“Dad, how did it get so bad? And why don’t the politicians do something about it?” My son and I had just finished our latest bike ride around False Creek, in the late autumn just before the 2022 Vancouver civic election. We were enjoying a beer at Bridges, facing Vancouver House, our favourite elongated exclamation point tower for the elite (I like alliteration). But that’s not what we were talking about.
He was referring to the eviction notice he’d just received. His three-storey walk-up, 14-unit building of 1960s vintage, together with its similar sized neighbour, were to be demolished in favour of an 18-storey residential building with more than 200 suites total. Located on a bike route he loves, it had the apparent misfortune to be located too close to one of the future SkyTrain stops. His landlord and the neighbour had succumbed to a buckets-of-cash offer from a well-connected local developer. Although previous rezoning policy suggested a new building in this location (not an arterial but walking distance to neighbourhood shopping) should be no more than 12 storeys, city staff had used the unlimited discretion they were granted under the Policy Enquiry Process: Approach and Criteria report approved by City Council in the summer of 2021 to agree with the developer’s request to increase the building height and unit count, both by 50%. In return, the city was to receive an additional 18 social housing units and 40 market rental apartments, with those rents and all others being paid to the developer. I pointed these numbers out to my son.
“No help, Dad,” he responded angrily, then interrupted himself. “Sorry, not your fault. I know we talked about this a year ago and you were opposed to city staff getting more control over zoning. But I love my apartment. And you know I’ve developed a great patio and garden that the entire neighbourhood enjoys. It’s visible from the street and when the weather’s nice I frequently come home to find friends and acquaintances sitting out on my patio—sometimes they even bring beer. And my neighbours in the building love it—we’ve started a series of planters for food and ornamentals all around the building. They’re just starting to take off!” he added with a sad look, the kind reserved for bad things outside of his control.
“Besides,” he continued, “I’ve checked out the projected rents for the new places. Even the so-called “social housing” apartments are more than I pay for my little studio.” (He loves his studio but compact and old it is).
“Even worse,” he carried on, “is the fact that although I’m supposedly guaranteed an apartment in the replacement building, that will be at least 18 months from when they start construction, probably two years in all. Am I really expected to find another place for two years, then give it up to come back to a smaller, more expensive suite in a building that’s way too big for me to get to know anybody—and the chances of me getting something ground-oriented like I have now are slim to none!”
I paused before replying, to let him calm a bit. We each sipped our beer to relax, staring at the 20% market rental Vancouver House he and his cohort could never afford to rent a studio in.
“I’m afraid this is what’s been sold to the public as a way to create so-called affordable housing in Vancouver—build ten times as much, tell the evicted tenants they can rent something smaller and more expensive in a couple years. And,” I did not want to tell him this but the irony was too much to miss, “in order to promote use of transit and bikes, the city is allowing the developer to save costs by providing 1/10th the parking they would ordinarily provide. But there’ll be a really big bike storage room!”
He looked at me like this must be a joke. He is an avid cyclist, only uses his old van to get away to places further away where he can bike. I shrugged, turning my empty hands up in defeat. “But,” he responded, “when you stop by for a visit on your way to or from your errands, you can barely find parking now, as it is. So instead of dropping in, you are to bike or catch the bus—no other options?”
“Basically, that’s it,” I answered. “There will be no parking for visitors left on the street. Perhaps if 90% of the new residents of the new tower, which will shade the bike route for a half block most of the day,” I had to add, “only ever use bikes, transit or their feet, that should work out just fine. I wish there were precedents to show 90% abandonment of cars by residents and visitors to any new, under-parked building works, but there aren’t any.”
“So is there anything I and my neighbours can do at this point?” he asked with more than a little despair in his voice. “Has anything like this ever happened before in Vancouver? And was it stopped?”
“Well, aside from voting out the City Council members who are in favour of this rampant development (not all of them are), City Council does have the ability to signal a more gradual approach to redevelopment. They did on several occasions starting in 1989 in Kits and as late as 2007 in several of the “RM” zoning districts—RM stands for Residential-Multiple, just what you’ve got with your place. But that’s before the time of most current Council members and all of the senior city staff.”
“And did that work?”
“Well,” I continued, “there are parts of Kits where older apartment buildings like yours were being high-rised and condominiumized at a very fast pace. City Council decided that the neighbourhood could not lose any more of their rental housing stock in any given year—effectively they stopped redevelopment of rental into strata in specific areas. They did the same thing in Kerrisdale years later, for similar reasons. That’s why those two neighbourhoods, and others such as parts of the West End, have somewhat of a patchwork of low-rise, mid-rise and high-rise development. It’s what happens when you say enough is enough.”
“But here the developer is proposing to modestly increase the quantity of rental homes, so no net loss. I guess that’s a workaround?”
“Well,” I concluded, “City Council has quite a lot of power in these matters, except where they cede that power to city staff, as they have in this case. They can take back that power and use it in different ways.” I paused—it was my turn to frown.
“City Council can affect the rate of change in any neighbourhood, if they have the courage to do so. It might get messy, legally, but I remember when they invoked rate of change in Kerrisdale, they faced down several developers and landowners. That’s why your late grandma lived out her senior years in a modestly-priced rental apartment, and why your friend Ben lives there now. It’s not cool and trendy like Yaletown, but it’s quiet, affordable, has good transit and neighbourhood shopping.”
“And, of course,” I concluded, “you can vote out the City Councillors who have created this environment where you lose your place to live.”
He looked at me long and hard, smiled his “I know what I’m going to do but not telling you” smile, and took another sip of beer.
To be continued as long as it takes.
***
Brian Palmquist is a Vancouver-based architect, building envelope and building code consultant and LEED Accredited Professional (the first green building system). He is semi-retired, so not beholden to any client or city hall. His son lives in the apartment he describes and is just as threatened in real life as in this fictionalized future discussion. His mother-in-law did live in Kerrisdale for her senior years. My son’s friend Ben still does—for now. These conversations mix real discussion with research and observations based on a 40+ year career including the planning, design and construction of almost every type and scale of project. Brian is the author of the Amazon best seller “An Architect’s Guide to Construction.”