The shabbiness tax

A few weeks ago I attended the first night of the Great Outdoors Comedy Festival (a great emerging local institution) with my wife and some friends, where we saw Robby Hoffman, Jordan Jensen, Pete Davidson, and Aziz Ansari perform. Their styles and performances were quite varied, but they all shared a throughline: each comedian at one point talked about how shitty Edmonton is.

It was pretty much all funny and delivered in a good-natured way. I was simply struck by a couple of things: (1) that when a bunch of performers from different places come here to perform, the most salient thing about Edmonton they can all agree on is how shitty it is, and (2) it was funny, and everyone laughed, because we all accepted it as to some extent true.

View from which I watched our fair city ruthlessly mocked

I was thinking about this over the following weeks as hospitality businesses downtown were closing seemingly by the hour, the state of downtown surely being a major contributor to Edmonton’s negative image. My hope is that this wave of closures motivates some action, because I personally think it’s a huge problem that (1) the overwhelming opinion held by people who know anything about Edmonton (including many people who live here) is so negative, and (2) this opinion is not without some basis in reality. 

A shabby city is like a regressive tax paid every day by the people who don’t have the means to avoid it. If you have resources, you can build a nice house with a nice yard in a nice neighbourhood (behaviour I’d encourage, please contact me if you’re interested in doing this), maybe work from home, and escape to Palm Springs or Arizona in February. If you don’t, you just kind of deal directly with our shared public realm in whatever state it happens to be in. 

The negative external and self-perception that flows from this shabbiness perpetuates it. It leads us to see our circumstances like the weather, inherent and immutable, the product of forces outside of our control (the province, the climate, the culture, the economy, etc.), and therefore not worth doing anything about. Our unpretentious and pragmatic culture, which I largely admire, may be another contributor to the bizarre complacency on these issues, insofar as it tends to view the idea of improving the aesthetic quality of the city as frivolous or wasteful. 

I think both ideas are flatly wrong. Making downtown (and the city as a whole) more pleasant and beautiful is something that is within our control and worth doing.

What to do (high-level)

Focus. We’ve collectively invested a lot of money downtown, but the area we call “downtown” is huge and the investments have been scattershot. An urban park here, an entertainment district there, a Quarters here, a streetscape renewal there, all in some ways representative of progress but as of yet not amounting to a single thriving urban district or neighbourhood. 

Urban development is highly non-linear and doesn’t reward this approach. A single great cluster of blocks is infinitely better than 10 or 20 middling ones. It’s like the difference between a bunch of small, independent sparks smoldering alone and a single, self-sustaining fire. I’d suggest drawing a box bounded by 106 Street to the west, 100 Street to the east, 104 Ave to the north and Jasper Ave to the south and ruthlessly focusing resources, effort, and attention within it until this relatively small area, at least, is thriving. 

Many of the other ideas that I’m proposing here and others have proposed elsewhere become much more manageable and achievable if envisioned (at least initially) for this small area versus the entirety of “downtown”.

Proposed area of focus downtown

Perception and reality. Urban development is on some level a massive coordination problem. Successful development relies on a large number of people within (and without) a city having a shared understanding of what parts of the city are to be used for which purposes. This shared understanding informs, for example, decisions about where people might patronize certain types of business, or, on the other hand, invest money to serve a certain kind of customer.  

Given this, I think that when considering various urban development measures, we need to be extremely mindful of the fact that the shift in perception they create is at least as important as their effect on physical reality. Particularly with regard to downtown, measures are only useful insofar as they help to sustainably shift the shared understanding of downtown away from its current state and toward it being a vital, thriving, safe, and beautiful part of the city that people want to be in. 

O-day’min Park is one example of this. It has clearly served a signalling function that has led to a significant amount of private sector development on its perimeter. The current on-the-ground reality immediately surrounding the park remains mostly desolate, but it’s shifting, because the City’s investment in and development of the park sent a message about where that particular part of the city was headed that allowed private actors to coordinate.

O-day’min Park Pavilion. Image courtesy of gh3

Another is the much-discussed idea of free parking. I think the idea that it’s difficult to find parking downtown is absurd—I wonder honestly if there is a city bigger than a million people anywhere in the world that has more parking spaces available downtown than Edmonton, Alberta. So while in a practical sense I don’t think free parking has a lot of merit, in a narrative sense I think it has a lot of potential. For minimal expense, it would send a clear message that the City is serious about getting people downtown, and remove a perceived obstacle for a lot of people. (It would also help to remedy the terrible decision to remove all of the ePark machines, thus restoring the ability of people who don’t have the desire, means, or ability to operate a cellphone to park their cars). 

What to do (obvious)

Construction. This issue has been discussed extensively, and I don’t have a lot to add. Construction is good—in the long run, the Valley Line expansion, streetscape improvements, O-day’min park, MacEwan expansion, etc. are going to benefit downtown and the city as a whole—but, as many have observed, these projects need to be planned in a way that allows for the sustained prosperity of the businesses in their surroundings, with businesses possibly supported during construction (as has been the practice in Montreal since 2018).

Worth adding is that even after years of discussion and debate the City still seems to have failed to figure out a workable system for OSCAM permits. Allowing contractors to close irrationally large stretches of road for very long periods of time, sometimes seemingly at random, surely has not helped the issue of downtown access. 

LRT Construction. Sovid Media.

Disorder. Similar to the above, this is an extremely well-discussed issue, and one far outside the realm of my expertise, but it bears mentioning due to its critical importance. 

I’ll limit my contribution to the observation that we need to consider the timescales at play. I’m a firm believer that the most important part of the solution to the disorder downtown is building the physical and social infrastructure necessary to house and support the homeless population. While Edmonton has made exemplary progress in this regard, which is something we should be proud of and should strive to continue, this is the work of a generation. 

The problem is that this generational answer seems to have become a way of declining to give a present-tense one. If the only answer we have will take 20 years to implement, it means that in the meantime we do nothing. This inaction has costs, which again fall mainly on the people without the means to avoid them—the person taking transit to an early shift, the student who can’t afford to drive, the shop owner with no other location. 

My sense is that a shorter-term solution would involve doing a better job of enforcing laws regarding vandalism, public drug consumption, etc., while ensuring that we’re policing behaviour, not people. No small task, but one possibly made easier by focusing these efforts, at least initially, in a smaller area.    

What to do (incentives)

Subsidy. While there has been a lot of development in Edmonton over the last few years, little of it has found its way downtown. The very simple reason for this is of course that it is much more profitable to develop housing, commercial space, etc. or open retail or hospitality businesses on the fringes of the city. When downtown eventually reaches a critical mass, and is perceived as a desirable place to live, eat, go out, etc., investing in these things downtown will become profitable and economically self-sustaining. In the meantime, we need to use subsidy to close the gap. We already do this in various forms, but I’d propose focusing our subsidy in a few specific areas:

  1. Storefront rent subsidies. The businesses that occupy the storefronts create a reason for people to come downtown and the activity that enhances safety. Perhaps above all, they are also perceptually very important—a shorthand metric by which someone passing through downtown (or any neighbourhood) gauges its vitality, safety, and desirability. Via the Storefront Improvement Grants, we currently subsidize the appearance of storefronts in various parts of the city; we just don’t subsidize whether anyone is in them. The devil is very much in the details, but examples like Vacant to Vibrant in San Francisco, the Danforth East Pop-Up Project in Toronto, or Seattle Restored suggest that when properly designed and limited in scale, programs like this can be successful, and meaningfully improve storefronts without simply subsidizing landlords. 

  2. Residential unit construction subsidies. Another point of near-universal agreement is that we need more residential units downtown. The most direct way to achieve this initially would be a per-unit subsidy. Although I’m not an expert on this, I’m not convinced that we should limit unit subsidies to office-to-residential conversions (as some in the development industry are asking for). My sense would be to set a subsidy at a sufficiently high level to create development, limit it to a target priority area like the one described above, and let the market sort out whether conversions make sense or not. We currently do have a residential unit subsidy program in the form of the Attainable Housing Incentive Program, but it’s limited to housing meeting affordability criteria, and the subsidy is based on tax uplift vs. just a straight per-unit subsidy. 

  3. As I advocated in my post on the BMO site, I’d also be in favour of the city acquiring strategic pieces of land then selling them to developers for preferential rates in exchange for setting some of the parameters for their development.

Danforth East storefronts

Tax Reform. Our current regime assesses property taxes on the basis of the overall value of a property—that is, the sum of the value of a piece of land and the improvements (e.g. buildings) that have been made to it. The increased taxes that would result from making improvements create a clear disincentive to do so. Many urbanists have therefore long been advocates of land value taxation, which levies tax on the basis of only the underlying land value. In such a regime, the owner of a vacant lot would pay more or less the same amount of taxes as the owner of a tower sitting on an equally-sized lot adjacent to it. The tax burden would shift toward vacant land, thus creating an incentive to develop it. 

There are several barriers to implementing such a regime in Edmonton. The Municipal Government Act is one of them, although a Depreciation-Assisted Land Value Tax (in which a pure land-value-tax is approximated by simply exempting the improvement value of new construction for the first half of its projected life) could be a workaround. Another is scale. Upending the property tax regime of an entire city would obviously be quite fraught, but it’s easier to imagine implementing it on the scale of a 6 by 3 block rectangle downtown. 

Also worth investigating is whether or not property taxes on commercial properties are levied on an as-occupied or occupied-to-market basis, the former producing a marginal incentive for vacancy. Both of these ideas address the same basic problem: holding under-utilized land downtown is too cheap. 

Conclusion

While some of what I’ve suggested here could take effect on a relatively short timescale, much of it is difficult and will take a long time to implement. The key is to start, ideally on several initiatives in parallel, with the hope that successes on shorter-term initiatives can create momentum, support, and buy-in for the actions that will take longer to unfold. Some of it won’t work, but that’s the cost of trying anything. And, above all, focus. Pick the zone I’m suggesting, or a different one, even a block, and make that great. Further success will flow from there. 

The persistence of downtown’s struggles suggests that the problem is difficult and structural, but that shouldn’t dissuade us from action. An improved downtown benefits all of us, particularly those least able to insulate themselves from its current problems. I invite you to dream with me of a beautiful future when American comedians visiting us open their shows with a joke about our accent or driving.

Designing the conditions for development

I take the Valley Line LRT downtown with some regularity and almost every time the train passes the vacant lot at the corner of 101 St and 102 Ave, I sigh wistfully. This site was formerly occupied by a granite-clad, SOM-designed main branch of the Bank of Montreal (BMO), which was vacated by the bank in 2017 and sold to a developer who promptly demolished it. While the demolition of a well-designed and well-constructed building scarcely 35 years old prompted some comment from a few lonely souls, their protests were quieted, as they always are, by the promises of things to come.

Bank of Montreal building in Edmonton, Alberta prior to demolition.

Bank of Montreal building prior to demolition.

As the years passed, the more cynical among us were hardly surprised to discover that in place of the glittering, cosmopolitan mixed-use highrise we were promised, we’ve had a fenced-off, rubble-strewn void. In a bid to officially end this sad chapter in the life of one of the city’s most prominent intersections, the developer responsible for the demolition listed the site for sale in November

While listening to last week’s episode of Speaking Municipally, I learned of a potential buyer with a new proposal for the site. At the January 20 meeting of the Edmonton Design Committee, Westrich Pacific presented a proposal to convert the site into a parking lot that includes planting, public art, and a cafe. This scheme was presented as an interim measure, to remain in place until market conditions allow for the development of a high-rise. 

While the proposal is well-intentioned and would unquestionably represent an improvement relative to what’s currently on the site, I worry that it’s simply a more conscientious version of the story told by the previous developer (and so many before them): accept this suboptimal thing now, because it will lead to better things at some point in the future. 

There is currently a misalignment in Edmonton between the development outcomes the market is producing and those desired by the city at large. The crux of the problem is that it is, at the moment, difficult to profitably develop buildings downtown. The solution proposed by Westrich is to wait (possibly a very long time, if history is any guide) until this is different. 

Instead of waiting, we might ask a different question: how could we change the conditions such that building here becomes viable now?

Various cities have used variations of the model below:

1. The City (often via an arm’s-length development corporation) acquires strategic land

2. The City creates a development brief outlining objectives it wishes to see achieved. For the BMO site, this might involve guidelines around scale, the inclusion of a residential component (possibly including some amount of affordable housing), expectations around architectural quality, etc. 

3. Proposals are solicited from developer teams, including a land price and a detailed plan demonstrating how the brief will be satisfied. 

4. The preferred proponent is awarded the site subject to a development agreement, often including performance conditions (such as timelines for construction, minimum investment thresholds, or a reversion clause if the project does not proceed).

The key idea here is not designing the building itself, but designing the conditions under which a building that meets the City’s goals can profitably be developed. 

Woodward’s Development in Vancouver (left) and Via Verde development in New York (right), both developed using a scheme similar to the one described above.

Woodward’s Development in Vancouver (left) and Via Verde development in New York (right), both developed using a scheme similar to the one described above.

The parameters included in the development brief will (almost by definition) pull the development toward the City’s goals and away from pure market viability. For this reason, the price for which the site is awarded to the winning developer may indeed be below the price paid by the City. In other words, the development is subsidized, which is how the goals of the City and the outcome provided by the market are brought into alignment. 

Some would no doubt object to such a subsidy, but I’d argue that subsidy is already a structural feature of urban development. Much ink has been spilled about the money lavished on greenfield suburban development in the form of arterial road expansions, stormwater infrastructure, and long-term maintenance liabilities that are quietly absorbed into the City’s general tax base. Perhaps less widely known outside of our industry is the role of government-subsidized financing in aiding the proliferation of multi-family infill development (e.g. 8-plexes). Further examples abound. The question is not whether to subsidize—it’s what outcomes to subsidize. I believe this is better viewed as a regrettable cost of doing business than as a barrier to action. 

Some may point also to the current state of the City’s finances, but it’s not as if the City isn’t already spending money on “downtown revitalization” writ large (and considering spending more). In place of a per-door subsidy for office-to-residential conversions, for example, I’d personally much rather see resources strategically concentrated in important, high-priority locations than sprinkled diffusely over the vast area that comprises our downtown. A single, uncompromisingly good building in the right place does more for downtown than a dozen half-measures spread thin. 

I have no idea regarding the current status of Westrich’s offer on the site; by the time I publish this, the sale may well be a fait accompli. In any event, I think we need to pause to consider these sorts of stop-gap proposals, which seem to have become more prevalent in recent years. While they feel progressive, I worry that they structurally reward delay, by removing urgency and making the deplorable states of some of these sites easier to tolerate or ignore. 

We don’t need more open space downtown. We need more buildings.

An architecture for Edmonton

I’ve become an avid follower of Australian residential architecture. Although there is undoubtedly some fine residential work happening in Canada (particularly in Quebec), as a whole the scale and quality of what is happening in Australia is so vastly beyond what’s happening in North America it boggles the mind. I’m a particular fan of the residential architecture being produced in Queensland (namely Brisbane) which is, in my opinion, made exceptional by its clear evocation of place. 

Queenslander. Image courtesy of Vokes and Peters

Aided by a temperate climate, a distinctive local building tradition (as exemplified by the Queenslander), and a stretch of influential professors at the University of Queensland, Brisbane has a number of practices producing work that to my northwestern prairies eye appears to be exceptionally grounded in its context. I see in these projects transitions between indoor and outdoor attenuated to an almost ludicrous extent, finely-crafted details inspired by a tradition of thoughtful but unpretentious carpentry, and the practical forms and materials of the Queenslander deployed in novel and contemporary ways. These, and a number of other similar qualities, give the work of these practices a loose feeling of unity that is, to my eye, particular. 

Red Hill House and Studio, Zuzana and Nicholas

Since discovering this work I’ve frequently tried to incorporate some of its ideas into our projects. When I’ve done so in an overly literal way, this impulse has quickly collided with reality (Edmonton is a city in which reality is particularly pushy and insistent). A 20 foot long sliding glass wall connecting directly to the backyard will be spectacular, but only for three months a year (and will probably need a bug screen). Permeable pavers look amazing, but probably aren’t going to react well to snow clearance. Lean and minimal entries are space efficient, but where do people put their parkas and snowy boots? Etc. etc. 

In other words, you can’t just take an architecture of Australia and copy/paste it into Edmonton. This prompts a question that applies more broadly in this peculiar city of ours, in which we copy/paste a lot of things from elsewhere: what does an architecture for Edmonton look like? What would our houses look like if we reduced the extent to which we uncritically imported ideas from elsewhere, and began to embrace the peculiarities of working here? Would our houses begin to take on qualities that, while they deviated from conventional norms in some ways, carried a distinctiveness and self-possession? If we lack the natural gifts that have allowed a city like Brisbane to become the Brad Pitt of residential architecture, could embracing our peculiarities give us the character and distinctiveness that might allow us to become the Willem Dafoe? 

On an aesthetic level, exploring that question is the central motivation of our practice. Architecture is slow, so we’re of course very early along in our exploration, but here are some of our initial ideas:

Thickness

Modern architecture tends to want to make things thin – roof edges, mullions, joints, etc. This is hard and expensive to do in a place like Edmonton where we need insulation. What would it look like if we go the other way – can we use thickness in a beautiful way, to create power, presence, and solidity? 

Some nice thickness I spotted in Tuscon

Basements

In Edmonton, you need to dig down about 5 feet to get below the frostline to put down your footings. This is part of the reason basements are so prevalent here vs other parts of the world – if you’ve got to excavate that far and build foundation walls that tall, why not go 2-3 feet farther and get an extra storey? 

When I was young, basements were frequently unfinished or minimally finished, and in either scenario they were the domain of kids, projects, and work–all very useful in a place where it’s not very fun to go outside for half the year. When I think back to my childhood, so many of my fondest memories are set within basements – playing knee hockey, video games, or Ukrainian pool, trying to be quiet at the end of the night so our parents who were upstairs visiting didn’t hear us and be reminded it was time to go home. We’re interested in finding ways to preserve the wonderful flexibility and informality of basements while also mitigating some of their less desirable aspects (namely lack of views / light). 

Pragmatism

I’d speculate that the difficulty of scratching out a living on the Canadian prairies in the pre-industrial era led to theories about the way things ought to be frequently being set aside in favour of more immediate concerns (e.g. figuring out the food before winter), and that this is the genesis of the pragmatism which I perceive to persist to this day in our corner of the world. This is a place that, I think, tends to favour the real and the practical over the abstract. This of course runs counter to some of the core tenets of modernism as expressed in art and architecture, but it’s a quality we strive to embrace in our architecture and detailing – directness, practicality, and solidity.

Aesthetically pleasing pragmatism on display in the Georgia O’Keefe studio. Photo by Justin Chung.

Semi-outdoor spaces

So much of modern architecture emphasizes the connection between indoor and out. Particularly as manufacturing technology has improved, this is done via increasingly large sliding or folding windows that connect interior spaces to adjacent exterior spaces that are themselves finished to increasingly interior-like conditions. Our climate makes this type of indoor-outdoor connection less practical on a number of levels, but we’re exploring “semi-outdoor” spaces as a means to provide some of this feeling in a way that works better on an energy/envelope level and makes these spaces useful for more of the year. These spaces mitigate the challenging aspects of our climate with roofs, walls, sources of heat, insect screens, etc., but still provide outdoor connection, and do so in a way that is integrated with the underlying architecture of the house. 

Form 

What is the archetypal Edmonton house? What forms carry meaning? We lack Brisbane’s Queenslander, Montreal’s stacked triplexes or Atlantic Canada’s saltboxes. Most of our older houses are either rather unremarkable craftsman-esque affairs that are essentially lower-quality imitations of their more westerly progenitors or mass-produced post-war CMHC standard plan boxes. 

My sense is that the 60s to 80s were something of a golden age in Edmonton – a period of sustained economic growth and optimism that saw the city increase dramatically in size, prominence, and confidence (very different, in spite of the current rapid growth, to the scorned and self-loathing period it currently finds itself in). The houses from this period seem to reflect this optimism. I think particularly of the sloped roof bungalows and split levels that in the evening emanate warm light from which you can practically feel the many Saturday nights spent within playing cards or watching hockey. 

A city as diverse and historically young as ours is never going to have a singular iconic form, but I do think that houses like this are prevalent enough that their form does, for many, carry some meaning that new projects have the potential to access.

Open space

Much has been made of Edmonton’s lack of density. (In the wake of the zoning bylaw renewal this is a bit of a live issue, so I tread lightly here…) I agree that increasing the density in our residential neighbourhoods would have a number of benefits, but I also do think that we should acknowledge the benefits of our present condition. It is nice to have a back yard big enough to host a barbeque, kick a soccer ball around, plant a garden, etc. (Vokes and Peters, a Brisbane practice, have written elegantly about this). In our work, even when we are increasing the built density, we try to be mindful of the positive qualities of the open space we’re replacing and embrace the possibilities that it offers. 

Light wood framing

I think there is a general disdain among architects for light wood framing (which is, by far, the dominant mode of construction for residential construction in Canada and the US). Relative to more properly architectural alternatives like concrete, steel, masonry, or mass timber, it tends to be seen as impermanent and lacking in material character. While this is to some extent true, it is also economical, flexible, fast, and low carbon. We’re interested in finding ways to express the potentiality of light wood framing, by exploiting things like the ability of truss manufacturers to fabricate trusses with complex geometry with relatively little additional cost.

This is a partial and provisional list of ideas that will continue to change and evolve alongside our practice, but it for now represents some of the ways we’re thinking about what an architecture more particular to this place might look like.