The Affordable Housing Smokescreen or “I support housing, but….”
If you’ve participated in the debates surrounding the recent passage of O-24-69 or watched the public comments on the night it passed, you’ve no doubt encountered a variety of ideas—whether on social media, at neighborhood meetings, or in online forums—voicing concerns about the ordinance. The NIMBY response often follows a familiar pattern, and interestingly, often mentions “a lack of affordable housing,” or “the word affordability is missing in this ordinance.” The supposed concern for affordability is often not about affordability at all—but about process. And in Albuquerque, proceduralism has become the most effective way to block reform while claiming virtue. It may sound something like this:
“A number of individuals and organizations, excluding developers, expressed support for the ordinance, citing affordability. Many younger people, who are not homeowners, may not fully understand the role of Neighborhood Associations in shaping city livability and often overlook the complex processes involved. There was concern that the ordinance’s approval bypassed necessary transparency and inclusive planning, giving developers significant control without guarantees for affordable housing. While I support zoning flexibility, I think we need more thorough, transparent processes and a balanced approach to development.”
Increasingly, calls for “better process” or “community engagement” are weaponized not to improve policy, but to delay or derail it. This form of procedural obstructionism cloaks opposition in the language of democracy while entrenching the status quo. Rather than a genuine effort to refine policy, it becomes a tactic to shift power away from elected decision-makers and toward unelected, unrepresentative gatekeepers.
In the end, the concern about the absence of the term “affordable” in the bill is less about affordability itself and more about creating a diversion from the real issue. The critics, in their disingenuous outcry, fail to acknowledge the very nature of affordable housing—its provision is not so much about mere inclusion of terminology in legislation as it is about the policies and frameworks that ensure its production. They would rather raise procedural objections and call for more planning while simultaneously obstructing the very actions needed to address the housing crisis. Proponents, meanwhile, are emboldened by an ever-growing body of evidence showing that upzoning improves housing outcomes and affordability.1 They see these critiques as distractions designed to obscure obstruction.
When critics cannot credibly oppose the substance of a housing bill, they shift the battlefield to process. “It wasn’t transparent.” “It didn’t go through the right channels.” These arguments, like the affordability distraction, are not about better governance—they are about blocking change. The “affordability” argument and the proceduralist argument are two sides of the same coin: both create the illusion of support for reform while ensuring it never arrives.
The confusion here often stems from a conflation of two separate ideas: affordability and affordable housing. Affordability refers to whether housing costs remain within reach for the average person or family—and that’s determined largely by supply and demand. When cities allow more homes to be built, especially in areas where people want to live, prices stabilize or drop. Affordable housing, on the other hand, is a specific policy tool: income-restricted units, often subsidized, built or supported by public funds or nonprofit developers. Both are important. However, without general affordability through abundant supply, even subsidized housing becomes harder to build—and more people fall through the cracks. It may be helpful to note that the policies in bills like O-24-69 that help make market-rate housing easier to build also make affordable and non-profit housing easier to build as well.
Their objections centered on affordability, or “this bill does not mention the word affordable…”, veiled in the language of idealism, are a prime example of the “We Support Housing, But…” mentality. While they espouse a generalized support for density and affordable housing, their opposition to the specific policies that could bring these goals to fruition undermines any claim to progressive intent. They argue for “smarter planning,” but in reality, such calls often serve to delay, obfuscate, and derail. Their call for perfectionism in process acts as a tool to prioritize the comfort of those already housed, leaving the urgent need for housing unaddressed. They support housing—but not here. They support affordability—but not in their neighborhood. They support process—but only if it keeps things exactly the same.
This rhetorical sleight of hand is often paired with a generational condescension, particularly toward the younger advocates pushing for reform (as seen in the extract above). When the conversation turns to these activists, those who dare to question the status quo, they are dismissively painted as uninformed or naive. This critique ignores the realities faced by younger people who have long been excluded from these very spaces of influence, where meetings are inaccessible, dominated by older homeowners, and resistant to change. The real dynamic, often overlooked, is that these younger voices are not only advocating for reform but are often the ones most affected by the housing crisis.
Furthermore, their demonization of developers as the ultimate villains is a convenient scapegoat for the failures of the current system. While these critics bemoan the rise of corporate power in development, they neglect the fact that homeowners also profit from exclusionary zoning policies that inflate property values, locking out those most in need of housing. Ironically, the obsession with maintaining lengthy approvals, appeals, and zoning board processes often championed by these same critics has created an environment where only large banks, major developers, and entrenched interests have the resources and capacity to navigate the system. This, in turn, marginalizes small-scale, local builders who might be better positioned to deliver housing that meets community needs. Procedural burdens—drawn-out appeals, excessive notice requirements, redundant hearings—drive up costs, reduce housing output, and delay benefits to the community. Ironically, these barriers make it harder to deliver exactly the kind of affordable and nonprofit housing critics claim to want. The result is a market where only high-end housing “pencils out,” further entrenching inequities and pushing affordable and middle-income options out of reach.2 Procedural complexity doesn’t just slow down reform—it concentrates power. It ensures that only those with time, wealth, and property can shape the future of our neighborhoods.
The supposed rush and lack of transparency in the process rings hollow in light of the many years of debate, studies, and public hearings. Criticisms about a rushed process are merely a means to retain the current power dynamics where those already benefiting from the system get to preserve their privilege at the expense of housing reform. At the heart of this critique is a deep misunderstanding of governance itself. By elevating the influence of Neighborhood Associations and public input meetings over elected officials, they undermine democratic processes and defer to the interests of a privileged few. City Council, after all, is tasked as the supreme legislative body of Albuquerque with making decisions that respond to urgent crises. If these critics were truly concerned with transparency and inclusivity, they would advocate for policies that reflect the needs of all residents, not just those already comfortably housed.
While opponents of O-24-69 emphasized concerns about process and affordability, many supporters expressed a different kind of urgency—one grounded in frustration, hope, and lived experience. During public comment, individuals from across the city, including renters, young families, and longtime residents, spoke about the need for more housing near jobs and transit, the desire to one day own a home without leaving Albuquerque, and the harm caused by lengthy appeal processes that delay needed projects (including some appeals cited here). Representatives from the City’s Affordable Housing Committee and the Albuquerque Affordable Housing Coalition also submitted formal comments in support of the ordinance, citing the need to unlock more housing options citywide and reduce regulatory barriers that currently hinder both nonprofit and market-rate construction. These voices reflect a broader shift in how many Albuquerqueans see the future—not as something to preserve in amber, but as something to build, together.
Ultimately, this rhetoric—rooted in an insidious mixture of performative progressivism, procedural obstructionism, and thinly veiled elitism—serves to delay real action. By exposing these contradictions, we can make clear that the need for reform is not just pressing; it is immediate. It is time to move beyond the empty rhetoric of “smart planning” and “better processes” and instead focus on policies that will genuinely address the housing crisis.
A recurring challenge in Albuquerque’s housing and homelessness debates is this very disconnect between stated support for solutions and resistance to their implementation. This phenomenon is not unique to our city, but it is starkly visible in the opposition to concrete proposals that aim to address pressing issues. The dynamic often involves vocal advocacy for broad principles, such as increasing access to affordable housing or supporting the unhoused, which evaporates when specific projects are proposed.
One prominent example is the opposition to Tim Keller’s decentralized homeless shelter plan, introduced in his first term. These smaller, specialized shelters—aligned with best practices and designed to provide targeted care—were blocked by neighborhood groups professing concern for the unhoused but unwilling to accept solutions near their homes. This resistance forced the city to pursue the Gateway Center, a larger, less effective compromise, which itself faced lawsuits from the same groups, further delaying help for those in need. The Gateway Center continues to struggle to fully provide services to the unhoused community. This resistance to targeted homeless services reflects a broader trend: support for abstract solutions collapses when proposals become specific and local.
The pattern extends beyond homelessness, with similar resistance emerging against affordable housing projects, zoning reforms, and transit-oriented development proposals throughout the metro area. Neighborhood groups often rally against these initiatives, citing concerns about property values, traffic, or neighborhood character, despite ostensibly supporting the goals these projects aim to achieve. These contradictions reflect a deeper struggle between the desire for systemic change and the reluctance to confront the personal discomfort that change entails.
A striking example of this dynamic is evident in the debate surrounding O-24-69. Several opponents of the ordinance, speaking against it on the January 6th council debate, had a similar refrain: “We’re not against housing, but the community hasn’t had a real chance to weigh in.” Yet these same groups opposed smaller proposals that went through every level of public review. What they object to isn’t the process. It’s the result. Just last year, many of the same groups and speakers vociferously opposed a smaller zoning amendment proposed by Councilors Rogers and Fiebelkorn, which targeted only key transit corridors and centers and sought to legalize duplex conversions. That modest proposal, dubbed “the duplex amendment,” was far less ambitious than O-24-69—and it did go through the full process. Its most effective elements were stripped during revisions, and even then, these groups showed up at every level to oppose it.
This experience underscores a troubling reality about neighborhood input processes: they are often less about improving zoning or policy and more about exclusion, obfuscation, and opposition. The duplex debate revealed this clearly, as it brought new voices into the conversation—often for the first time—and exposed them to what their neighborhood associations say on their behalf, frequently without their input or care. This revelation deepened the sense that these processes serve to maintain the status quo rather than foster genuine, inclusive engagement, exacerbating the barriers to creating a more equitable Albuquerque.
Similarly, the long-delayed Los Ranchos Village Center development highlights the contradiction between NIMBY rhetoric and action. Proposed as part of a community reinvigoration plan dating back to 2000, this mixed-use project faced lawsuits and threats of demolition despite its alignment with stated goals like density and affordability in central locations. NIMBYs claiming to favor “process” obstructed it at every step, even as it complied with rigorous planning protocols and attempted to reach out to community members to find common ground and compromise.
This contradiction deepened as opponents of the project, while vocal about the need for affordable housing, continued to discredit the development despite its incorporation of such units. Their demands for more affordable housing often turned out to be little more than a smokescreen—a convenient justification for their real opposition. By framing their stance as a call for affordability, they diverted attention from the deeper issue: the resistance to any form of change that could disrupt their vision of the neighborhood. The opposition strategically uses affordability as a shield to mask their true motives, continuing to impede progress while claiming moral high ground on an issue they selectively support only when it serves their interests.
Beneath many of these objections lies an uncomfortable but essential truth: affordable housing is often feared not for its design or density, but for who it’s meant to serve. Whether couched in concerns about safety, neighborhood character, or property values, these reactions often reflect deeper discomfort with economic and social difference. Classism—like racism—rarely announces itself directly, but it’s embedded in the logic of exclusion.
These examples reveal the hollowness of NIMBY claims to support affordable housing and smart growth, demonstrating that their opposition is less about principles and more about maintaining the status quo. Even when income-restricted units are included in a project, they oppose them. When their resistance perpetuates housing crises and delays solutions, it becomes clear that their priorities lie in preserving privilege, not in fostering equitable communities or response to our visceral, deadly housing crisis.
The opposition to the proposed development at the site of an abandoned Church of Christ highlights yet another contradiction in NIMBY claims. Here is a project that embodies the very principles they claim to support: density, mixed-use, and proximity to transit and job centers. Located along Albuquerque Rapid Transit (ART) and adjacent to UNM—our city’s largest employer—this development would replace a deteriorating and hazardous structure with housing for professionals on land that is currently unused. It directly addresses the city’s needs for workforce retention, urban vibrancy, and equitable growth, and as cited in EPC documents, aligns with the city’s Comprehensive Plan.
Despite this alignment with their stated goals, several influential figures in neighborhood and coalition councils voiced opposition to the project.3 Notably, neither appellant reside in the Silver Hill or Sycamore neighborhoods where this development is proposed. Their involvement in this case underscores a broader issue: how coalition councils, ostensibly formed to support neighborhood voices, often become platforms for individuals who lack direct ties to the communities they claim to represent. This disconnect not only undermines the local focus that neighborhood coalitions are meant to prioritize but also highlights the undemocratic nature of their influence. Neighborhood members who did join the opposition, however, did voice concerns, largely along lines of “neighborhood character” lines, fear of density, distrust of newcomers, and protecting historical aesthetics.
Their history of appealing even small-scale, context-appropriate projects, such as a coffee shop that extended a mixed-use corner across Silver Avenue near UNM, further demonstrates the inconsistency of this opposition.4 Similarly, their critiques frequently center on visual preservation and maintaining “neighborhood character,” a concept deeply entwined with exclusionary practices of the mid-20th century. Originally invoked to resist racial integration and economic diversity, this term has been repurposed to cloak opposition to density and affordable housing under the guise of aesthetics and tradition.
The rhetoric of “neighborhood character” rarely withstands scrutiny. Concerns such as increased traffic, crime, or disruptions to visual quality are often unsupported by data. Cities like Portland, Denver, and South Bend, which have embraced density and mixed-use development, demonstrate that thoughtful integration enhances urban vibrancy, sustainability, and inclusivity. South Bend, in particular, has shown how thoughtful architecture can enhance a neighborhood’s physical cohesion while welcoming new neighbors. In contrast, Albuquerque’s resistance to similar projects stifles progress and accelerates brain drain, as talented professionals and young families seek opportunities in cities that offer vibrant neighborhoods, robust transit, and dynamic job markets. In Minneapolis, streamlining approvals alongside zoning reform led to a measurable increase in new housing construction, including affordable units. By simplifying engagement and aligning processes with elected authority, the city demonstrated that transparency and efficiency are not mutually exclusive. Austin also showed dramatic results where legalized market-rate housing lowered rents 22%. There simply is not an argument against zoning reforms such as O-24-69 based on affordability that hold up.
One appellant’s emphasis on visual preservation reveals a problematic environmentalism that prioritizes nostalgic aesthetics over practical adaptation. True environmental stewardship embraces compact, walkable neighborhoods that curtail sprawl, reduce emissions, and foster ecological balance. Static preservationist discourse, however, fails to reconcile these realities with the pressing need for housing equity and climate resilience. By resisting change, opponents inadvertently perpetuate the very issues they claim to oppose, such as sprawl and unsustainable growth. This invocation of environmentalism, much like that from Voorhees, is also often weaponized by preservationists to obstruct housing and infrastructure projects. By exploiting environmental laws to delay proposals and burden them with costly lawsuits, they drive up project costs, dissuade local developers from expanding their businesses, and ultimately suppress housing supply. These tactics not only undermine the very goals of climate adaptation and mitigation but also hinder the shift toward environmentally friendly development, reinforcing the unsustainable patterns that preservationist rhetoric purports to challenge.5
Developments like these proposed near UNM and ART serve critical roles in addressing these challenges. They attract and retain top talent by providing the urban amenities professionals prioritize, such as proximity to work, vibrant neighborhoods, and cultural opportunities. UNM has explicitly identified housing and mixed-use neighborhood development as essential to overcoming recruitment barriers, highlighting how urban vibrancy contributes to professional success and personal fulfillment.
Urban neighborhoods are dynamic organisms, thriving on adaptation and reinvention. Historic or “established” areas gain renewed relevance by accommodating contemporary demands, whether through mixed-use housing or transit-oriented development. The potential for density to integrate seamlessly into existing frameworks—both architecturally and socially—demonstrates that progress can honor tradition without undermining it.
Importantly, neither the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) nor the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) prohibit new development, including high-density housing, near or within historic areas. These laws require review and consideration—not prohibition or stagnation. They are meant to guide thoughtful integration, not to freeze neighborhoods in time.
In fact, some of Albuquerque’s most successful and beloved developments, like the Bricklight District, East Downtown (EDo), and the expansions to UNM’s Zimmerman Library, a nationally and locally registered historic landmark, demonstrate how density and historic character can coexist through careful design. Zimmerman’s large-scale additions comply fully with preservation codes while serving modern needs. These examples prove that preservation and progress are not in conflict when guided by vision rather than fear.
By opposing well-suited projects that align with their declared priorities, individuals like those involved in these appeals or generalized opposition, prioritize maintaining the status quo over fostering a thriving, equitable Albuquerque. This pattern weakens the city’s ability to address its housing and workforce challenges, undermines efforts to create vibrant urban spaces, and ultimately reveals a fundamental lack of commitment to the principles they claim to champion. In reality, neighborhood character is enriched not by stasis but by inclusivity, adaptability, and the courage to grow.
Despite their stated support for smart growth principles, both appellants opposed this project based on concerns that the zoning changes requested by the developer might be “abused” if the property were ever sold. They argued that future developers might push for even marginally greater density, despite these properties being within a block of an ART station and ideally suited to higher density. This hypothetical scenario underscores a recurring theme in NIMBY opposition: fear of change and fear of the unknown.
This line of reasoning exemplifies the deeply ingrained apprehension found in NIMBYist circles. Instead of evaluating projects on their merits or alignment with long-term urban goals, opponents often fixate on speculative outcomes. These fears not only stymie progress but also reinforce the stagnation that undermines Albuquerque’s ability to adapt to its evolving housing and workforce needs.
For instance, opposition to a proposed coffee shop near UNM, based on similar hypothetical concerns, illustrates how fear of potential future density overrides pragmatic decision-making. Both the coffee shop and the current development proposal are contextually appropriate and directly address pressing needs in their respective areas.6 Yet, by invoking speculative scenarios, opponents leverage fear to uphold the status quo, disregarding the potential benefits these projects offer. As you can tell here, “fear” is a common theme and perhaps the single most important emotion underlying the NIMBY impulse, both in Albuquerque and nationally. We will explore some of the historical roots of this emotion in the debate later.
These examples highlight a deeper contradiction in the NIMBY impulse: a professed concern for housing and equity that collapses under the weight of individual discomfort and fear. Beneath procedural arguments and aesthetic preferences lies a common thread—resistance to sharing space, power, and opportunity.
Increasingly, this resistance is masked in the language of justice. From appeals to cultural preservation to claims of defending vulnerable communities, NIMBYism adapts its rhetoric to sound progressive—even as it blocks solutions and deepens inequality. And often, these arguments stem from genuinely held beliefs: a desire to honor heritage, protect place, and uplift long-marginalized communities. But when these beliefs are used to block inclusive housing, reject new neighbors, or resist change, they conflict with the urgent needs of the present.
In the next section, we’ll explore how this dynamic plays out in Martineztown—one of Albuquerque’s oldest neighborhoods—and how new voices, like those behind GENM, are challenging the traditional preservationist lens with a different vision for equity, growth, and cultural vitality.
We cannot plan our way out of a housing crisis while legislating every proposal into oblivion. Affordability without abundance is a lie. And process without action is a cage. We are not short on plans. We are short on courage.
- https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/733977?journalCode=jpema ↩︎
- Escaping the Housing Trap: The Strong Towns Response to the Housing Crisis” – Charles Marohn, 2024 ↩︎
- https://www.krqe.com/news/albuquerque-metro/vacant-church-by-unm-campus-could-be-replaced-by-multi-story-apartment-complex/ – 2024 ↩︎
- https://documents.cabq.gov/planning/environmental-planning-commission/2024/03-March2024/NOD%20PR-2024-009946%20Harvard%20ZMA.pdf ↩︎
- https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2023/04/ceqa-green-movement-building-housing-crisis-environmental-laws/ ↩︎
- https://citydesk.org/2024/contention-brewing-over-zoning-change-in-university-area/ ↩︎
Reimagining Albuquerque 
Leave a comment