How I Changed My Mind About Change

Over the summer, I read an article from The New York Times called “Twilight of the NIMBY.” I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It made me reckon with my own NIMBYistic tendencies, bringing to the surface a conversation with myself that had been largely subliminal.

I wonder how many of you are having similar conversations with yourself, subliminal or otherwise.

NIMBY stands for “not in my backyard.” It refers to people not wanting stuff they don’t like being built on their street or in their neighborhood or town. It might be a power plant, an apartment building, a backyard cottage, a train station, or—in the case of the article’s focus—a row of townhouses in Mill Valley, California.

In the article, housing and economics reporter Conor Dougherty paints a complex and not unsympathetic of portrait of a former school teacher named Susan Kirsh who has spent the last 18 years organizing to keep a 20-unit townhouse development out of her affluent Marin County town. When Kirsh moved to California in the 1970s, Dougherty writes, she was part of a movement fighting suburban sprawl and promoting environmentalism. Like many of her neighbors, she questioned the idea that growth is always good. Instead of building more roads and houses—instead of focusing on wealth and productivity—what if we tried slowing down, building less, and preserving more of the natural world?

I sympathize with that point of view. A lot.

If you had asked me 10 years ago how I would feel if Swarthmore implemented changes to make it possible to build more homes here, I would have said what I’m guessing Kirsh would have said: “I don’t want to see Swarthmore more crowded and built up! We’re fine as we are.”

Now, however, I think our town of 6,400 could accommodate a few hundred more residents—ideally from a range of backgrounds with a range of jobs and income levels.

Not only could but should. I believe we have a responsibility to welcome more neighbors into our lovely borough with its leafy streets and well-tended parks and independent merchants and good public schools.

So What Changed?

When my spouse started a teaching job at Swarthmore College in 2000, we bought a home in the borough. Twenty years ago, houses here were within reach for new faculty. But the median price of a single-family home rose from $258,000 in 2000 to $437,700 in 2020 and is now higher still.* This has pushed such a purchase beyond the means of most young faculty and their families. (I’m not saying Swarthmore College faculty, whose salaries start at about $90,000, are more important than other people, just that my awareness of how different my life would be if I had arrived here 20 years later than I did was part of what opened my eyes to the big changes we’ve experienced.)

Over the last few years, I’ve said goodbye to friends and neighbors who left Swarthmore because of the rapidly rising cost of housing. Mostly they were renters who had been planning to buy a home, then discovered that skyrocketing prices made that impossible. More recently, rents too have headed rapidly upward.

At the same time, I have watched as more of the Hondas and Subarus on our streets have been replaced by BMWs and Teslas.

I have seen the population of the Historically Black Neighborhood of Swarthmore become mostly White, and I have learned how the legacy of formal and informal housing segregation is still with us in the form of the racial wealth gap. In other words, one of the reasons White people have an easier time than Blacks moving to places like Swarthmore is that for decades African Americans were largely excluded from towns like ours. A friend recently told me that his Swarthmore Hills house deed still contains a (now unenforceable) restriction against selling to a Black family.

The Swarthmore Phoenix, March 22, 1955

I have walked past tent encampments in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. Recent estimates put the number of homes the U.S. lacks upwards of five million.

I have read about the environmental costs of single-family homes on large lots and learned how more density near transit, work, and shopping can help fight climate change.

I love Swarthmore the way it is, but I believe I will love it just as much with more homes and people in it. And, if Swarthmore becomes a town where you don’t have to be rich to buy a place to live in it, I’ll love it more.

What I Don’t Want

I grew up outside Washington, D.C. Way outside. To get to our house, you drove past a small village center and kept going for miles, past horse farms and cow pastures, then turned onto a narrow dead-end road into the woods. My parents liked the trees and the quiet.

Gradually, sprawl surged toward us. New pricey developments branched off the main road. Cow pastures became the manicured grounds of gigantic mansions. The traffic got so bad my father shifted his schedule to go into work at off hours.

This demoralizing experience of development is one I think many people share, and it’s part of what makes us wish that house building could just stop.

But building homes can’t stop, because the number of households in the U.S. keeps growing. People need places to live.

The good news is that development does not have to look like sprawl. Many urban designers have spent time and effort on better ways to build. Support is growing for Daniel Parolek's "missing middle" idea of adding “gentle density” like ADUs (“accessory dwelling units” such as backyard cottages or in-law suites) or small multifamily buildings to make room for more people without changing the look and feel of a town.

Indeed, Swarthmore already has ADUs and small multifamily buildings, constructed before our zoning code was written in the 1970s. The fact that this kind of density is woven into our fabric bolsters my confidence that we can build more relatively inexpensive housing without significant disruption.

This is a single-family house in Swarthmore.

This similar house on the same block contains 5 living units.

Life Is Change

While working on this blog post, I came across an article by Addison Del Mastro about his own conversion from NIMBYism. Del Mastro writes about revisiting his hometown of Flemington, New Jersey, and thinking about how it has evolved over the years. As he learned more about its history, he saw how change had been a part of what kept the place not just alive but vibrant:

This perspective helps me step outside of the narrow point in time during which I knew this place most intimately, and to avoid mistaking my nostalgic memories for the place itself…NIMBYism can be a kind of distorted love, one that conflates a place’s present physical form with its essence, and ends up destroying both of them.

He goes on:

We owe it to ourselves and to the future to keep building where we live, to keep iterating, to see people as a resource, and to see growth not like cancer but like childbirth: something painful and beautiful at the same time, something that takes away some things while opening up many more.

Whether NIMBYism is in decline or not (and I suspect it’s not), Swarthmore is never going back to the place it was when I moved here in 2000. I wouldn’t want it to.

But as we move into a future that will necessarily be different from now, I hope we make room for people besides just the very affluent to share it with.

*The 2000 and 2020 figures come from the U.S. Census. According to Zillow, Swarthmore home values rose 8.5% between May 2021 and June 2022.

Index of all blog posts

Tags: Swarthmore, affordability, missing middle, NIMBY, ADUs

Categories: Swarthmore, affordability, race