![]() The work continues: Just this year, Governor Gavin Newsom signed yet another bill streamlining state ADU laws. Setbacks were rightsized, owner-occupancy mandates were dropped, and the state’s housing authority was granted the power to call out misbehaving towns. In a kind of reform whack-a-mole, seven more bills were needed to address creative new forms of exclusion. Unsurprisingly, those suburbs most committed to exclusion continued to find ways to subvert the law. Almost as soon as the new laws went into effect, ADU-permit applications skyrocketed across the state. Prompt and affordable permitting processes were in. Unworkable design standards and onerous parking mandates were out. planning, these bills set clear, statewide standards for how local governments could and could not regulate ADUs. Where previous attempts at legalization retained the deference to local control typical of U.S. That changed in 2016 with the passage of S.B. Jerusalem Demsas: The next generation of NIMBYs Local planners eagerly exploited loopholes in the state bills, setting standards that made ADU production practically infeasible. Yet at the local level, NIMBY politics prevailed. That is, until the state legalized ADUs.į or nearly four decades beginning in 1982, across five separate bills, state policymakers in Sacramento nudged local governments to adopt workable ordinances to allow backyard and basement apartments of their own accord. Worse yet, in numerous California suburbs and smaller towns-including many in the heart of Silicon Valley-apartments were completely prohibited. Until recently, apartments were technically illegal to build in 75 to 94 percent of residential areas in cities such as Los Angeles and San Jose. By one estimate, the state faces a shortfall of nearly 1 million units. Such prohibitions play no small role in the California housing crisis. Ambler in 1926-a decision that infamously derided apartments as “mere parasites”-single-family zoning districts spread nationwide, producing the homogeneous and segregated suburban landscape we have today. Following the Supreme Court’s seal of approval in Euclid v. Indeed, the first single-family zoning district in the United States was adopted in Berkeley in 1916, specifically and explicitly to segregate the suburb. Like most states, California went all in on zoning in the 20th century, prohibiting the construction of apartments-including ADUs-in most residential neighborhoods. Homeowners could collect rent that could in turn be used to pay down a mortgage, while renters gained access to shelter in a neighborhood that they might otherwise not have been able to afford. These extra little homes made homeownership more attainable and cities more accessible to people of little means. (Historic-preservation rules would make it tricky to subdivide that same mansion today.) My grandmother grew up in a unit carved out of the second floor of an aging mansion in Old Louisville. On sleepy inner suburban alleys across the Midwest, small apartments still regularly sit atop garages. Take a walk around your local pre-zoning residential neighborhood, and you’ll see what I mean: In places such as Brooklyn, many brownstones were built with a basement accessory unit that could be rented out. This hyperlocal building boom might just spell the end of the American suburb as we know it-in the best possible way.ĭ espite their reputation as a novel solution to the nationwide housing shortage, ADUs were common before the rise of zoning. As more states legalize them in response to the ever-deepening housing crisis, ADUs could soon be coming to a backyard near you. It’s a startling figure, but it’s only the beginning. Something like 60,000 ADUs have been permitted since 2016, the year they were legalized. Variously known as granny flats, mother-in-law units, or casitas, ADUs are small, additional rental units that share a lot with another structure-typically a single-family home.Īnnie Lowrey: Four years among the NIMBYsĪDUs can now be found in backyards across the Golden State, providing homeowners with a new source of income and renters with new housing options. The abbreviation needs no explanation in California, where accessory dwelling units have graduated from wonky planning jargon to popular parlance. Yet over the past couple of years, a more hopeful sign has joined the mix: “Free ADU Consultation.” Most advertise services catering to the darker side of life: “Cheap Divorce!” “Fix Your Credit!” “Liquidation Sale!” Even the now-ubiquitous “Sell Your House Fast” calls to mind desperate families collapsing under the weight of a mortgage. P ull up to any intersection in Los Angeles, and you will see a column of illegally posted signs forming a kind of capitalist totem pole. ![]()
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