Albuquerque’s 2025 mayoral race now has eleven candidates, but only two seem to like the city they’re running to lead.
With the release of his policy platform, Alex Uballez joins Tim Keller as one of the only candidates offering a serious, hopeful, and detail-rich vision for Albuquerque’s future. His proposals aren’t just a list of grievances or vague slogans. They reflect a belief that this city is worth fighting for, and that its best days are ahead.
There’s a lot to applaud. His commitment to protecting immigrants, for instance, continues Keller’s vital stand against Trump-era enforcement tactics. He supports expanding transit hours and services, building up walkability, and revitalizing Downtown—all of which are critical to reversing decades of disinvestment and auto-centric sprawl. He also embraces zoning reform by proposing lower minimum lot sizes in urban centers and recognizes the role of housing policy in shaping equity, climate, and economic outcomes.
Uballez’s support for zoning reform, particularly lowering minimum lot sizes in priority areas, is a welcome continuation of recent progress, especially following the City Council’s approval of O-24-69. But it’s worth noting that his current proposals seem more focused on reinforcing those recent wins than on taking bolder next steps. In contrast, Tim Keller’s Housing Forward initiative previously called for broader, citywide upzoning—including legalizing duplexes and triplexes throughout Albuquerque. If Uballez wants to fully tackle our housing crisis, he’ll need to move beyond incrementalism and embrace reforms that extend well beyond select corridors.
We’d love to see both Uballez and Keller go further by championing citywide zoning reform, not just in select corridors, and by eliminating parking minimums altogether. These outdated requirements drive up housing costs, suppress walkability, and make it harder to build the kinds of vibrant, mixed-use neighborhoods Albuquerque needs.
For Keller, that could mean returning to his ambitious Housing Forward proposal, defending its goals more vocally, and being willing to name the City Council as a key obstacle to progress. For Uballez, it would represent a bold escalation—one that could elevate the conversation around housing reform to the level it deserves, while signaling that Albuquerque is ready to embrace a cleaner, more inclusive, and more prosperous future. Regardless of which candidate advances these ideas, their adoption would set a new standard in the race—compelling the other nine candidates to articulate their own comprehensive strategies for addressing Albuquerque’s housing challenges. To date, none have presented proposals that align with best practices or offer meaningful reforms and necessary interventions.
We’re glad to see Uballez set the stage for this debate and raise the bar for what a mayoral housing agenda can look like in Albuquerque. His platform reflects an urgency and seriousness that has been sorely lacking from the field. Now comes the harder part: making sure that good intentions translate into good policy.
That’s where we see potential trouble—particularly with his proposal for inclusionary zoning. While it comes from a place of compassion and fairness, experience from other cities shows that if not carefully designed and supported, this kind of mandate can actually reduce the amount of housing that gets built, especially in fragile markets like ours.
Inclusionary Zoning: A Policy That Feels Good, But (can) Hurt More
Uballez proposes mandating inclusionary zoning requirements for new housing developments, requiring developers to set aside a percentage of units as income-restricted. On paper, this seems fair. In practice, it often backfires.
In cities with strong housing demand and high incomes, the results of inclusionary zoning have been mixed. But Albuquerque isn’t San Francisco. Here, even market-rate housing projects struggle to pencil out. Land values are low, construction costs are high, and rents haven’t yet caught up to make most developments feasible without subsidies. Add a requirement to include below-market units, and many projects simply won’t happen.
If we want to solve our housing crisis, we need more housing, not less. Inclusionary zoning risks suppressing supply in a market that’s already teetering on the edge. That means fewer homes for everyone, and higher prices for those who can least afford them.
Worse, inclusionary zoning shifts the burden of affordability onto renters and developers, while letting wealthier, single-family homeowners off the hook. No one’s asking them to subsidize their neighbors. Why should anyone else?
There’s a deeper problem, too. We’ve let the words do the work. The term “affordable housing” has become so vague and misused that it confuses the public and distorts policy. As writer Ryan Moulton recently put it, we should stop calling it “affordable housing” and start calling it what it really is: waitlisted housing—lottery-based, means-tested, often limited in supply, and accessed only after a bureaucratic process. This isn’t housing that gets built for everyone. It’s housing that only a few get picked to live in.
By contrast, what’s often dismissed as “market-rate” is simply normal housing—the kind anyone can rent or buy without needing to qualify or wait. If we built more of it, it would become more affordable. But the current framing of “market-rate vs affordable” tricks the public into thinking we only need one, when the reality is we need both. We need a dynamic, abundant housing market and public investment in deeply subsidized homes. Confusing the two leads to policy mistakes that satisfy no one.
Community Benefit Agreements: More Red Tape, Less Housing
Uballez also proposes requiring community benefit agreements (CBAs) for developments. The goal is a good one: ensuring that new buildings serve the public good but the effect can be another form of bureaucratic friction. And friction adds cost, delay, and uncertainty.
The irony is that none of this is required for sprawl. You can throw up a 3,000-square-foot house on the edge of town with zero transit access, zero public benefits, and no questions asked. But try to build an apartment on a bus line, and suddenly you need a lawyer and a committee.
It’s a recipe for driving development away from where we need it and toward more car-dependent, tax-inefficient expansion.
Jerusalem Demsas has written persuasively about this imbalance. In many cities, she notes, you can buy a fourplex and convert it into a single-family home, thereby reducing the number of available homes in a neighborhood with no public hearing, no variance, no community benefit agreement, and no scrutiny. But try to build a fourplex or a small apartment building, courtyard terrace, or cottage court, or even preserve one, and you’re subjected to layers of review, conditions, and delay. That’s the paradox. We’ve built a system that burdens new housing, especially rentals and multifamily projects, while giving a free pass to housing loss if it’s wrapped in the form of a single-family home. Even nonprofit developers face these hurdles, while wealthier homeowners sail through unimpeded. The solution isn’t to apply more conditions across the board. It’s to legalize apartments—by right—the same way we already allow single-family homes.
The Danger of Blue Tape
This dynamic has a name in some YIMBY circles: “blue tape.” It’s what happens when well-meaning progressive cities burden development with so many rules that only the most expensive, subsidized, or luxury projects can get built. Meanwhile, red-state metros like Dallas, Austin, or Nashville are eating our lunch when it comes to housing production. People are voting with their feet.
Demsas puts it bluntly: of the ten states building the most housing, seven are deep red—Utah, Idaho, Texas, South Carolina, Florida, South Dakota, and Tennessee. The remaining three—Colorado, Arizona, and North Carolina—have Democratic governors but purple legislatures. Meanwhile, blue states with strong tenant protections, abortion access, and civil rights laws are losing people. The number one reason they cite for leaving? Housing costs.
Demsas challenges blue-state leaders to reflect on a basic question: What is the actual policy goal? Do we care more about getting people into homes, or about keeping developers from making money? Are we trying to end homelessness, or preserve neighborhood character? Do we value access to opportunity, or adherence to a process that blocks it?
This isn’t a technical problem, she argues. Texas and Florida haven’t cracked some magical housing code and they certainly aren’t known for compassion toward low-income renters (or anyone else). What they have is political will. They simply allow things to be built, even imperfect projects. That’s what it takes.
New Mexico can’t afford to follow California’s missteps. If we want to create abundant housing for all income levels, we have to legalize it—not smother it in conditions.
When Inclusionary Zoning Works: Lessons from Montgomery County and a Personal Story
Inclusionary zoning can work—but only when it’s paired with the right supports.
At the Connecticut Affordable Housing Conference, Demsas shared her own experience growing up in housing created by Montgomery County’s moderately priced dwelling unit (MPDU) program. Her parents were Ethiopian refugees, and their access to stable housing was life-changing. Programs like this helped make it possible.
But what made Montgomery County’s policy effective wasn’t just that it required affordability. It made that requirement feasible. Developers received density bonuses to offset costs, local agencies were empowered to purchase and retain affordable units, and the county reinvested resale profits into future housing. These policies turned a mandate into a partnership and made housing stability a public investment, not just a private burden.
Demsas has also emphasized that these programs work best when cities fully legalize a range of housing types, including townhomes, cottage courts, courtyard apartments, not just the single-family status quo. Too often, local governments mandate affordability on the few parcels where apartments are allowed, while exempting the vast majority of land from any responsibility to contribute.
That’s the risk in Alex Uballez’s current proposal. While his platform is clearly shaped by empathy and ambition, it leans heavily on mandates without offering enough carrots—like density bonuses, land access tools, or streamlined approvals that make projects viable. And where streamlining efforts are included, they often apply only to deeply affordable projects, not to the broad range of housing we desperately need. He does mention using publicly owned land to support housing development, which is promising, but the plan lacks detail on how that land would be prioritized, priced, or accessed—especially by nonprofit and missing-middle developers. There’s still no mention of density bonuses or co-investment strategies to actually make affordable units pencil out. And without broader legalization of housing types across the city, including market-rate housing, these policies risk placing all the burden on the small areas where apartments are currently allowed and on the people trying to build them.
This also connects to a central truth: truly affordable housing—the kind that serves those most vulnerable—can’t be built on mandates alone. It has to be paid for, directly, through public investment. That’s not just about fairness. It’s about making sure the housing actually gets built.
Demsas’s own story illustrates this. When her parents divorced, it wasn’t a subsidized unit that gave them stability; it was access to a functioning market of modest, multi-family homes that let them stay near her schools. The apartment she lived in was part of a large, market-rate, multifamily complex, placed in a high-opportunity, high-access area. It was controversial. Many in the neighborhood opposed it. But the Montgomery County Council stood firm and they allowed it to be built anyway.
That decision changed her life. As a seven-year-old, she got to stay in her school, in her neighborhood, with continuity, safety, and access to opportunity because a courageous local government allowed apartments where opportunity lived and a diverse housing market allowed for life changes, like divorce, to avoid causing unneeded disruption.
That kind of normal, abundant housing matters just as much as subsidized units. It gives families options. It prevents crises before they start.
Inclusionary zoning can be part of the solution. But it can’t be the whole toolbox. Without public dollars, cost offsets, and widespread legalization of diverse housing types, we risk turning a promising idea into a bottleneck. What we need isn’t just affordability mandates. What we need is housing—lots of it, in every form, for everyone. Demsas’s own story shows how this diversity benefits everyone.
A Better Path: Fund Affordable Housing Directly, Build Abundance Broadly
There is no substitute for public investment. Truly affordable housing—the kind that supports our most vulnerable neighbors—needs to be built by the city or subsidized by the state. Inclusionary zoning can never fill that gap, especially alone. It only creates waitlists and false hope.
The better approach is to unlock housing everywhere, not just in select corridors. Eliminate exclusionary zoning. Legalize multifamily homes citywide. Invest in public housing directly, and let the market fill the middle. That’s how we reduce displacement, welcome newcomers, and give people a shot at staying in the city they love.
Downtown Investment: The Anchor Albuquerque Needs
One of the most promising parts of Uballez’s platform is his support for major investment in Downtown Albuquerque.
Too often, revitalization efforts here have been timid. We’ve seen piecemeal street beautification, one-off façade grants, or festival-based programming with no real anchor. What’s been missing is a clear commitment to big, catalytic projects that can drive sustained momentum.
Uballez seems to understand that Downtown isn’t just another neighborhood. It’s the civic and economic heart of Albuquerque. A healthy Downtown drives regional tax revenue, attracts tourism, supports small businesses, and houses key transit connections. More importantly, it’s a statement of self-worth. A city that invests in its core believes in its future.
Albuquerque has flirted with this idea for decades. Stadiums, arenas, and performing arts centers have all been proposed, studied, or debated. Few have ever made it past the planning stage. Meanwhile, cities like Tulsa, Lubbock, and Oklahoma City have surged ahead with bold investments in their cores, proving that when you pair public commitment with good planning, the return can be transformational.
Uballez’s support for Downtown investment is exactly the kind of leadership we need. It’s a signal that we’re done settling and It shows that he understands the flywheel effect of concentrated civic ambition—and how a thriving Downtown helps every part of the city.
We hope he stays bold here. Because Albuquerque doesn’t just need maintenance, It needs a spark, too.
He could also be a powerful ally for Councilor Joaquin Baca, who has emerged as one of the boldest champions for Downtown in recent months. Baca has already helped advance several small but catalytic improvements, including new bike lanes that support placemaking, and the recently passed Vacancy Reduction Ordinance, which forces long-neglected property owners to clean up or face consequences. He’s also pushed for reinvestment in our civic institutions, proposing better staffing and operations for cultural anchors like the KiMo Theatre.
Uballez’s platform echoes this attention to operational infrastructure. His section on city staffing reflects an understanding that revitalization isn’t just about buildings, It’s about people. We need fully staffed departments, creative leadership, and clear public service pathways to make Downtown work. How he plans to achieve this—through hybrid flexibility, pay increases, or hiring incentives—remains to be seen. But naming the problem is the first step.
Public Safety: A Promising Direction, But Big Barriers Remain
Uballez’s platform includes smart, compassionate ideas for reforming public safety in Albuquerque. He supports diversion programs, reentry services, investment in the Albuquerque Community Safety department, and restructuring the police command system to promote accountability. These are all crucial steps toward a more community-centered model of public safety and reflect what many residents have been demanding for years.
His support for neighborhood policing is also encouraging. Done right, it can mean officers who know their communities, de-escalate conflict, and work alongside residents instead of against them. And by backing greater investment in ACS, Uballez acknowledges that not every emergency requires a badge and a gun. Sometimes, what’s needed most is a social worker, a behavioral health specialist, or a trusted civilian responder.
But it’s worth noting that these ideas aren’t new. They’ve been championed by Tim Keller, and some are already underway, though often with limited reach or stalled momentum. What’s been missing isn’t vision but execution. Police unions, bureaucratic inertia, and a divided City Council have repeatedly slowed or softened reforms. Changing policy on paper is one thing. Changing institutional culture is another.
If Uballez is serious about reform—and we believe he is—he should look to models like Detroit, where social work is more deeply integrated into police practice rather than being siloed off. Restructuring APD will require creativity, legal strategy, and perhaps most of all, sustained political pressure. It’s not enough to shift command structures. The deeper question is: What is the job of the police in Albuquerque, and what could safely be done by someone else?
We applaud Uballez for naming the right problems. But this is one area where strong ideas will need even stronger follow-through.
Just as importantly, we must recognize that diversion, reentry, and rehabilitation efforts don’t work without housing. Albuquerque has a profound shortage of transitional living spaces, group homes, and supportive housing, especially for those exiting incarceration or treatment. Many community organizations want to step up but face immense challenges acquiring land, navigating zoning, and clearing regulatory hurdles. For supportive housing efforts to succeed, we need more than goodwill; we need systems that make building possible. That means cutting red tape: legalizing group housing types in more places, building transitional housing, and ensuring that well-meaning mandates like inclusionary zoning or CBAs don’t unintentionally become barriers.
As Demsas has pointed out, non-profits and affordable & transitional housing developers are among the largest beneficiaries of these reforms, and we all benefit in turn. Public safety reform doesn’t stop at the precinct. It lives in the neighborhoods where people return, rebuild, and begin again.
A Welcome Shift: Outcomes Over Endless Process
One of the more quietly radical ideas in Alex Uballez’s platform is his insistence on an outcomes-based approach to governance. Rather than measuring success by how many public meetings were held or how carefully the paperwork was shuffled, he asks a simpler question: Did it work?
In a city where proceduralism has long been used to delay or deny progress—from development appeals to endless community input loops—this shift in orientation matters. Too often, Albuquerque has mistaken process for equity and deliberation for justice. But if the result is the same—no housing, no investment, no change—then who are we really serving?
Uballez critiques the current administration for “sinking millions of dollars into stalled stopgaps” and makes clear he wants to start moving beyond debates about whether we need more housing or not. His emphasis on cutting red tape isn’t just technocratic. It reflects a deeper belief that cities should function, that government should solve problems, and that equity isn’t achieved by adding more steps, but by achieving better outcomes.
This framing aligns closely with YIMBY and progressive critiques of performative governance. It recognizes that justice is not the existence of a process. It is access to opportunity, housing, safety, and mobility. A process that doesn’t deliver those things—no matter how well-intentioned—is broken. His attention to creating a one-stop center for permit approvals, tracking problem properties, and citing bad landlords is a good sign.
Of course, process still matters. But when it becomes an excuse for inaction, it’s time to rethink the playbook. Uballez’s call for outcomes-first leadership is refreshing and necessary.
Final Thoughts: Saying Yes to the City We Deserve
Alex Uballez clearly sees the same problems many of us do: housing scarcity, downtown stagnation, and a broken development process. He speaks with vision and urgency, and unlike many candidates, he proposes actual solutions.
But good intentions aren’t enough. If we want a city that works—for renters, workers, immigrants, young people, and longtime residents—we need policies that build more housing, not less. We need to break the cycle of scarcity and proceduralism that has left too many people on the outside looking in.
One important caveat: no matter who becomes mayor, real change will require more than executive ambition. Much of Albuquerque’s inertia lies with a City Council that has repeatedly refused to act—or acted too late—on the city’s most urgent needs. Even as eleven candidates are vying for the mayor’s seat, some council chairs face no declared challengers. Without a more visionary and reform-minded council, even the boldest mayoral platform may struggle to deliver. If we want to see real progress—on housing, safety, mobility, or Downtown reinvestment—it won’t be enough to change the mayor. We need a City Council that’s ready to govern, not just delay.
At Reimagining Albuquerque, we believe in what’s sometimes called the housing theory of everything—the idea that stable, abundant housing isn’t just a response to crisis. It’s the foundation for solving nearly every challenge we face: homelessness, public health, climate resilience, opportunity, safety, and economic mobility.
Uballez seems to believe that too. But belief alone isn’t enough. If he wants to deliver real outcomes, not just good intentions, he’ll need to reconsider policies like inclusionary zoning and community benefit mandates, which have often backfired in cities like ours. Instead, he will have to explore how to integrate these ideas as part of a wider toolbox. He’ll need to advocate for truly abundant housing, support the public funding of deeply affordable homes, and cut the red tape (or, blue tape) that makes everything harder to build.
That’s the kind of leadership Albuquerque needs. Not process for process’s sake, but action. Not vague promises of equity, but a city that functions, welcomes, and builds.
It’s encouraging to see a candidate willing to put forward serious, detailed proposals. Even when we disagree on the means, the willingness to grapple with the scale of Albuquerque’s challenges is exactly what this moment demands.
In a field of eleven mayoral candidates, we should be honest. Not all are operating in the realm of serious policy or long-term thinking. Regardless of how many make it to the ballot, it’s likely we’ll see a runoff. When that time comes, the only two candidates who have shown a clear-eyed commitment to Albuquerque’s future (so far) are Alex Uballez and Tim Keller.
Both understand that our biggest challenges—housing, safety, economic revitalization—aren’t solvable with slogans or shortcuts. These are upstream issues that demand persistence, investment, and time. We may not agree with every proposal, but it matters that they’re offering real plans rooted in reality. They reflect a belief in this city and the people who live here.
That should be the baseline for leadership. Let’s make sure we reward it.
Reimagining Albuquerque 
Leave a comment