David A. Smith Author Archives

COVID-19 is in headlong retreat: infections down 70 percent since January, seven-day average hospitalizations and deaths down 66 percent and 77 percent. In less than six months, Covid-19 vaccines in America will have gone from impossibility through scarcity to surplus, with the administration announcing that “all willing American adults will be able to receive a COVID-19 vaccine by the end of May.”

The vaccines are arriving in the millions, and they work. When do we get back to normal?

Over a long career of observing developers at close range, I’ve evolved an understanding of how they think and act, and, as a result, find myself with an unexpected sympathy for them. Though the algorithmic model that follows may seem reductive, time and again it’s been critical to making good deals happen and succeed. Consider it the wisdom of experience.

In November, 1478, Pope Sixtus IV by fiat granted Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain authority to name inquisitors plenipotentiary to protect the one true faith from unbelievers. In October, 2000, multiply re-elected Boston mayor Thomas Menino by fiat created for the Boston Redevelopment Authority the Impact Advisory Group process to protect communities from ‘large-scale’ developers. The mayor’s action, like those of many other big-city mayors across the country, reflected a pattern of increasing NIMBY empowerment now triumphant in far too many American cities: an elaborate public spectacle casting a veneer of altruistic morality over a power play culminating in an autocratic decision.

When it comes to dealing with the looming or present expiration of judicial eviction moratoria, our industry should do what many of us have done whenever the economic times are out of joint: don’t litigate the past, negotiate the future.

When disruption threatens health and prosperity, whom does duty call, and to what action?

If the pandemic itself doesn’t decide the upcoming election, the voters’ judgment of their elected officials’ policy responses to its consequences will. And voters’ pandemic experiences are wildly diverse based on many things – most especially on their housing, what it is and where it is.

For 52 years, from the suburban house I grew up in, through four dorm rooms, a rent-controlled apartment, a condo and then two houses, there has sat on my bookshelves a thick densely printed small-print paperback. A few days ago, I pulled it down and read. Its sobering messages, now a half-century old, have recently taken on new resonance.

Once it starts, a thunderstorm is unstoppable: the sunny seeming equilibrium of a moment before becomes a torrent whose cooling reinforces itself, reversing in a few minutes what took hours to build up.

Because infrastructure always reaches the poorest last, its networks are always uneven. Because the business case for prevention can never be made until the cost of allowing failure is proven, preventive policies arise only after catastrophe.

Catastrophe is both precondition for and stimulus of three things – sudden extinction, explosive innovation and enduring reform. As all three happen speedily, each vies with the other two for primacy.

Insufficient ventilation and insanitary surroundings reduce the vital resisting power of individuals exposed to such conditions; overcrowding causes closer contact with the infected individuals, and the absence of sunlight prevents the destruction of disease germs by nature’s principal disinfecting agent.