Oliver E.J., y Paul D. Bates, Andrew M. Smith, Christopher C. Sampson, Kris A. Johnson, Joseph Fargione y Philip Morefield. 2018. “Estimates of Current and Future Flood Risk in the Conterminous United States”. Environmental Research Letters 13(3). Febrero.

Columbus, Ohio, invented the first known off-street parking requirement for an apartment building in 1923. After nearly a hundred years, the results are in, and they’re not good. 

Last year, an assessment of the local zoning code—commissioned by the city as part of a comprehensive code revision process—concluded that off-street parking requirements were “not effective” and “often poorly matched to true parking demand.” 

That mismatch has gotten worse over time. Today’s parking requirements in Columbus are far higher than their cousins from the city’s midcentury zoning code. In 1954, an apartment building with 100 one-bedroom units was required to have 100 parking spaces; today it has to have 150. For a 2,500-square-foot restaurant, nine required parking spaces became 34, in the 90 percent of the city not covered by special overlay districts. These ratios are out of step with the local market, leading builders to request parking reductions more than any other type of zoning variance. City and regional plans have recommended reducing parking requirements and making them more consistent. 

Columbus is not alone. Across the United States, decades of similar parking requirements have led to a glut: researchers estimate that for every car in the country, there are at least three parking spaces—and some have suggested the number is closer to eight spaces.  

This oversupply has created a host of problems: parking requirements can inflate housing costs, block buildings from being adapted to new uses, and contribute to sprawl, making additional driving (and parking) necessary. They create an administrative burden. And the impervious surfaces of parking lots increase the risk of flooding and contribute to the urban heat island effect. 

But there is good news: of all the harms traditional zoning has inflicted on communities, parking requirements are the easiest to fix, said Sara Bronin, former chair of the Hartford, Connecticut, Planning and Zoning Commission. Bronin was at the helm in 2017, when Hartford became one of the first cities in the United States to eliminate residential and commercial parking mandates. The year before, city leaders had tested the waters by eliminating requirements in the downtown area, a move that yielded new development projects and new proposals for reuse. “Every community should be eliminating their parking requirements,” Bronin said.  

Each year, more cities are eliminating or reducing such mandates. In 2021, cities from Minneapolis to Jackson, Tennessee, eliminated minimum parking requirements from their zoning codes. In the week that this article was drafted alone, cities from Spokane to Chicago to Burlington, Vermont, rolled back parking mandates. 

Communities might reduce their parking requirements because they are trying to reinvent themselves by attracting new businesses and development, accommodate population growth with space-efficient infill, or focus more on transit and walkability. Regardless of the reason, parking reform advocates say this land use regulation could finally be on its way out. 

“We’re going to look back at this as just this weird, late-20th century aberration,” predicts Patrick Siegman, an economist and planner who has been studying parking since 1992, including as a partner at the national transportation planning firm Nelson Nygaard. “We created something wildly inefficient.” 

Hartford Leads the Way 

Like many industrial cities in the United States, Hartford saw dramatic population decline during the second half of the 20th century. In 1960, half of the people working in Hartford lived there, many walking or taking transit to jobs downtown; by 1980, less than a quarter of its workforce called the city home. Many white residents had fled for the suburbs and the overall population was declining. The repercussions of this demographic and economic shift are visible in the city’s bounty of parking lots: to accommodate the increase in car commuters, the city essentially paved over swaths of its downtown. 

As historian Daniel Sterner put it, “Hartford is famous for having so much torn down.” Not even the city’s first skyscraper, built in 1912, survived the demolition boom. It was razed to make way for a taller office tower, but those plans were abandoned in 1990 as the country entered a recession. The prominent corner lot became, and remains, surface parking. 

University of Connecticut professor Norman Garrick and his team found that from 1960 to 2000, the amount of land dedicated to parking lots in the downtown business district tripled, nearly equaling the amount of land underneath all the adjacent buildings. “The increase in parking was part of the collapse of the city,” Garrick said. “It’s typical of a lot of American cities.” 

Even without the research, there was little debate that Hartford had an oversupply of parking. “I don’t think every city needs a full-on parking history, or parking analysis,” said Bronin. “Most people should be able to just look around and say, ‘there’s a lot of parking in this city.’” 

The overabundance of parking came at a great cost for the city, Garrick’s team found in a report released in 2014. They estimated that the city was missing out on property tax revenue to the tune of $1,200 per downtown parking space, or about $50 million a year. That was a significant amount for a city whose downtown buildings were generating $75 million in annual tax revenue. 

Attracting investment is critically important for Connecticut’s capital city—and particularly challenging. More than half of the city’s real estate is nontaxable, because the land is owned by the government or nonprofit institutions. The rest is subject to the highest property tax rate in the state. Eliminating parking requirements citywide is one way to create a more flexible, inviting environment for development. 

“It’s easy to say we have no parking minimums, as opposed to ‘what zone?’,” said Aaron Gill, current vice chair of Hartford’s Planning and Zoning Commission. The biggest hurdle now is convincing developers they have new options, Gill said. He encourages developers to revisit parcels they might have discounted in the past, and to review how much parking is actually being used in previous developments.  

The strategy seems to be working. The quasi-public Capital Region Development Authority (CRDA) has funded more than 2,800 new homes downtown since 2012, aiming to build a critical mass of residents to support retail and other services. Mike Freimuth, executive director of the CRDA, said the new zoning code has helped reduce costs and increased the use of existing parking garages. 

One of the CRDA projects, Teachers Village, involved converting an office building that had been vacant for 20 years into housing for area educators. Thirty percent of the apartments were designated as affordable. Prior to the code change, more than one parking space would have been required for each unit, but the renovated building has only 18 underground parking spaces for 60 households. The spaces are leased separately from the apartments, saving money for those who don’t need a parking spot. According to estimates based on 2016 Census data, more than 30 percent of Hartford households don’t even own a car. 

Other redevelopment projects have cut deals with adjacent parking garages, which are also adapting to the new world of remote work, to provide an off-street parking option for residents for an additional fee. Two derelict commercial buildings on Pearl Street, which Freimuth used to joke were the largest pigeon coops in the state, went that route when the buildings were renovated into 258 new homes. A few blocks away, a former Steiger’s department store is being converted into 97 new apartments with commercial space below. 

The CRDA is also involved in an ambitious project known as Bushnell South, which aims to convert a 20-acre area dominated by surface parking into a vibrant, walkable, mixed-use neighborhood with up to 1,200 apartments and townhouses, restaurants and retail, green space, and cultural attractions. The city was reviewing proposals from developers this summer with the goal of moving forward this fall. Although some developers have expressed concern that the city is building more residential space than the market can support, Freimuth is eager to proceed. “This land has been laying fallow for 50 years,” he told the Hartford Courant. “Why do we have to keep on waiting?” 

The Benefits of a Citywide Shift 

On the edge of downtown Fayetteville, Arkansas, a building that had stood vacant for nearly 40 years now houses a local restaurant with a rooftop patio. Down the road, a formerly abandoned gas station is back in use as retail space. The reuse of these once-forgotten properties was made possible several years ago, when Fayetteville’s city council voted to remove commercial parking requirements citywide. 

While most cities start with reducing parking mandates in a central business district, like Hartford did, planners in Fayetteville were fielding requests about properties throughout the city, and opted against defining a smaller boundary. At 44 square miles, Fayetteville is nearly 2.5 times larger than Hartford, with 70 percent of the population. 

“As a city planner, you receive phone calls about what’s possible with this property,” Fayetteville planner Quin Thompson explained. “What I began to see was the same properties over and over again. Some of those properties were downtown, but a lot weren’t.” None of the parcels had enough space to meet the parking requirements in place at the time. 

The planning staff approached the city council with the idea of eliminating commercial requirements citywide. Some of these properties were so constrained, they explained, it was impossible to imagine how they could be redeveloped under the current rules. They also said investors taking on the financial risk of a project were best suited to determine their own parking needs, and would act as a backstop even when the city was no longer regulating off-street parking spaces. In October 2015, Fayetteville’s city council agreed. 

What happened next? “The buildings that I had identified as being perpetually and perhaps permanently unusable were very quickly purchased, redeveloped, and are in use right now,” said Thompson. “I can’t think of any that are still out there that I had used as case studies that haven’t been redeveloped.” 

Thompson and his colleagues were right that the distinction between parking needs in a central city versus outlying neighborhoods can be arbitrary. In the lead-up to the removal of parking requirements in Edmonton in 2020, a citywide study of 277 sites found no clear geographic trend that related to how full parking lots were, even after factoring in variables like population density, walkability as measured by Walk Score, or drive-alone rate. Of all the sites surveyed, only 7 percent neared capacity at the busiest times of day. It was far more common for parking lots to remain half empty, as was the case for 47 percent of observed sites. 

In Fayetteville and other cities, eliminating parking minimums citywide has had another benefit: reducing administrative work and freeing up city staff to work on other things. “One of the things you find in American cities is that they’ve got all of these college-educated planners, many of whom actually have graduate degrees, and what they’re doing is spending hour after hour processing parking variances,” explained Siegman. 

Kevin Robinson was one of those planners, until he was hired as director of Planning and Development Services for Albemarle, North Carolina. To his surprise, the city had almost no parking requirements, having eliminated virtually all of them two decades prior. “However you came about it,” he recalls telling city officials, “I think you’re on the right track.” 

Towns where he had worked previously had only reduced parking requirements in central business districts, not citywide. “From an administrative standpoint, it’s a heck of a lot easier to deal with,” said Robinson. “Quite honestly, a lot of times [parking minimums] are very arbitrary numbers,” Robinson said. Now that he no longer has to enforce them, he has more time to spend on other aspects of development—including a downtown parking plan. He has plenty of data to rebut complaints that there isn’t enough parking. Even at peak hours, public parking never gets more than half full, his heatmaps indicate. 

Robinson acknowledges that eliminating parking minimums wasn’t a cure-all: “We are still seeing far more parking being built than is absolutely necessary.” (See sidebar to learn how the shift has played out in other cities.) Construction in Albemarle is picking up as people get priced out of nearby cities like Charlotte. In the last two years, this small city of 16,000 has approved permits for 3,000 new housing units, with another 1,000 in the works, including middle housing like duplexes and townhouses. 

Robinson is nervous that the parking requirements, which were discarded at a time when the city wasn’t growing, might return as development accelerates. “I’m trying to keep them from going in that direction,” he said. His concerns aren’t unfounded. 

When Mandates Make a U-Turn 

It took almost a decade for a new apartment building with no parking to arrive in Portland after the city waived requirements near transit in 2002. The political backlash came more swiftly. As Portland’s rental market tightened, the city found itself with the second-lowest vacancy rate in the country in 2012. Apartment construction was booming, and buildings without off-street parking were becoming increasingly common. 

Then controversy erupted. The epicenter was a 13-block section of Division Street, a car-oriented commercial corridor experiencing a building boom. By the time the issue made it to the front pages of Willamette Week, the local weekly paper, 11 new multifamily buildings were under development, seven with no parking at all.  

A city-commissioned survey of 115 residents of new apartment buildings would show that 72 percent of the respondents owned cars, with the majority parking on neighborhood streets. Even though the same survey showed that the areas around the buildings had plenty of available parking, neighbors didn’t perceive it that way.  

Mayor Charlie Hales, who had championed the removal of parking mandates as a council member in 2002, even floated the idea of instituting a building moratorium until the zoning code could be sorted out. Hales told Willamette Week that he had anticipated developers might build one parking spot instead of two, but hadn’t imagined banks would finance housing with no parking at all. 

In response to the outcry, Portland’s city council reinstituted a parking requirement for multifamily developments with more than 30 units. Those larger buildings would need to provide one parking space for every three or four units, depending on the building size. “That was the strategic retreat,” Hales explained. “We decided to adjust our ideal slightly to a watered-down version in order to reduce the controversy.” 

Hales, who is no longer mayor, still believes strongly in eliminating parking requirements. “There’s some things we really don’t need to regulate,” he said recently. “Minimum number of parking spaces is one of them.” Given the political pressure of the time, he has a hard time imagining how things could have worked out differently. 

While supporters of parking mandates prevailed in that case, the matter was far from settled. Several years after the 2013 brouhaha, regulated affordable housing near transit regained its exemption from parking requirements, after rising rents and economic displacement prompted Portland to declare a housing state of emergency and elect a tenant advocate to city council. Portland adopted an inclusionary zoning policy that same year, requiring multifamily buildings to set aside units for affordable housing—and waiving residential parking requirements for those buildings. 

Looking back, Portland activist Tony Jordan, who went on to launch the national Parking Reform Network, thinks the city was foolish to derail the housing construction wave. “Why would you do anything” to make developers think twice about investing in larger buildings, he asked. The way the code was written, adding one more unit to a 30-unit building came with “a penalty of six parking spaces, incentivizing builders to stay under the limit. “Even if we only lost 60 apartments,” he said, “that’s a housing subsidy that we just threw away—and for what?” 

Communities with No Parking Minimums 

According to the Parking Reform Network, the following communities do not have citywide minimum parking requirements (dates of implementation indicated when known). Learn more about these and other changes to U.S. parking mandates at www.parkingreform.org. 

• California: Alameda (2021), San Francisco (2018), Emeryville (2019) 

• Connecticut: Bridgeport (2022), Hartford (2017) 

• Georgia: Dunwoody (2019) 

• Indiana: South Bend (2021) 

• Michigan: Ann Arbor (2022), Mancelona, Ecorse (2020), River Rouge (2021) 

• Minnesota: Minneapolis (2021), St. Paul (2021) 

• Missouri: Branson 

• New Hampshire: Seabrook (2019), Dover (2015) 

• New York: Buffalo (2017), Canandaigua, Hudson (2019), Saranac Lake (2016) 

• North Carolina: Raleigh (2022) 

• Tennessee: Jackson (2021) 

• Texas: Bandera, Bastrop (2019) 

• Alberta: Edmonton (2020), High River (2021) 

Stopping Parking Spillover 

When parking complaints bubbled up in Portland’s Northwest neighborhood in 2016, the city was ready to try a different strategy: directly managing on-street parking. A local parking advisory committee had petitioned Portland’s city council to apply the citywide parking requirements to the growing district, which had historically been exempted. But when a study showed that those regulations would have made 23 percent of newly constructed homes in the neighborhood illegal, the council opted to improve the district’s fledgling parking permit program instead. 

“When city staff manage on-street parking properly, they can prevent that on-street parking from getting overcrowded with a 99 percent success rate,” said Siegman, who has spent much of his career studying spillover parking concerns. The problem, he said, is that almost no one has training in how to manage street parking in a way that is both effective and politically popular. On-street parking management is not part of the core curriculum for planners or transportation engineers. 

“What you’re essentially doing with on-street parking spaces is taking a valuable resource that belongs to the public and setting up rights to determine who gets to use it,” said Siegman. Any hotel manager knows that once the keys are gone, there is no vacancy. Yet cities often hand out multiple residential permits for every street space, and wait until the problem is so bad that neighbors have to petition for curbside management. When a neighborhood has more drivers seeking permits than there are on-street spaces, there are a number of ways to ensure balance. Boundaries for a parking district could exclude new buildings or households with driveways, or restrict the number of permits to the street frontage of the lot—forcing developers and incoming residents to make a plan for storing cars off-site.

Left to the Market, How Much Parking Gets Built? 

In Buffalo, New York, which struck down parking requirements in April 2017, a review of 36 major developments showed that 53 percent of projects still opted to include at least as many parking spaces as the previous code had required. The developers who did propose building less parking averaged 60 fewer parking spaces than the old minimum required, avoiding over eight acres of unnecessary asphalt and saving up to $30 million in construction costs. 

Seattle saw similar results after eliminating parking requirements near transit in 2012. A study of 868 residential developments permitted in the following five years found that 70 percent of new buildings in areas not subject to parking requirements still chose to have on-site parking. Collectively, the new buildings included 40 percent fewer parking spaces than would have previously been required, saving an estimated $537 million in construction costs and freeing up 144 acres of land. 

Siegman estimates the costs of setting up an effective parking permit program could be somewhere in the neighborhood of $100,000—a bargain compared to the cost of building parking, which can run as much as $50,000 per space. “There are all kinds of different feelings about what’s fair,” Siegman said, “but you can often come to a solution that has durable majority political support.” 

That’s what officials in Vancouver, British Columbia, did in 2017 to resolve crowded curbs in the West End. Despite 94 percent of residents having access to an off-street parking space, many still preferred to park on the street. Over 6,000 drivers had opted for the $6 a month permit for the chance to park in one of the 2,747 on-street spaces. When the city raised permit prices to $30 per month—more in line with what private garages charged—and installed more parking meters, curb congestion cleared up. Before that change, only one out of five blocks met the city’s standards of being less than 85 percent full at the busiest time of day. Within two years of the pricing adjustments, all of the blocks measured below that threshold, making it far easier to find a parking space. 

The Next Wave of Parking Reform 

More and more, champions of eliminating parking mandates are getting elected to offices and planning commissions, according to Jordan, of the Parking Reform Network. “One person can really get the idea and push it through,” he said. The growing number of cities that have taken this deregulatory action provides political cover for policy makers who have been hesitant to go first. 

But parking reform advocates say change should and will happen beyond the local level. Since “the perceived benefits of instituting parking regulations [have been] almost entirely local,” Siegman said, he thinks almost all of the productive reform to get rid of minimum parking laws is going to come from regional, state, or national governments. 

A wave of legislation against parking mandates has been gathering momentum on the West Coast. In 2020, Washington State quietly capped excessive parking requirements near transit for market-rate and affordable housing. California’s third attempt to limit local parking requirements near public transit succeeded in September with the signing of AB 2097. That came on the heels of another statewide rollback in Oregon, where a state land use commission struck down parking mandates for projects near transit, affordable housing, and small homes across the state’s eight largest metro regions, which house 60 percent of Oregon’s population.  

By July 2023, nearly 50 cities in Oregon will need to choose between wholly eliminating minimum parking requirements or implementing a suite of other tools to manage parking and comply with the new administrative rule. They are sure to have lots of company, as municipalities and states across the nation weigh the harm these regulations have caused against the 20th century dream of free and easy parking. 

Aaron Gill, of the Hartford Planning and Zoning Commission, has some simple advice for jurisdictions considering removing parking minimums: “I would say just do it. Don’t waste time having a discussion as to if it’s going to work or not. The reality is we have way too much parking in this country.” 

Catie Gould is a transportation researcher with the Seattle-based nonprofit think tank Sightline Institute. 

Lead image: Fordham Heights, New York. Credit: krblokhin via iStock/Getty Images Plus. 

In northern California, three regional agencies representing some 11 million people are banding together to address long-term transportation planning issues. In the Northeast, a dozen states are collaborating on an effort to bring down greenhouse gas emissions. And in other places across the United States, from the Southwest to the Midwest, governments and organizations in large metropolitan areas are embracing regional strategies to address challenges that cross jurisdictional boundaries. 

It’s an approach that planners have been encouraging for some time, as adjacent U.S. metro areas seemed increasingly destined to merge. Jonathan Barnett remembers attending a conference in London in 2004, and watching as maps of expected urban growth and regional development in the United States flashed onto a screen. At the time, Barnett was the director of the Urban Design Program at the University of Pennsylvania. He and his colleagues had been pondering the implications of Census Bureau projections that the U.S. population might grow 50 percent or more by 2050, an increase of more than 100 million people. 

“What popped out at everybody in the room was that there was a pattern emerging in the maps of where these people were going to go,” Barnett says. “You can see [these urban patterns] from space, and it’s a little like looking at the stars and seeing Orion and Sagittarius. We realized that something important was happening.” 

Bob Yaro was in the room that day, too. “You could see that, across the country, the suburbs of one metropolitan region were merging with the suburbs of the next metropolitan region,” recalls Yaro, who led the Regional Plan Association at the time while teaching at the University of Pennsylvania. “Physically, these places were becoming integrated with each other. And then when we looked at economic and demographic trends, you could see that in fact the lives of these cities and metropolitan areas were merging with their neighbors.” 

This was hardly the first time that geographers and planners had taken note of the way linked metropolitan areas can share economies, natural resource systems, infrastructure, history, and culture. But by the turn of the 21st century, the scope and pace of the phenomenon were reaching new levels in the United States.  

Not long after the conference in London, Armando Carbonell—who retired from the Lincoln Institute this year after leading its urban planning program for more than two decades—gave the phenomenon a name that would stick: megaregions. 

A band of planners, including Yaro, Barnett, and others, has picked up the banner of megaregions, arguing that these urban areas have an outsize importance nationally. “More than eight in 10 Americans live in these places, and it’s over 90 percent of the economy of the country,” Yaro says. “So it’s very clear that if these places don’t succeed or aren’t operating at their full potential, the whole country’s economy and livability will suffer.” 

This spring, the Lincoln Institute published Megaregions and America’s Future, which Yaro wrote with Ming Zhang, director of Community and Regional Planning at the University of Texas at Austin, and Frederick Steiner, dean of the University of Pennsylvania’s Stuart Weitzman School of Design. They argue that megaregions may offer a way for the United States to contend with challenges that don’t respect arbitrary political boundaries, from climate change to public health crises like COVID-19. Megaregions can, if properly and creatively governed, strengthen climate resilience, natural resource management, economic competitiveness, and equity at the local, regional, and national levels. 

What Constitutes a Megaregion 

For more than a century, the heavily populated region stretching from Boston to Washington, DC, has drawn the attention of geographers. In his 1915 book Cities in Evolution, Patrick Geddes gave the swath of urban development running from Boston to New York the decidedly unlovely term “conurbation.” In 1961, French geographer Jean Gottman called the region a “megalopolis.” And in 1967, Herman Kahn gave the whole corridor the equally unlovely name “BosWash.” 

It would take another three decades before these boundary-busting phenomena began receiving more comprehensive academic attention, but the pace has been picking up over the last 20 years as the University of Pennsylvania, the Lincoln Institute, and others have worked to advance people’s understanding of what megaregions are and how they function. 

Definitions vary of what, exactly, constitutes a megaregion, but they are generally defined as regional economies that clearly extend beyond an individual metropolitan area. “I think of megaregions as a way of thinking about space, more than as real things that are out there,” says Carbonell. “I see it as a construct and a tool, [but] megaregions are not fixed and they change.” 

Researchers have used a variety of innovative approaches to identify and delineate individual megaregions. One analysis looked at the commuting habits of more than 4.2 million Americans to identify megaregions. Another used satellite imagery to identify contiguously lighted urban agglomerations across the globe, then—with a sort of Seussian whimsy—gave those places names like So-Flo, Chi-Pitts, Char-Lanta, Tor-Buff-Chester, and Am-Brus-Twerp (Florida, Gulden, and Mellander 2008). To estimate economic activity in each megaregion, that study combined the satellite-imaged light footprints with population and GDP data, extrapolating a “Light-based Regional Product.” It also used the number of patent registrations and highly cited scientific authors in each megaregion as a measure of technological and scientific innovation. 

At this point, researchers have identified about 40 megaregions around the world (see sidebar). In Megaregions and America’s Future, the authors focus on 13 megaregions in the United States (see map). Those are the venerable Northeast; Piedmont Atlantic, a southern stretch that includes sections of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and the Carolinas; Florida; Great Lakes; Gulf Coast; Central Plains; Texas Triangle; Front Range in Colorado; Basin and Range (Utah and Idaho); Cascadia (the Pacific Northwest from Portland to Vancouver, BC); Northern California; Southern California; and Arizona’s Sun Corridor (Yaro, Zhang, and Steiner 2022). 

Many of these megaregions have economies that put them within the rankings of the world’s biggest national economies. In 2018, for example, the Northeast megaregion had a GDP of $4.54 trillion—more than that of Germany. The same year, the nearly $1.8 trillion GDP of the Southern California megaregion was larger than that of Canada. In many ways, a megaregion is an increasingly spontaneous and organic unit of organization, one that presents more opportunity than the traditional political divisions that it transcends. 

Megaregions Around the Globe 

Scholars have identified more than 40 megaregions around the world, and several more are rapidly forming in China, India, and Southeast Asia. Established megaregions include: 

Pentagon, Europe. This region, whose outlines are defined by Paris, London, Hamburg, Munich, and Milan, was identified as an economic and transportation hub in 1999. It covers about 20 percent of the continent and is responsible for 60 percent of its economic output. Several other megaregion models have also been applied and explored in Europe. 

Tokaido, Japan. The corridor between Tokyo and Osaka is home to more than half of the country’s population. Its cities are linked by the Shinkansen high-speed rail network, which has reduced travel time between Tokyo and Osaka from eight hours in the early 20th century to two and a half hours today; a bullet train in development will further reduce the trip to one hour. 

Pearl River Delta, China. The most densely populated urban area in the world, the Pearl River Delta includes Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Hong Kong. The Chinese government has invested several hundred billion dollars in high-speed rail designed to strengthen connections within and among the Pearl River Delta, Yangtze River Delta, the region around Beijing and Tianjin, and burgeoning megaregions in coastal and inland areas. 

Collaborating on Climate Mitigation 

One of the most prominent examples of successful initiatives that span a megaregion is the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative (RGGI), a cooperative effort to cap and reduce power sector carbon dioxide emissions in New England and the Mid-Atlantic. Known in shorthand as “Reggie,” it is the first mandatory cap and trade program for greenhouse gas emissions in the country and now spans 12 states. 

At the turn of the 21st century, efforts to establish a national cap and trade framework for greenhouse gas emissions were fizzling. In 2003, then–New York Governor George Pataki sent a letter to the governors of other states in the Northeast proposing a bipartisan effort to fight climate change. In 2005, the initial agreement to implement RGGI was signed by the governors of Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, and Vermont. In 2007, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Maryland signed on. 

“I think for the states that recognized that climate change was real and a problem, there was a desire and an appetite to take some leadership,” says Bruce Ho, who heads the Natural Resource Defense Council’s work on RGGI. “Climate change is a global problem, and we need to be acting as much as possible in a coordinated way. But at the same time, there’s a recognition that you have to start somewhere.” 

Even as climate change efforts at the federal level foundered, RGGI got stronger and expanded. In 2014, the participating states reduced the emissions cap by 40 percent and committed to further year-by-year reductions. Then in 2017, the states agreed to aim for an even steeper decline in emissions, and also agreed to extend those emissions reductions efforts through at least 2030. 

Since RGGI began, power plant emissions have decreased by more than 50 percent—twice as much as the national decrease during the same time—and the program has raised over $4 billion by auctioning carbon allowances. That money has been invested in local energy efficiency programs, renewable energy, and other initiatives. Virginia, for example, dedicates half of its RGGI funding to low-income energy efficiency programs and puts the other half toward flood preparedness and sea-level rise mitigation in coastal communities. 

While not immune to criticism, RGGI is “an early example of a megaregion-scale initiative that has held up quite well,” says Carbonell—and it continues to gain momentum. Although then–Governor Chris Christie withdrew New Jersey from RGGI in 2012, the state rejoined in 2020. Virginia joined in 2021, and Pennsylvania followed this year. Leaders in North Carolina, spurred by a citizens’ rulemaking petition, are now considering joining RGGI as well. 

Hopes for High-Speed Rail 

One of the key challenges of megaregions is how people get around within them. Because megaregions can run 300 to 800 miles across, they demand an approach to transportation that has largely been ignored in the United States. “They’re too small to be efficiently traversed by air, and too large to be easily traversed by road,” Yaro says. “And then on top of that, the airports, airspace, and the interstate highway links in these places are highly congested.”  

Putting a new emphasis on high-speed rail, which can reach speeds over 200 miles per hour, will help relieve a transportation system that is groaning under strain nationwide, says Yaro, who is now president of the North Atlantic Rail Alliance, a group advocating a high-speed and high-performance “rail-enabled economic development strategy” for New York and New England. In addition to reducing congestion, highspeed rail can decrease emissions; it can also spur economic development by connecting people with jobs and other opportunities throughout a region. 

Plenty of successful examples of high-speed rail systems exist worldwide. In Japan, for example, the world’s first high-speed rail line—the famous Shinkansen, or bullet train—has linked Tokyo, Nagoya, and Osaka into a single megaregion. The system, which now carries over 420,000 passengers each weekday, will mark its 60th year of service in 2024. In Europe, nine countries now operate high-speed rail on more than 5,500 miles of track. Perhaps no country has embraced high-speed rail as enthusiastically as China. Since just 2008, its government has built a system that reaches practically every corner of the sprawling country on more than 23,500 miles of track—and counting. 

In the United States, an early realization of the concept’s potential has been slow to gain traction. In 1966, U.S. Senator Claiborne Pell of Rhode Island proposed a high-speed line between Boston and Washington in his book, Megalopolis Unbound: The Supercity and the Transportation of Tomorrow. In 2000, Amtrak started Acela service between Boston and Washington. Because it reaches 150 miles per hour, it qualifies as high-speed rail—yet it hits that upper limit over only about 34 miles of the 457-mile route. The Acela’s average speed is just 70 miles per hour. 

Plans for intercity high-speed rail have been considered or are underway in other regions; the Texas Central Line would connect Dallas and Houston, while the Brightline West project would link Southern California to Las Vegas. Elsewhere in California, construction is underway on an ambitious line that will connect San Francisco and Los Angeles, with a second phase extending the line north to Sacramento and south to San Diego. But challenges related to funding, politics, and logistics have meant that high-speed rail has barely made it out of the blocks. 

Early versions of last year’s infrastructure bill included $10 billion for high-speed rail, but that was cut during negotiations. While proponents keep pushing for meaningful federal investment in a high-speed network, megaregions can also benefit from investments in existing systems—or “fast-enough rail,” as Barnett dubs it in his book Designing the Megaregion: “There are many transportation improvements that can be made incrementally to give a much better structure to the evolving megaregions.” 

Sharing Solutions in California 

The Northern California Megaregion extends across the cities of the San Francisco Bay Area, Sacramento, and the San Joaquin Valley. The region has seen a dramatic increase in commuters from inland communities like Tracy and Stockton to jobs in the Bay Area, and has some of the nation’s longest average commute times.  

James Corless heads the Sacramento Area Council of Governments, but previously worked for the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, the agency responsible for planning and financing regional transportation in the Bay Area. In the mid-2000s, he says, regional agencies began looking at the swath of cities running from the Bay Area to Sacramento as an emerging megaregion, and gave it a name that put it squarely in the ranks of places like So-Flo and Char-Lanta. “We actually coined the phrase ‘San Framento,’” Corless says. “Everybody hated it. But it got people’s attention.” 

In 2015, the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, Sacramento Area Council of Governments, and San Joaquin Council of Governments signed an MOU to create a Megaregion Working Group. Their goal: to begin tackling issues that transcended the boundaries of the 16 counties and 136 cities they collectively represented.  

It took a while for the effort to gain momentum, precisely because of the sprawling nature of the megaregion. “I kept seeing these megaregion meetings pop up on my calendar and then get canceled,” Corless says. “Because for elected officials to get together from across these 16 counties, it requires an entire day of travel.” 

The arrival of COVID, and the resulting turn toward conducting government business via Zoom, helped bridge that distance and give the effort momentum. “At first, we were struggling a little bit to find our focus,” Corless says. Gradually, though, the participating entities began asking a simple question: “Where are we stronger together?”  

Late in 2021, the Megaregion Working Group announced a list of a dozen transportation-focused projects, from highway improvements to expansion of three regional rail lines. The California high-speed rail system that’s under construction—but far from completion—doesn’t much play into the working group’s plans, Corless says. “I have no doubt that high-speed rail will be a game changer,” he says. But “if we could just get reliable medium-speed rail, we’ll take that.” 

In fact, much of the megaregional effort is more quotidian than flashy infrastructure projects. The partners are focusing on integrating their regional plans and synchronizing their long-range planning cycles. “Because so much of our travel and even our housing markets are now intertwined,” Corless says, “if we’re looking out at the next 25 years, we need to be in sync.” 

The concept of megaregions is coming of age, Corless says, in much the same way that the rise of metropolitan planning organizations helped meet new challenges in the 1960s. “Once American cities suburbanized,” he says, “you couldn’t rely on the central city to do everything. People were more mobile, economies were bigger, and the issues transcended local city and county boundaries.” 

Moving Megaregions Forward 

What will it take to push the megaregion concept—which essentially invites those metropolitan planning organizations to an even bigger table—more squarely into the public consciousness and the policy realm?  

Bob Yaro thinks one answer is the climate crisis, which could push regions to work together in new ways. “I think it takes a crisis to do anything big in this country,” Yaro says. “You read these stories about whole counties running out of water. And that’s only going to get worse. [To address] the climate issue, you need both adaptation and mitigation strategies, and those mitigation strategies probably become most efficacious at the megaregion scale.” 

The RGGI initiative in the Northeast offers one example of how that kind of collaboration can work; the current water crisis in the desert Southwest offers another. There, tough times have, somewhat paradoxically, made for closer connections. Communities and governments have looked toward their neighbors and realized that they can do more together. 

The seven U.S. states that rely on water from the Colorado River, along with Mexico, have historically had an extremely contentious relationship. Yet, while recent headlines scream about impending water catastrophe, those parties have for more than 20 years been quietly working together on agreements intended to minimize the collective damage that they might suffer. A sense of partnership, however tenuous and prone to ongoing tensions, has been supplanting longstanding parochial attitudes toward the river.  

As metro regions melt together and global challenges ramp up, a growing sense of shared fate with historically distant neighbors could help tackle all kinds of problems that might once have seemed insurmountable. 

“I think one of the things we need to do is redefine ‘home,’ and the Southwest is Exhibit A on why that needs to happen,” Yaro says. “I think it’s redefining home at this larger scale. The final boundaries are going to depend on an individual community’s sense of association with their neighbors—but the place doesn’t succeed unless we do that.” 

Matt Jenkins is a freelance writer who has contributed to the New York Times, Smithsonian, Men’s Journal, and numerous other publications. 

Lead image: A rendering of the United States as seen from space, based on NASA images. Credit: DKosig via iStock.

In northern California, three regional agencies representing some 11 million people are banding together to address long-term transportation planning issues. In the Northeast, a dozen states are collaborating on an effort to bring down greenhouse gas emissions. And in other places across the United States, from the Southwest to the Midwest, governments and organizations in large metropolitan areas are using regional strategies to address challenges that cross jurisdictional boundaries. 

It’s an approach that planners have been encouraging for some time, as adjacent U.S. metro areas seemed increasingly destined to merge. Jonathan Barnett remembers attending a conference in London in 2004, and watching as maps of expected urban growth and regional development in the United States flashed onto a screen. At the time, Barnett was the director of the Urban Design Program at the University of Pennsylvania. He and his colleagues had been pondering the implications of Census Bureau projections that the U.S. population might grow 50 percent or more by 2050, an increase of more than 100 million people. 

“What popped out at everybody in the room was that there was a pattern emerging in the maps of where these people were going to go,” Barnett says. “You can see [these urban patterns] from space, and it’s a little like looking at the stars and seeing Orion and Sagittarius. We realized that something important was happening.” 

Bob Yaro was in the room that day, too. “You could see that, across the country, the suburbs of one metropolitan region were merging with the suburbs of the next metropolitan region,” recalls Yaro, who led the Regional Plan Association at the time while teaching at the University of Pennsylvania. “Physically, these places were becoming integrated with each other. And then when we looked at economic and demographic trends, you could see that in fact the lives of these cities and metropolitan areas were merging with their neighbors.” 

This was hardly the first time that geographers and planners had taken note of the way linked metropolitan areas can share economies, natural resource systems, infrastructure, history, and culture. But by the turn of the 21st century, the scope and pace of the phenomenon were reaching new levels in the United States.  

Not long after the conference in London, Armando Carbonell—who retired from the Lincoln Institute this year after leading its urban planning program for more than two decades—gave the phenomenon a name that would stick: megaregions. 

A band of planners, including Yaro, Barnett, and others, has picked up the banner of megaregions, arguing that these urban areas have an outsize importance nationally. “More than eight in 10 Americans live in these places, and it’s over 90 percent of the economy of the country,” Yaro says. “So it’s very clear that if these places don’t succeed or aren’t operating at their full potential, the whole country’s economy and livability will suffer.” 

This spring, the Lincoln Institute published Megaregions and America’s Future, which Yaro wrote with Ming Zhang, director of Community and Regional Planning at the University of Texas at Austin, and Frederick Steiner, dean of the University of Pennsylvania’s Stuart Weitzman School of Design. They argue that megaregions may offer a way for the United States to contend with challenges that don’t respect arbitrary political boundaries, from climate change to public health crises like COVID-19. Megaregions can, if properly and creatively governed, strengthen climate resilience, natural resource management, economic competitiveness, and equity at the local, regional, and national levels. 

What Constitutes a Megaregion 

For more than a century, the heavily populated region stretching from Boston to Washington, DC, has drawn the attention of geographers. In his 1915 book Cities in Evolution, Patrick Geddes gave the swath of urban development running from Boston to New York the decidedly unlovely term “conurbation.” In 1961, French geographer Jean Gottman called the region a “megalopolis.” And in 1967, Herman Kahn gave the whole corridor the equally unlovely name “BosWash.” 

It would take another three decades before these boundary-busting phenomena began receiving more comprehensive academic attention, but the pace has been picking up over the last 20 years as the University of Pennsylvania, the Lincoln Institute, and others have worked to advance people’s understanding of what megaregions are and how they function. 

Definitions vary of what, exactly, constitutes a megaregion, but they are generally defined as regional economies that clearly extend beyond an individual metropolitan area. “I think of megaregions as a way of thinking about space, more than as real things that are out there,” says Carbonell. “I see it as a construct and a tool, [but] megaregions are not fixed and they change.” 

Researchers have used a variety of innovative approaches to identify and delineate individual megaregions. One analysis looked at the commuting habits of more than 4.2 million Americans to identify megaregions. Another used satellite imagery to identify contiguously lighted urban agglomerations across the globe, then—with a sort of Seussian whimsy—gave those places names like So-Flo, Chi-Pitts, Char-Lanta, Tor-Buff-Chester, and Am-Brus-Twerp (Florida, Gulden, and Mellander 2008). To estimate economic activity in each megaregion, that study combined the satellite-imaged light footprints with population and GDP data, extrapolating a “Light-based Regional Product.” It also used the number of patent registrations and highly cited scientific authors in each megaregion as a measure of technological and scientific innovation. 

At this point, researchers have identified about 40 megaregions around the world (see sidebar). In Megaregions and America’s Future, the authors focus on 13 megaregions in the United States (see map). Those are the venerable Northeast; Piedmont Atlantic, a southern stretch that includes sections of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and the Carolinas; Florida; Great Lakes; Gulf Coast; Central Plains; Texas Triangle; Front Range in Colorado; Basin and Range (Utah and Idaho); Cascadia (the Pacific Northwest from Portland to Vancouver, BC); Northern California; Southern California; and Arizona’s Sun Corridor (Yaro, Zhang, and Steiner 2022). 

Many of these megaregions have economies that put them within the rankings of the world’s biggest national economies. In 2018, for example, the Northeast megaregion had a GDP of $4.54 trillion—more than that of Germany. The same year, the nearly $1.8 trillion GDP of the Southern California megaregion was larger than that of Canada. In many ways, a megaregion is an increasingly spontaneous and organic unit of organization, one that presents more opportunity than the traditional political divisions that it transcends. 

Megaregions Around the Globe 

Scholars have identified more than 40 megaregions around the world, and several more are rapidly forming in China, India, and Southeast Asia. Established megaregions include: 

Pentagon, Europe. This region, whose outlines are defined by Paris, London, Hamburg, Munich, and Milan, was identified as an economic and transportation hub in 1999. It covers about 20 percent of the continent and is responsible for 60 percent of its economic output. Several other megaregion models have also been applied and explored in Europe. 

Tokaido, Japan. The corridor between Tokyo and Osaka is home to more than half of the country’s population. Its cities are linked by the Shinkansen high-speed rail network, which has reduced travel time between Tokyo and Osaka from eight hours in the early 20th century to two and a half hours today; a bullet train in development will further reduce the trip to one hour. 

Pearl River Delta, China. The most densely populated urban area in the world, the Pearl River Delta includes Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Hong Kong. The Chinese government has invested several hundred billion dollars in high-speed rail designed to strengthen connections within and among the Pearl River Delta, Yangtze River Delta, the region around Beijing and Tianjin, and burgeoning megaregions in coastal and inland areas. 

Collaborating on Climate Mitigation 

One of the most prominent examples of successful initiatives that span a megaregion is the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative (RGGI), a cooperative effort to cap and reduce power sector carbon dioxide emissions in New England and the Mid-Atlantic. Known in shorthand as “Reggie,” it is the first mandatory cap and trade program for greenhouse gas emissions in the country and now spans 12 states. 

At the turn of the 21st century, efforts to establish a national cap and trade framework for greenhouse gas emissions were fizzling. In 2003, then–New York Governor George Pataki sent a letter to the governors of other states in the Northeast proposing a bipartisan effort to fight climate change. In 2005, the initial agreement to implement RGGI was signed by the governors of Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, and Vermont. In 2007, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Maryland signed on. 

“I think for the states that recognized that climate change was real and a problem, there was a desire and an appetite to take some leadership,” says Bruce Ho, who heads the Natural Resource Defense Council’s work on RGGI. “Climate change is a global problem, and we need to be acting as much as possible in a coordinated way. But at the same time, there’s a recognition that you have to start somewhere.” 

Even as climate change efforts at the federal level foundered, RGGI got stronger and expanded. In 2014, the participating states reduced the emissions cap by 40 percent and committed to further year-by-year reductions. Then in 2017, the states agreed to aim for an even steeper decline in emissions, and also agreed to extend those emissions reductions efforts through at least 2030. 

Since RGGI began, power plant emissions have decreased by more than 50 percent—twice as much as the national decrease during the same time—and the program has raised over $4 billion by auctioning carbon allowances. That money has been invested in local energy efficiency programs, renewable energy, and other initiatives. Virginia, for example, dedicates half of its RGGI funding to low-income energy efficiency programs and puts the other half toward flood preparedness and sea-level rise mitigation in coastal communities. 

While not immune to criticism, RGGI is “an early example of a megaregion-scale initiative that has held up quite well,” says Carbonell—and it continues to gain momentum. Although then–Governor Chris Christie withdrew New Jersey from RGGI in 2012, the state rejoined in 2020. Virginia joined in 2021, and Pennsylvania followed this year. Leaders in North Carolina, spurred by a citizens’ rulemaking petition, are now considering joining RGGI as well. 

Hopes for High-Speed Rail 

One of the key challenges of megaregions is how people get around within them. Because megaregions can run 300 to 800 miles across, they demand an approach to transportation that has largely been ignored in the United States. “They’re too small to be efficiently traversed by air, and too large to be easily traversed by road,” Yaro says. “And then on top of that, the airports, airspace, and the interstate highway links in these places are highly congested.”  

Putting a new emphasis on high-speed rail, which can reach speeds over 200 miles per hour, will help relieve a transportation system that is groaning under strain nationwide, says Yaro, who is now president of the North Atlantic Rail Alliance, a group advocating a high-speed and high-performance “rail-enabled economic development strategy” for New York and New England. In addition to reducing congestion, highspeed rail can decrease emissions; it can also spur economic development by connecting people with jobs and other opportunities throughout a region. 

Plenty of successful examples of high-speed rail systems exist worldwide. In Japan, for example, the world’s first high-speed rail line—the famous Shinkansen, or bullet train—has linked Tokyo, Nagoya, and Osaka into a single megaregion. The system, which now carries over 420,000 passengers each weekday, will mark its 60th year of service in 2024. In Europe, nine countries now operate high-speed rail on more than 5,500 miles of track. Perhaps no country has embraced high-speed rail as enthusiastically as China. Since just 2008, its government has built a system that reaches practically every corner of the sprawling country on more than 23,500 miles of track—and counting. 

In the United States, an early realization of the concept’s potential has been slow to gain traction. In 1966, U.S. Senator Claiborne Pell of Rhode Island proposed a high-speed line between Boston and Washington in his book, Megalopolis Unbound: The Supercity and the Transportation of Tomorrow. In 2000, Amtrak started Acela service between Boston and Washington. Because it reaches 150 miles per hour, it qualifies as high-speed rail—yet it hits that upper limit over only about 34 miles of the 457-mile route. The Acela’s average speed is just 70 miles per hour. 

Plans for intercity high-speed rail have been considered or are underway in other regions; the Texas Central Line would connect Dallas and Houston, while the Brightline West project would link Southern California to Las Vegas. Elsewhere in California, construction is underway on an ambitious line that will connect San Francisco and Los Angeles, with a second phase extending the line north to Sacramento and south to San Diego. But challenges related to funding, politics, and logistics have meant that high-speed rail has barely made it out of the blocks. 

Early versions of last year’s infrastructure bill included $10 billion for high-speed rail, but that was cut during negotiations. While proponents keep pushing for meaningful federal investment in a high-speed network, megaregions can also benefit from investments in existing systems—or “fast-enough rail,” as Barnett dubs it in his book Designing the Megaregion: “There are many transportation improvements that can be made incrementally to give a much better structure to the evolving megaregions.” 

Sharing Solutions in California 

The Northern California Megaregion extends across the cities of the San Francisco Bay Area, Sacramento, and the San Joaquin Valley. The region has seen a dramatic increase in commuters from inland communities like Tracy and Stockton to jobs in the Bay Area, and has some of the nation’s longest average commute times.  

James Corless heads the Sacramento Area Council of Governments, but previously worked for the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, the agency responsible for planning and financing regional transportation in the Bay Area. In the mid-2000s, he says, regional agencies began looking at the swath of cities running from the Bay Area to Sacramento as an emerging megaregion, and gave it a name that put it squarely in the ranks of places like So-Flo and Char-Lanta. “We actually coined the phrase ‘San Framento,’” Corless says. “Everybody hated it. But it got people’s attention.” 

In 2015, the Metropolitan Transportation Commission, Sacramento Area Council of Governments, and San Joaquin Council of Governments signed an MOU to create a Megaregion Working Group. Their goal: to begin tackling issues that transcended the boundaries of the 16 counties and 136 cities they collectively represented.  

It took a while for the effort to gain momentum, precisely because of the sprawling nature of the megaregion. “I kept seeing these megaregion meetings pop up on my calendar and then get canceled,” Corless says. “Because for elected officials to get together from across these 16 counties, it requires an entire day of travel.” 

The arrival of COVID, and the resulting turn toward conducting government business via Zoom, helped bridge that distance and give the effort momentum. “At first, we were struggling a little bit to find our focus,” Corless says. Gradually, though, the participating entities began asking a simple question: “Where are we stronger together?”  

Late in 2021, the Megaregion Working Group announced a list of a dozen transportation-focused projects, from highway improvements to expansion of three regional rail lines. The California high-speed rail system that’s under construction—but far from completion—doesn’t much play into the working group’s plans, Corless says. “I have no doubt that high-speed rail will be a game changer,” he says. But “if we could just get reliable medium-speed rail, we’ll take that.” 

In fact, much of the megaregional effort is more quotidian than flashy infrastructure projects. The partners are focusing on integrating their regional plans and synchronizing their long-range planning cycles. “Because so much of our travel and even our housing markets are now intertwined,” Corless says, “if we’re looking out at the next 25 years, we need to be in sync.” 

The concept of megaregions is coming of age, Corless says, in much the same way that the rise of metropolitan planning organizations helped meet new challenges in the 1960s. “Once American cities suburbanized,” he says, “you couldn’t rely on the central city to do everything. People were more mobile, economies were bigger, and the issues transcended local city and county boundaries.” 

Moving Megaregions Forward 

What will it take to push the megaregion concept—which essentially invites those metropolitan planning organizations to an even bigger table—more squarely into the public consciousness and the policy realm?  

Bob Yaro thinks one answer is the climate crisis, which could push regions to work together in new ways. “I think it takes a crisis to do anything big in this country,” Yaro says. “You read these stories about whole counties running out of water. And that’s only going to get worse. [To address] the climate issue, you need both adaptation and mitigation strategies, and those mitigation strategies probably become most efficacious at the megaregion scale.” 

The RGGI initiative in the Northeast offers one example of how that kind of collaboration can work; the current water crisis in the desert Southwest offers another. There, tough times have, somewhat paradoxically, made for closer connections. Communities and governments have looked toward their neighbors and realized that they can do more together. 

The seven U.S. states that rely on water from the Colorado River, along with Mexico, have historically had an extremely contentious relationship. Yet, while recent headlines scream about impending water catastrophe, those parties have for more than 20 years been quietly working together on agreements intended to minimize the collective damage that they might suffer. A sense of partnership, however tenuous and prone to ongoing tensions, has been supplanting longstanding parochial attitudes toward the river.  

As metro regions melt together and global challenges ramp up, a growing sense of shared fate with historically distant neighbors could help tackle all kinds of problems that might once have seemed insurmountable. 

“I think one of the things we need to do is redefine ‘home,’ and the Southwest is Exhibit A on why that needs to happen,” Yaro says. “I think it’s redefining home at this larger scale. The final boundaries are going to depend on an individual community’s sense of association with their neighbors—but the place doesn’t succeed unless we do that.” 

Matt Jenkins is a freelance writer who has contributed to the New York Times, Smithsonian, Men’s Journal, and numerous other publications. 

Lead image: The United States seen from space at night. Credit: DKosig via iStock.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. The full conversation is available as a Land Matters podcast. 

Jesse Arreguín was elected mayor of Berkeley, California, in 2016, becoming the first Latino to hold the office and, at 32, the youngest mayor in a century. The son and grandson of farmworkers, Arreguín grew up in San Francisco. At nine, he helped lead efforts to name a city street after activist Cesar Chavez, beginning a lifelong commitment to social justice.  

After Arreguín graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, he stayed in the city, serving on boards including the Housing Advisory Commission, Rent Stabilization Board, Zoning Adjustments Board, Planning Commission, and City Council. As mayor, Arreguín—who is also president of the Association of Bay Area Governments—has prioritized affordable housing, infrastructure, and education. He recently met with Senior Fellow Anthony Flint at City Hall to talk about this city of 125,000, with a focus on housing and the task of building more of it. Fittingly, the sounds of construction could be heard outside the fifth-floor office suite. 

ANTHONY FLINT: It seems like Berkeley has become a national symbol of the YIMBY/NIMBY [Yes in My Back Yard/Not in My Back Yard] divide. What should developers be contributing to increase supply, provide different housing options, and increase density at appropriate locations? 

JESSE ARREGUÍN: I think a lot needs to be done by government, and we’re seeing a lot of leadership being demonstrated by our governor, by the state legislature, by our attorney general, who established a housing strike force to enforce state housing laws, and by regional and local government. In Berkeley, over the past several years, we have taken significant steps to pass laws to streamline production and encourage a variety of different housing options in our community. 

We’ve also made a commitment that we are going to end exclusionary zoning. I think part of the reason why Berkeley is a symbol of the debate happening in cities throughout the country is because Berkeley is the birthplace of exclusionary zoning. In 1916, the city adopted its first zoning ordinance to zone the neighborhoods in the Elm-wood District as single-family to prevent the construction of a dance hall. Not surprisingly, many people who would frequent that dance hall would predominantly be people of color. Sadly, single-family zoning was founded on the foundation of racial exclusion. 

My perspective on zoning, on housing issues, has evolved over the years, because the crisis in Berkeley and in California has worsened significantly in the past five years. We have increasing numbers of people who are experiencing homelessness, tent encampments on our streets, working families who can’t afford to live in the community they work in, students who can’t afford to live in the community they go to school in. The status quo is not working, and we need to take bold action. 

I think developers are eager to see leadership on the part of government. We need to meet them at the middle and we have to do what we can to make it easier for them to build. At the same time, we have to make sure that they are providing community benefits while we are seeing market-rate construction, particularly in communities where we’ve seen significant amounts of displacement and gentrification. We have historically Black neighborhoods where we’re seeing homes sell at $2 million. Our Black population has declined from 20 percent in 1970 to seven percent now. I think that is a direct result of the decisions that government made to not build housing, and of the astronomical cost of housing in Berkeley. 

AF: Let’s talk about gentrification and real estate speculation, a problem in many cities. Los Angeles recently started a program of land banking parcels near transit stations. Is that the kind of thing that is going to be necessary when you’re obviously in white-hot market conditions here? 

JA: I think so, and we are prioritizing public land for affordable housing. We’ve converted parking lots to affordable housing projects. We have one being constructed right up the street, 140 units of affordable housing and permanent supportive housing—the largest project we’ve ever built for housing the homeless. We need to prioritize public land for public good. There’s no question about that. 

I do agree we need to look at land banking. We need to provide money so nonprofit developers can buy parcels to keep them permanently affordable. We need to look at how we can support land trusts, not just buying properties but buying buildings to keep them permanently affordable. That is part of Berkeley’s housing strategy. It’s not just building new construction, but also the preservation of existing naturally occurring affordable housing. I think we need to focus on the three P’s, and I say this often: production of new housing, preservation of existing naturally occurring affordable housing, and protection of existing residents from displacement. 

AF: How might a vacancy tax, similar to what we see in San Francisco and Oakland, address this issue of the burgeoning value of land? 

JA: We actually recently placed on the ballot a residential vacancy tax, which is a little bit different from Oakland’s; it doesn’t focus on vacant parcels, but it’s focused on vacant homes and vacant residential units. There are some who have said, “Well, we have thousands of vacant units, and therefore, we don’t need to build more housing.” That’s absurd. We need to build housing, and we also need to put housing that is off the market back on the market. 

The more that we can address actions by speculators and by scofflaws—I would characterize people who keep properties blighted and vacant for many years as scofflaws—it will address the artificial constraining of the market and will put more units back on the market. We spent a lot of time crafting this vacancy tax and really thought through the situations in which units could be vacant legitimately. The focus is not on small property owners but on owners of large rental properties, because part of what we are seeing is, frankly, speculation of the market. 

We hope, at some point, we don’t have to charge a tax because all the housing is being rented or is being used. That’s the goal of the vacancy tax, not to penalize but to incentivize owners of multifamily properties to use the properties for their intended purpose. I just have to say once again that this is not a panacea, this is not the solution to the housing crisis, and that we need to build new housing. What we have is a crisis that is decades in the making through deliberate actions on the part of government, through racial segregation or redlining, through fierce resistance to building housing, and through policies that have constrained the production of housing. 

AF: As a hub of innovation, Berkeley has a thriving economy. Do you believe it’s going to be possible for more workers in Berkeley to be able to live in Berkeley, or is there a built-in imbalance that you just have to manage and come to terms with? 

JA: I think it’s possible . . . but that’s going to require that we build thousands and thousands of units of housing, that we prioritize building housing around our transit stations, that we look at upzoning low-density commercial neighborhoods, that we look at building multifamily housing in residential neighborhoods. Every part of our city needs to meet its responsibility to create more housing. No part of our community can be walled off to new people living here. 

I really do think that that gets to the core of who we are, who we say we are as a city. Are we a city of equity and inclusivity? If we are, then we need to welcome new people living in our community. We create those opportunities for people to live here. People who previously lived here and were displaced, people who work here but can’t afford to live here, and obviously, there’s a climate benefit we can give people to not have to drive an hour, two hours to get to Berkeley. 

That reduces those cars on the road, reduces greenhouse gas emissions, and helps us mitigate the impacts of climate change, and building dense, transit-oriented development is a critical part of taking bold climate action. Our land use policies and our actions to encourage more dense housing are really critical climate action strategies. 

AF: Could you talk about the importance of bicycle and pedestrian safety in your view of how the city functions and how Berkeley is doing in that regard? 

JA: Because we have such high numbers of people who bike to work and walk and use alternative modes of transportation, we need to make it safer and easier for people to get around town. Sadly, we’ve seen an increasing number of collisions between cars and bicyclists, and pedestrians. Like many communities, we’ve adopted a vision zero policy that’s focused on reducing traffic injuries and fatalities. We are looking at how we can redesign and reconstruct our streets to make them safer for people who walk and bike. . . . Then, obviously, being the home of the University of California, we have a lot of young people who are constantly walking, biking around, and we need to make it safer for students and for our residents to get out of their cars and to choose non–carbon intensive modes of mobility. 

AF: On climate, what else can Berkeley do? How is this region addressing the climate crisis? 

JA: I think the best way for Berkeley to address the climate crisis is through recognizing, one, it’s not a crisis, it’s an emergency—and we see the real material effects of it here in California. We’ve had some of the most devastating wildfires in California history over the last five years, [and] Berkeley is not immune to the threat of wildfire. That’s a pretty telltale sign that the climate emergency is here, it’s not going away, and we have to recognize that we need to take bold action. 

I’m proud that Berkeley has really been a leader in combating climate change. We were one of the first cities to adopt a climate action plan. Obviously, building dense infill housing is a critical part of that. We do need to promote more electric mobility, whether it’s through micro-mobility or through converting heavy-duty and light-duty vehicles to electric, and California’s really been a leader at that. While there are very ambitious targets that the state has set to transition our vehicle fleet to electric, we don’t have the infrastructure to support that yet. We hope with the new federal bipartisan infrastructure law and the climate law that was just passed that there’ll be significantly more resources available that we can leverage to expand that infrastructure in California. 

Electrifying our buildings is important too, and Berkeley was the first city in California to adopt the ban on natural gas and require that newly constructed buildings be all electric. We’re also looking at how we can get existing buildings to be electric, which is much tougher. . . . All those things are important, but we also have to adapt to climate change . . . whether it’s how we address wildfire risk or sea-level rise. Berkeley’s along the San Francisco Bay. We know that parts of our city, unless we do something, are going to see significant flooding and inundation. 

That’s where I think the regional approach comes in. These [issues] can’t be solved by one city. A lot of work’s been done at the Metropolitan Transportation Commission and Association of Bay Area Governments—our regional planning agency and council of governments—to bring government agencies together to explore strategies. I think that’s an area where regionalism and regional government’s going to make a difference. 

Anthony Flint is a senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, contributing editor to Land Lines, and host of the Land Matters podcast. 

Berkeley, California, might be described as a victim of its own success—a roaring innovation economy, a college town, and a hugely popular place to live, minutes from Oakland and San Francisco, but plagued by a staggering lack of affordability, rampant real estate speculation, and homelessness. 
 
When it comes to new housing development, much of the narrative in recent years has been framed in terms of two camps: those who oppose neighborhood infill development, labeled as proclaiming “not in my backyard,” and advocates of dramatically increased supply of different kinds of housing, under the banner of YIMBY—“yes in my backyard.” 
 
In an interview for the Land Matters podcast, Mayor Jesse Arreguín makes it clear he believes the more housing, the better. 

“We need to build new housing,” he said, in a recent interview at Berkeley City Hall. “What we have is a crisis that is decades in the making through deliberate actions on the part of government, through racial segregation or redlining, through fierce resistance to building housing, and through policies that have constrained the production of housing, and now we’re in a crisis. I think a crisis and emergency requires that we take emergency action. That’s why we are embracing building more housing—and we will continue to build lots more housing, because we think that is the solution to addressing our housing crisis.” 
 
Arreguín was elected mayor in 2016, becoming the first Latino to hold the office and, at 32, the youngest mayor in a century. He was reelected with over 65 percent of the vote in 2020. The son and grandson of farmworkers, Arreguín grew up in San Francisco. At nine, he helped lead efforts to name a city street after activist Cesar Chavez, beginning a lifelong commitment to social justice. 
 
After he graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, he stayed in the city, serving on numerous boards overseeing planning and zoning, and ultimately the city council. He is also now president of the Association of Bay Area Governments, which is the Bay Area’s Council of Governments and regional planning agency. 

Arreguín came into office mindful of the concerns of established residents who expressed skepticism about allowing additional height and density, but says the situation is so dire, creative solutions are in order—in keeping with the area’s reputation for innovation in the private sector. 
 
“We are looking at innovation, not just in terms of scientific research, but from a government perspective, innovation in creating public policy,” he said. “I see Berkeley as an innovation lab, a test lab for new approaches to public policy, which is why we’re really thinking intentionally about how we can create solutions to housing and homelessness, and a lot of the other challenges facing cities in 2022.” 

An edited version of the interview is available online at Land Lines magazine, as the latest installment of the Mayor’s Desk feature. 

You can listen to the show and subscribe to Land Matters on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever you listen to podcasts. 

Further Reading 
 
From Downtown to Single-Family Blocks, Berkeley Eyes Big Zoning Changes (Berkeleyside) 

Through the Roof: What Communities Can Do About the High Cost of Rental Housing in America (Land Lines) 

Backyard Brouhaha: Could Inclusionary Housing Break the YIMBY Deadlock? (Land Lines) 

Anthony Flint is a senior fellow at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, host of the Land Matters podcast, and a contributing editor of Land Lines.