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For all the jurisdictions in California that are upset about the invocation, or potential invocation, of the now-notorious "builder's remedy" provision of the Housing Accountability Act, the City of Huntington Beach has protested most emphatically. In its shadow, however, are several cities that appear no less determined to retain local control and oppose proposed housing projects to which they object. Whereas Huntington Beach is actively suing the state to exempt itself from the builder's remedy (and other housing laws), the Town of Los Altos Hills and the City of Sonoma are relying on technicalities to essentially wish their housing elements into compliance and therefore assert that the builder's remedy is moot. Both jurisdictions are part of the Association of Bay Area Governments region, whose deadline for certification and adoption of housing elements was January 31. Sonoma has thus far blocked the builder's remedy application for The Montaldo, a multifamily development slated for a two-acre site that currently contains only a single-family house. The Montaldo was previously proposed for 55 units. The builder's remedy version calls for 64 units, all of which would be designated for middle-income residents. But Sonoma gave two different reasons why the builder’s remedy application should be rejected. According to a statement from Sonoma planner Alaina Lipp, the application for the larger version of The Montaldo, submitted February 6, was deficient. "The Planning Department evaluated the SB 330 preliminary application against statutory requirements and the City’s checklist and found that several elements were missing from the preliminary application package," said Lipp. "The Planning Department did a courtesy review and notified the applicant that an SB 330-compliant preliminary application had not been submitted due to the missing elements." City spokesperson Sarah Tracy said, though, that the city's housing element is in fact compliant -- meaning that a builder's remedy application would be moot, regardless of how complete or incomplete it is. The city's position is based not on HCD approval but rather on what amounts to "self-certification." "The City of Sonoma approved its 6th Cycle Housing Element as required by the State on January 31st and is prepared to maintain that its housing element is substantially compliant, and that California Dept. of Housing and Community Development certification is not required for a housing element to be found substantially compliant with state law," wrote Tracy in an email to CP&DR. "State law provides that a city may adopt its own findings explaining why its housing element is substantially compliant with state law (Section 65585(f))." HCD's database of housing elements lists Sonoma's as "under review." Officials from HCD have rejected the notion of self-certification. A March 16 memo by HCD Deputy Director Megan Kirkeby suggests that the adoption of a housing element that HCD has not explicitly approved is, essentially, a pointless exercise. Kirkeby's memo states, "a jurisdiction does not have the authority to determine that an adopted element is in substantial compliance by may provide reasoning why HCD should make a finding of substantial compliance... HDC recommends that a jurisdiction adopt only after receiving a letter from HDC finding the draft meets statutory requirements." Los Altos Hills is taking a similar approach. It faced builder's remedy applications for three relatively small projects (including one project with two variants) and determined that all four applications were "incomplete." In a recent online town hall meeting, the city attorney explained that, despite being considered out of compliance by HCD, he believes the recent draft of the housing element submitted to HCD satisfies the department's comments on a previous draft and will be found in compliance and certified, thereby retroactively exempting the city from the builder's remedy. "The Los Altos Hills Housing Element not only addresses all of the required components under state housing element law, and incorporates and addresses all of HCD’s findings received, it also addresses issues raised by the public during the public review period," wrote Mayor Linda Swan in a recently published opinion piece. Swan cites several programs designed to satisfy HCD's housing element requirements, including the town's first multi-family overlay zone; support for accessory dwelling units and SB 9 units (such as duplexes); and several measures to streamline housing approvals. A press release dated March 15 touts the town's promotion of housing in the 5th RHNA cycle (the previous cycle), in which it permitted 241 units, compared to its RHNA requirement of 121. According to the press release, "the accomplishment demonstrates the Town’s commitment to addressing the critical housing shortage in California and providing more affordable housing opportunities for its residents." Ultimately, however, jurisdictions' self-satisfaction may not shield them form legal action. In collaboration with HCD, Attorney General Rob Bonta has indicated that he is willing to sue willfully noncompliant jurisdictions. He recently announced a suit against Huntington Beach and has threatened to file more. This is in addition to suits filed by nonprofit and advocacy groups. (Previous CP&DR coverage of the Huntington Beach situation can be found here .) "Sonoma and Los Altos Hills are almost definitely breaking the law, as certified by HCD," said Matthew Lewis, spokesperson for California YIMBY. "I think these smaller towns think they can get away with it and are daring the attorney general to sue them."

Between state-imposed housing production goals, Department scrutiny of housing elements by the Department of Housing and Community Development, builder’s remedy threats, lawsuits by the state, and—in at least one case—lawsuits against the state, California cities have had their hands full complying with new state housing laws and their respective obligations.

Most of us will never have a legitimate occasion to explore the multimillion-dollar regions of Redfin--with its screening rooms, pool houses, Viking ranges, fallout shelters, etc.--but the other day I took a stroll anyway. I found 73 listings in the $4.5 million - $4.99 million range, and 48 in the $5.5 million - $6.0 million range. In the $5.0 million - $5.49 range: 32 listings. Hmm. We're obviously not dealing with a huge sample set here. But, even with only 150 data points, we'd expect the number of listings to decrease as prices increase. What's up with that 32, then? I haven't polled the sellers, but the relative shortage is likely a distinct consequence of Measure ULA. And it is by far the least significant consequence. Everything else about Measure ULA threatens to bring development in Los Angeles nearly to a halt. Approved by Los Angeles voters in November, and implemented April 1, Measure ULA imposes a 4% transfer tax on property transactions of $5 million-$9.9 million, and a 5% tax on transactions of $10 million and above, and dedicates the funds to the development of affordable housing. What's worse is that ULA is not a marginal tax. It's a gross tax, meaning that it assesses not just the increment over $5 million but rather the entire value of the transaction. A sale for $4.999 million? No ULA tax. A sale for $5.001 million? Two-hundred, twenty-two thousand in ULA tax. (This city webpage has a ULA calculator in case you're feeling incredulous.) I suspect that many voters and supporters assumed that ULA was a marginal tax because, well, anything else would have been insane. Be that as it may, if you're a multimillionaire homeowner and aren't willing to drop your price south of $5 million, you'll figure out a way to cope. In the worst case, you'll eat the 4% and wash it down with Dom Perignon. The emotional appeal of Measure ULA centered on this sort of decision calculus. Supporters of Measure ULA, which include nonprofit housing developers, social justice advocates, and trade unions, promoted it as a "mansion tax." That's a solid way to get 512,000 votes, for a 57%-43% win, in a city with 16% poverty rate and a rent-burden rate of 35%. A great many people voted for ULA for this very reason---including seasoned real estate folks, who voiced little, if any, opposition to it. A developer friend of mine voted for ULA mainly because the Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Association opposed it. That's usually a good heuristic if you're pro-development. But the housing crisis has created some strange bedfellows I'm all for soaking the rich, as far as it goes. But ULA taxes much more than mansions: it taxes any real estate transaction of $5 million and higher. Here's where Los Angeles's crisis goes into overdrive. The economic decisions of the developers and landlords who build and operate multifamily projects bear little resemblance to those of individual homeowners. Landlords don't unload a rental property just because they want a swimming pool or a home theater. Developers don't build just because their renderings look pretty. They sell and build if-- and only if --they can at least break even. Contrary to the stereotype of the "greedy developer," there are probably guys dressed as Spider-Man on Hollywood Boulevard who make more money on a daily basis than many developers do. Their cap rates are thin--in the single-digit percentages--and they often take years to materialize. And, even if a developer is willing to tolerate lower margins, fat chance finding a lender who will -- especially in what is already a worrying economic climate. (Side-note: If redevelopment was still around, much of this discussion might be moot.) Kneecapping the development industry may be fine if (like L.A.'s mayor ) you're sick of all the "luxury" residential buildings that have gone up lately. But, if "luxury" buildings are the only projects that pencil out now, then what of working class, "missing middle" housing? That's exactly the type of housing Los Angeles needs. With a 5% tax, it's toast. And what of developers with cash on hand and the itch to build? They have 88 other jurisdictions in Los Angeles County that won't force them to kiss their profit margins goodbye. By the time ULA's reign of terror really gets going, Los Angeles will be left with a handful affordable units, developed by nonprofit developers and subsidized by the sale of $5.5 million and up megamansions--and that's it. The city will net several hundred new affordable units when, according to its RHNA, it needs hundreds of thousands. Meanwhile, the vacancy chain by which affluent residents trade up and make lower-cost units available to less affluent residents becomes ever more attenuated. Economics are only half of the equation. The other half is policy. On that count, Los Angeles--like many other cities in California--finally got the memo, in the form of a 440,000-unit RHNA goal. The city's new housing element was roundly praised, and the city even got a Prohousing designation from the state. Programs like its Transit Oriented Communities density bonus have done well. And we are subject to new state laws promoting adaptive reuse, reducing parking requirements, streamlining infill development that are tailor-made for a transit-heavy mega-city with tens of thousands of under-built lots and low-density boulevards. It's true that we don't know which of these laws (with more on the way) are going to be truly effective, but the efforts are encouraging. More so than ever, thinking is aligned at the state, regional, municipal levels, and grassroots levels. A politically significant number of people want Los Angeles to grow, and there are plenty of thoughtful developers who could make it grow well. But, unless Sacramento passes a law requiring developers to light money on fire, these new incentives, plans, and regulations will hardly matter. Measure ULA stands to topple all of these successes. Now, as ever, Los Angeles cannot get out of its own way. If they could go back in time, the city's developers probably would have spent every last dime fighting ULA--or, at least, negotiating with its sponsors to make it marginal and omit multifamily transactions. But, it's too late for that. Measure ULA has no sunset clause (which it, like every other major land use law, ought to ), and it has broad public support. Beyond my sympathies for the unhoused and housing-insecure people in my city, all of this makes me personally sad. I support development. As my friends observe about me, "you like a good building." They're right. Urban planning excites me in part because I believe in the promise of the new--new housing, new streetscapes, new people. I'd like to think that, in my lifetime, the place where I live can become better--for me and everyone else who lives in it. Planning is about the prospect of building on past successes and correcting for past mistakes. We've just made a huge mistake--one that, potentially, negates its own solutions. I don't want to think about how long it's going to take to correct it. At least with SB 9, we can start subdividing some of those mansions. I call dibs on a pool house.

When the legislature was deliberating on Senate Bill 10 in 2021, then Los Angeles City Council Member Paul Koretz predicted that it would “target” towns large and small, allow 14-unit projects “in almost all neighborhoods with no hearings,” and “ unique towns, villages and cities from doing their own planning.” It was often discussed in the same breath as its stablemate, SB 9, which effectively banned single-unit zoning in much of the state.

If you're waiting for a bus and you observe a sky-blue perforated protrusion that looks like an oversized fly swatter attached to a pole, you're unlikely to be overwhelmed with aesthetic rapture. But, you probably won't think much of it either. If that same fly swatter is the result of a six-figure design effort, a range of academic studies, global fact-finding trips, and--not least--a sidewalk press conference at which you are instructed to gaze upon said protrusion with reverence, you might feel differently. The protrusion in question is the latest attempt by the Los Angeles Department of Transportation to make the pedestrian realm attractive, in a city where, lamentably, walking is still a second-class activity and transit ridership disproportionately consists of low-income, non-white, and female riders. It is a miniature bus shelter for the city's Dash circulator buses (not to be confused with LA Metro's regional public transit system), designed to provide transit information, cast light at night, and throw shade during the day. Cringingly named "La Sombrita" (rough translation: “little hat”), the shelter was inspired in part by studies of women's experiences with public transportation in Los Angeles, conducted by researchers at UCLA, and designed by Los Angeles-based design and architecture firm Kounkuey Design Initiative in collaboration with "countless community partners and members." It's part of a larger "Gender Equity Action Plan." As you can imagine, the results of the research were not heartening. Women often feel unsafe, especially at night. (I'm sure many men and nonbinary poeple do too.) And, Los Angeles famously lacks street trees -- especially in lower-income neighborhoods. I'm not sure we need a university study to recognize that transit riders appreciate shade in the daytime and light in the nighttime. Be that as it may, we could all use a little light and shade. On that count, La Sombrita emphasizes the - ita . La Sombrita casts just enough (perforated) shadow to protect exactly one person -- and that's if the sun and the person are in perfect alignment. Transit information is printed on the pole too, though it’s reportedly too high for someone in a wheelchair to comfortably read. Its solar-powered light points at odd angles after dark. Behold: La Sombrita For such a workaday piece of street furniture, La Sombrita promises some lofty goals: Improve comfort, safety, and the travel experience for women Deliver a quick installation project Cost a fraction of a bus shelter Can be affixed to existing bus signs with no new permits required Responds to community needs and moves the needle on shade and light at bus stops today while we simultaneously work on more systemic solutions. Usher in many other "design and policy solutions that will help make transportation more equitable for all Angelenos" The problem here is not La Sombrita's goals, which are reasonable, or even its design, which is underwhelming but inoffensive. The problem is the press conference itself. Were it deployed quietly, La Sombrita would probably elicit responses ranging from shrugs, to mild appreciation, to quiet snark by design enthusiasts. A few test cases could have been installed, and designers could have elicited feedback and updated future editions accordingly. Unfortunately for LA DOT and Kounkuey, reactions on Twitter the day of its unveiling were instant--and they threw far more shade than that bus shelter ever will. Some choice critiques, quoted from Twitter posts and replies: The only equity this design promotes is evenly distributed heatstroke. This is the kind of thing that makes public advocacy for better walkability, transit, etc., just… that much harder. Did y'all forget trees are a thing? I am begging America to do one thing transit-related like a normal country Did it really take "countless" contributions to make it possible this lamp-post with a tiny shader attached? It’s f--king terrible you should be ashamed To really sum it up: An expensive sub-optimal solution only needed due to existing regulatory codes conflicting with a city’s own goals, done by consultants, disguised as “equity” and ending with a ribbon-cutting media event (Mind you, these comments are from people who generally support public transit.) La Sombrita sheds light on a host of problems related to design in the public realm. First, it proves that collaboration does not necessarily lead to admirable design. Second, and more poignantly, its publicity set impossibly high expectations and invited exactly the sort of scrutiny that an unassuming piece of street furniture does not warrant. Every designer, and every marketer, should know the story of the Segway. As journalist Dan Kois impressively reported in a 2021 story in Slate, the Segway did not become a punchline because of lousy design or technology. To the contrary, it worked largely as advertised. Its failure derived from hype. Inventor Dean Kaman and his PR team promised world-changing, revolutionary, mind-blowing, toe-curling technology that would put all previous technologies to shame. With predictions like that, the best the Segway could have done was to meet expectations. Even worse, the publicity negated organic discovery, and the word-of-mouth reputation that would have followed. No one had the chance to "discover" the Segway; it was overexposed from the start, instantly as uncool as a pair of Dockers. Kounkuey defended itself, tweeting, "Typical bus shelters often cost $50k or more and require coordination among 8 departments. La Sombrita (in its most expensive, prototype form) costs approximately 15% of the price of a typical bus shelter and can be installed in 30 minutes or less." Fair enough. But Kounkuey's big mistake was that it didn't protest the insanity of needing eight city departments to sign off on a piece of street furniture. It doesn’t matter how imaginative their designers are. If they're not just as creative about reforming the regulatory scheme, then all the renderings, prototypes, and workarounds in the world don't matter. As for the design itself, it has its logic. La Sombrita is small because it's designed to slide over existing street-sign poles, so the city doesn't have to dig holes, pour foundations, or pull new permits. It can fit on sidewalks that aren't big enough to accommodate larger benches or shelters. It's recognizable enough, and the light is surely better than nothing. It improves Los Angeles's (often hideous) streetscape, if only marginally. Try to spot the bus shelter in this photo. Had LADOT quietly deployed Las Sombritas in strategic locations and let transit users discover them on their own terms, I can't see anyone complaining about them (much). Instead, the department succumbed to the pressures of social media. Plenty of pieces of design aren't Instagram-worthy. That doesn't mean they're not functional. For all the research the design team did, they forgot one thing: the weary, overheated bus rider waiting on a blazing summer afternoon in Watts probably doesn't care how many "likes" her bus shelter has. The problems La Sombrita attempts to solve are only going to get more dire, in Los Angeles and elsewhere. Its proximate goals (shade, light, information, branding) remain worthy, and the broader values it purports to represent (social equity, gender equity, sustainability, safety) are crucial. Global warming, caused by climate change, and heat islands, caused by asphalt and thinning urban forests, will only make them more crucial. The world's cities will need more, albeit better, Sombritas. That's why this flap is worthwhile and why the publicity serves a roundabout purpose. Cities and public agencies need to know that people are watching -- and willing to call them out. The next team of designers to come along will know that they can't get away with mediocrity and can’t gaslight stakeholders into thinking a flimsy, if well-meaning, intervention is going to save the planet. That's social media at its best. Among all of our near-apocalyptic problems, let's just hope we don't have to find out how useful La Sombrita against a plague of locusts. Images courtesy of the L.A. Department of Transportation, via Twitter ( here and here ).

Historically, transit-oriented development has always posed a chicken-or-egg problem, at least at its onset. Should development follow transit infrastructure, or vice-versa?

It’s an understatement to say that housing bills have been popular in Sacramento over the past few years, with dozens passed and chaptered by eager lawmakers and governors. Not a few exhausted municipal planners have hoped that the pace would slow down. But that’s not happening yet.

The depths of the covid pandemic inspired dire proclamations about the “death of cities,” and downtown areas were Exhibit A.

This weekend, the conference of the California Chapter of the American Planning Association returns to the Central Valley for the first time since 1975.

California Forever dropped from the sky two weeks ago, like a lost chapter from Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities. It promised a utopia of low-carbon emissions, a jobs-housing balance, rowhouses (!), light rail, human-scale density, and, most marvelously, diversity social equity. Exquisitely, it created fans and detractors in seemingly equal numbers. Most observers, though, probably fell in the middle, able to imagine best- and worst-case scenarios with equal vividness. Naturally, many people’s fantasies are others' nightmares. And, after a flourish of a week or so, California Forever has receded into the fog. If it revisits us, it will likely do so in the form of lobbying, ballot measures, environmental impact reports, and lawsuits until the end of our days. So far, California Forever--the name of which sounds more like that of a cemetery than a metropolis--offers more of a lesson in public relations than in planning. In the span of a week, coverage of California Forever went from a scoop in the San Francisco Chronicle to multi-article coverage in The New York Times , The Hill, The Guardian --and everything in between. I can't imagine a story related to urban planning that would get more, and swifter, coverage than this one did. Howard Jarvis would have to rise from the dead and insist on the repeal of Proposition 13. Clovis would have to invade Fresno. A whale would have to eat San Diego. Beverly Hills would have to build affordable housing. That's how big it was. The developer, Flannery Associates LLC, had been operating in stealth mode for five years until the Chronicle uncovered what was going on. Flannery's most exquisite move was to immediately post a website -- so fully-formed that it must have been designed and written ahead of time, like an aging celebrity's obituary, long before the news leaked. Flannery (apparently named for a road bordering its original parcel) is thus both an enormity and a mystery at the same time. Planning news rarely "breaks." But, to Flannery Associates' credit -- whether the leak of their buying spree was accidental or calculated -- they gave us, perhaps unwittingly, a story that had it all: a "new city," a huge amount of (private) capital, a place (Solano County) that most people have never heard of, mild deception, and the audacity of the tech industry. The plan's most Calvino-eseque elements so far are the renderings on California Forever's website, if you can call them "renderings." In some ways, they hold tremendous appeal: pretty, well detailed buildings overlooking coves and arbors, dappled in the light of a wine country afternoon. And, yet, they are obviously the product of artificial intelligence--just a little too perfect, and a little too cliched. A recent post on SF Gate confirms as much. By now, Flannery has surely gotten calls from every New Urbanist architect in the country. A city on a hill. The reasons why it got so much attention are more pedestrian and more dispiriting. The attention we gave to a Utopian vision, seemingly inspired by equal parts Tuscany and Philadelphia, says more about the current state of our cities -- and the surrounding discourse -- than it does about Flannery. The vision for California Forever depends on not just empty land but also on blank pages. California Forever's zoning code has yet to be written. (Maybe it won't even have one.) It also doesn't have incumbent residents with entrenched interests. It doesn't have design guidelines. It doesn't have anxious politicians or overworked planning staffers. That's why they can dare to dream of something new, fresh, and attractive. Back in the real world, pretty much nothing is happening. Some of the biggest development stories center on what's not getting built. That high-rise in San Francisco. A new ballpark for the A's. The Concord Naval Weapons Station redevelopment. Anything smaller than Versailles and denser than Alaska on the San Francisco Peninsula. Home mortgage rates just hit 8%. Not exactly fodder for The New York Times. On many levels, the project is off-putting, perhaps terrifying. And yet, there's  useful lesson in California Forever's audacity. California Forever has a shared purpose: its investors have all spent a lot of money and they all want to make a lot of money. I give them credit for being, possibly, more than just capitalists. They seem to understand principles of good urbanism, and they seem to understand that California needs more housing. "Hey Dall-E, give me a perfect New Urbanist streetscape." That's more than we can say for some cities in this state. Too much of the planning innovation and new development in California are taking place under duress (see: Builder's Remedy ), with extreme reluctance (see: housing element updates), or in the face of recreational litigation (hello, Huntington Beach ). None of this amounts to a vision. None of this amounts to an enthusiastic, optimistic consensus about what the state and its cities might strive for. As ever, the California Dream feels passive -- something that we participate in purely because we're here, somewhere near the beach, under the sun -- rather than something we actively, collectively pursue. Sure, many new plans include progressive planning principles. But, they are usually buried deep in codes and general plan updates. They are often included to evade scrutiny of anti-development stakeholders. They lack exuberance. And the incrementalism is excruciating. We get a six-story podium building here; a dozen townhouses there. ADU's aplenty. If we're lucky, we end up with better cities by the time our grandkids graduate from college. This leisurely pace is what prompted developer Christopher Meany to unload on planners when I spoke to him about his Treasure Island project: "Planners have to stop focusing on planning and start focusing on getting things built." What this approach lacks is a vision -- a sense of enthusiasm or shared purpose. It's almost impossible to envision better cities in California because the new elements -- say, a well designed mixed-use building, or street furniture that might make a place walkable -- has to mingle with whatever outdated, Prop. 13-enabled ugliness is still hanging around. So, I can forgive anyone who gets excited about California Forever. It's tantalizing to think that, just this once, we could learn from our mistakes and build something truly enlightened--exorcise the ghosts of Burnham, Corbusier, and Moses once and for all. But what the world wants and what the world builds are often two different things. I am not suggesting that planners should pursue headlines. Doing so would be disingenuous and annoying. But we have to learn something from the flap over California Forever. However difficult planning in the real world may be, planners cannot cede an optimistic, excited vision of California's future to a venture capital fund. Even if he predated the California Environmental Quality Act, Italo Calvino probably knew how hard it is to build utopia. It's why he conjured up cities a few hundred words at a time, never claiming that they would exist anywhere other than in the collective imagination. Now that DALL-E can do Calvino's job for him, it's hard yet to tell whether California Forever believes his fantasies are within reach—or whether California Forever is blind to his cautionary tale. Perhaps it was, and is, both. Images courtesy of California Forever .

Recently, the Terner Center for Housing Innovation at UC Berkeley hosted a conference about recent housing legislation that featured four legislators active in the area: Sen. Scott Wiener of San Francisco, Assemblymember Buffy Wicks from the East Bay, Assemblymember David Alvarez of San Diego, and Senator Catherine Blakespear, who until recently has to grapple with intense no-growth politics as mayor of Encinitas. All but Wicks are former local government officials. The resulting conversation brought an interesting set of obervations from the four legislators. Here' s an edited version of the conversation, culled by CP&DR ’s Josh Stephens.

Atlantic Avenue, a four-to-six lane artery that forms the spine of Long Beach, runs from the waterfront due north for eight miles. It then carries on into the hinterlands of the Gateway Cities in south Los Angeles County. Though Long Beach is relatively dense — at roughly 9,300 residents per square mile — development along the majority of Atlantic Ave. and the city’s other major boulevards rarely rises above one story.