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The results of urbanization and its processes are becoming increasingly
complex. Paradigms of democratic consensus in the city planning
process are challenged by a plurality of voices and competing interests, making
it hard to achieve even a simple majority.
Planning and responsible growth are further made difficult because cities
are fractured into neighborhoods and enclaves often distinguished by economic
class. The ethnic neighborhoods of
old, characterized by their one respective dominant culture, are now not so
easily classified, as new waves of refugees and immigrants arrive from places
that have only recently been established as nations. If
a single ethnic identity ever was a valid way to classify a neighborhood, it is no
longer. The American urban landscape is characterized by a multi-culturalism
that debunks the myth of the melting pot.
Some urban areas have been plagued by desertion.
Many are in the process of some form of renewal or reconstruction.
The global population is expanding, and cities are faced with new
dilemmas. As a mechanism of coping with growth, suburban sprawl continues, and
decrepit urban cores become gentrified and revitalized.
In this “urban renaissance,” affordable housing is more difficult to
find as prices reach ever upwards. When
space is available at a fair price, it is purchased quickly and redeveloped to
maximize profit. As a result, the
somewhat intangible character or “feel” of neighborhoods has changed. For many people, what makes a certain neighborhood an
attractive place to live is hard to quantify.
In urban places, people want access to important services like schools,
hospitals, parks and community centers, but are also intolerant of what they
consider excessive growth, or of services that may be detrimental to the
neighborhood. Neighborhood
opposition to a homeless shelter or an expanding hospital is known as NIMBYism,
the “not in my backyard” attitude. Of
course, people freely admit that society needs the services of non-profit
organizations, but accepting such places in one’s own neighborhood is another
story.
In response to the needs of an aging population, the health care sector
has grown, and as the children of the boomers have reached college age,
universities have expanded. In this
era of information it is clear that access to a quality education is a prominent
American value. Schools and health
care alike are listed at the top of the “quality of life” indexes.
As societies’ needs (and wants) for these services have grown,
residential housing has occasionally been replaced or converted to suit the
needs of growing institutions. Therein lies the difficulty: city government is faced with
finding solutions to both the housing crunch and accommodating the growth of the
service sector. As non-profits have expanded “institutional creep” has become an issue for many growing cities and neighborhoods throughout the country. Topeka, Kansas has established a policy of public meetings regarding the issue. The University of Pittsburgh implemented a growth policy that specifically addresses neighborhood concerns. Universities in particular have had a tough time with planning their expansions, from Virginia to California, Wisconsin to New Mexico, and Illinois to Denver (Gregory, 1994). Hospitals, when they are expanding in residential districts, are often faced with opposition from the neighborhood. Many hospitals are in use 24-hours a day and they have a large demand for parking. Nevertheless, in each instance, the problems are specific to the institution and neighborhood, reflecting the inadvisability of a one-size-fits-all approach. Now Portland, Maine has been troubled by growth from many institutions,
including Mercy Hospital, the Roman Catholic Diocese, the YMCA, 75 State
St., Maine Medical Center, the University of Southern Maine, and Waynflete
School. The problem of
service-sector expansion is complex: by
removing or converting residential housing, the institutions are simultaneously
decreasing property tax revenue for the city and, some argue, worsening the
housing shortage; in addition, institutions may be changing the character of
their respective neighborhoods. Neighbors
take issue with lighting, noise, traffic, architecture, and lost housing, just
to name a few. Institutions are
sometimes required to prepare a long-term “Master Plan,” but the plan is not
always strictly observed. The neighborhood residents living near these institutions are fearful of
what they perceive as unchecked growth or undue change without regard to
neighborhood character. Some
housing is replaced by office spaces, useful for the services they provide, but
not otherwise contributing to the social fabric of the community.
What once was a two-family unit could has become employee housing, which
may be occupied by a series of transient workers.
The “psychosocial” characteristics that make up a “good”
neighborhood are of course different in every neighborhood and inherently
subjective in nature (Fried 1986), which makes them problematic for the city to
weigh when thinking about growth plans. It
is up to the respective neighborhood to voice their opinions at the public
hearings, and they are often put in the position of reacting to, rather
than creating plans.
The
very definition of “neighborhood” itself is subject to interpretation.
Megalopolis-dwelling urbanites might suggest that Portland is simply one
large neighborhood. But there are undeniable neighborhoods within Portland, if
one talks to the residents, or reads the city-posted signs.
Geographic circumscription of these neighborhoods is difficult because
the boundaries are not always clear. A
neighborhood's dominant architecture is perhaps its' most apparent assignation,
but identity
and pride are perceptions that define neighborhoods as well. There
is the Old Port, the Arts District, the East End, Munjoy Hill, the Western Prom,
Bayside, Deering and Riverton. Even South Portland
has been given a distinctly neighborhood sounding moniker, SoPo, and though it
is a separate municipality, some Portlanders see it as just another
neighborhood. A neighborhood may be
defined by historic buildings or architecture (the Old Port), or be associated
with certain institutions (Museums and MECA in
the Arts District). The origin of discreet neighborhoods may to some extent be the result of
income segregation due to capitalism and “the domination of the avenue in
[city] planning” as Mumford
suggests (1968:60), but that model fails to take into account other important
social processes.
Political ideologies continue to shape the landscape, but so do other ideologies. Neighborhoods have historically been affiliated with local
churches, and religious ideology is just one example of the process of social values
affecting the urban landscape.
Health care and education are social values that have moved to the
forefront of American consciousness and onto the agendas of city planning
meetings in the form of construction and expansion proposals.
The aging buildings and inadequate parking facilities of the local
hospitals, churches and schools are now the subject of heated debate.
Paradoxically, these services are in high demand, and yet few
neighborhoods seem happy to allow their growth.
The city needs their services, but the institutions are increasingly
unable to persuade the local neighborhoods to allow for expansion.
City planners try to walk the line between opportunity for institutional growth, providing housing, and maintaining
neighborhood character. Residents
are in the position to sit back and watch as local institutions acquire more
buildings, or to get involved by participating in city government.
Of course, the more people involved in decision-making, the harder it is
to reach consensus. In order for
democracy to function, the city has devised an approach to the
planning process that allows for public participation, but only after
extensive workshops between city officials and institutional administration and
architects. Waynflete
School was in a unique position recently when its plans for construction of a
30,000 square foot arts center were approved.
The school has made a practice of purchasing homes and buildings in the
neighborhood, and using them for both classrooms, housing and office space.
The school occupies large portions of two city blocks and has a long history
in the West End. There are many
residents there who have opposed Waynflete’s expansion, but there are many who
support the school. What is most
interesting about the neighborhood is that it has always been of “high
status” in economic terms; however, if apartment and condominium prices are
any indication, the area’s residents represent a range of incomes.
For some of these neighborhood residents, private school is not an
option. Waynflete is expensive, and
many local families do have children who either attend the school or are alumni.
This creates a dilemma in terms of urban democracy that is probably
indicative of larger problems of economic inequity. The school’s growth has had the support of many
local residents both economically, through tuition and fund raising, and
politically: the school needs allies in the neighborhood in order to get its
proposals through city hall. While
not all of the West End neighbors are affiliated with the school, it is
significant that a number of well-heeled individuals have not opposed
Waynflete’s housing conversions and expansion
plans. Whether the
school created the perception of the West End’s “high status” or the
neighborhood’s status created the “high status” reputation of the school
is open to speculation. The school
does have an outstanding academic reputation, and provides numerous need-based
scholarship opportunities. Regardless,
it is troubling to consider that, in this circumstance, the wealthy may have an
inordinate amount of control over institutional growth and the planning process.
In their defense, the wealthy families of Waynflete pupils do pay an
inordinate amount of taxes on their residences.
They pay taxes used to support public schools even though their children
do not attend them; thus the “use of the publicly provided good [i.e.: public
school] is in effect subsidized by the rich” (2000:120).
This can enable the wealthy to “use their political influence to
maintain lower tax rates” (Heikkila, 2000:117). In theory, voters get to choose their own tax rates, but
political processes are too complex to simplify as such, given the differences
in income levels and ideology between voters and non-voters (Niggle, 1998).
Further complicating the issue, the school itself (like other non-profits) is largely tax-exempt. Every time they expand into a residence and convert it to classroom space, another property is removed from the roster of taxable homes. Some city residents feel that their tax rates are unfairly rising due to tax-exempt institutional growth. Maine depends on property taxes for a large portion of its revenue, much larger than the national average of about 30% (see below). The problem of institutional creep may be pronounced at the neighborhood level, but it is a problem for the state and city, as well. Property owners are hurt by even the smallest incremental changes; the latest increase in Portland's sewer rates is such an example. Also, the process of creep can be damaging to the city’s coffers if it goes unchecked, especially in a neighborhood where the average assessed (taxable) value of the homes is between $250 and $450 thousand. Waynflete currently owns properties with a combined assessed value of over $5 million, yet only pays taxes on two homes with a combined value of about $450 thousand. If that remaining $4.5 million in property were taxed at 10%, it would generate about $450 thousand in income for the city, which certainly wouldn’t hurt the education budget, but hardly covers the cost of publicly educating 500 children for a year.
(Source: Lenardson, 1996) On the plus side, non-profits do provide a number of valuable community services, offer employment, education, and spiritual guidance. Waynflete students are involved in community service projects in the city. The school is a public polling place and provides the neighborhood with gathering space for various functions. In addition, the school’s athletic fields are open to the public, though dogs are currently banned from their West End campus field. There is another side to the story, however, in terms of neighborhood character. Some of the neighbors complain that the campus area is too busy during the day, and deserted at night. Former homes are now classroom space. Open space is disappearing. The neighborhood immediately surrounding the school may be losing what Jane Jacobs called the "eyes on the street" so necessary for safety and a sense of community. These are concerns that are neighborhood specific and subjective, hence problematic in terms of implementing authoritative public policy and city planning.
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