For the past six months, David Bragdon and Rod Park have
been pushing what they billed as a grand armistice to end
Metro's long-running land wars. Those are the battles in
which everyone feuds--and sues--over whether, when and where
to expand the boundary that limits urban-style development.
Bragdon and Park, who sit on the regional Metro Council,
thought they might have a winner. They proposed, in essence,
trading a large chunk of Washington County land for development
now in exchange for stronger protection of farmland in
the future.
Last week, though, their efforts disintegrated into a
big pile of nothing. So why are they claiming victory?
Because, they say, they've finally got the state's attention.
But critics of the proposal--the councilors' erstwhile
allies--say the gambit could fuel the simmering backlash
against Oregon's landmark land-use laws. "We believe this
is unnecessary, bad policy," Robert Liberty, head of 1000
Friends of Oregon, said shortly before the deal fell apart.
"We are very surprised that this is being proposed by
the councilors that are proposing it."
Under state law, every five years Metro must redraw the
line around greater Portland beyond which no developer
may pass. The resulting urban growth boundary must include
enough land to accommodate 20 years of growth.
It sounds like a great idea: Focus development, prevent
sprawl and protect farmland. But the regulations and laws
are so complex (and, some say, contradictory) that Metro
finds it difficult to do anything without getting sued.
That happened in January, when 1000 Friends mopped the
floor with Metro in a court clash over the previous UGB.
Bragdon and Park argue that the regulations that limit
the type of land available for expansion, as well as the
maximum 20-year-land supply, mean that every five years
Metro can only dole out chunks, slices and bits of land.
The result is exactly the opposite of what Oregon's land-use
laws are supposed to achieve. Instead of cohesive new
neighborhoods that reduce congestion and smog, planners
and developers end up pushing strip malls and subdivisions.
"Every five years you're bringing in another sliver,"
says Bragdon, "and all you're getting is another five
years of schlock."
So six months ago, Park, a Gresham nursery owner, suggested
breaking the cycle. Hillsboro was looking for a 1,000-acre
expansion to accommodate the new jobs coming there. He
proposed giving it to them, as well as more growth elsewhere
than the normal 20-year land supply called for. In exchange,
farmers and anti-sprawl groups would get a more permanent
UGB line, dubbed "the wall," to protect Washington County
farm land from future encroachment.
But last week, after Washington County refused to sign
on to "the wall," and the city of Portland and numerous
other jurisdictions panned the greater-than-20-year UGB,
Park announced that the talks were off. Having tried and
failed to reach a solution, Metro renewed its appeal to
the state Land Conservation and Development Commission,
asking for clear guidance on a court-proof way to reach
the goals laid out by the state. The state agency agreed
to take on the task.
Now officials in Hillsboro and other cities, who had
been critical of Metro, are hopeful the rules may get
cleaned up. Park calls that progress: "If six months ago
I were to have told you that Hillsboro wasn't going to
get any land and they were going to be thanking
Metro, you would have told me I was nuts."
But whereas the gambit has won Metro new friends, it's
rubbed old allies the wrong way--specifically 1000 Friends,
a group dedicated to protecting farmland. Lobbyist Mary
Kyle McCurdy worries that the argument made for Hillsboro
expansion--that every small region should have a balance
between housing and jobs--can easily be used to justify
just about any loosening of the UGB. She says Bragdon
and Park may have opened up a "Pandora's box," giving
home builders and conservative lawmakers new fodder to
call for overhauling Oregon's land-use laws.
"They raised an issue that no one has raised before,"
she says. "Now that that has been raised, it might happen.
No matter how unique the Metro council thinks its needs
are, that doesn't matter once you get to Salem."
Park, who notes that he had the full support of the state
Farm Bureau and other farming groups, maintains the disagreement
with 1000 Friends is over style, not substance. "I'm a
farmer," he says. "I'm trying to protect the UGB, trying
to make it work. It's not like Bragdon and I are out there
doing anything wild on our own."
