Thickets and trade-offs

One of the more pernicious phrases in public policy formation is “For the price of a cup of coffee…” The benign opening is often followed by a frighteningly expensive proposal—framed as a necessity. If we don’t agree to fund this plan, the sun may fail to rise again. But don’t worry, the cost, when compared to your daily indulgences, is but a pittance. It is a form of emotional blackmail, and it tends to work.

The problem is that we only drink so much coffee in a week—eventually, the well runs dry on this bit of mild extortion. My coffee budget can only be confiscated in so many ways.

And so bureaucracy blossoms and grows. Soon, a lush garden of regulations blankets the earth and threatens to breach the walls. As it is currently, the regime is only constrained by our imagination. A higher, thornier and more intricate set of barriers is always possible. Always better.

We have lost track of the notion that public policy, regulation, and the bureaucracy required to enact, manage and enforce it is expensive. That someone has to pay for it. And when expensive policies are stacked on one another with little regard for cost/benefit, eventually, we are talking about real money. Eventually, someone must trim the unruly garden.

We seem to have forgotten that public policy— like much else on this mortal coil—is about trade-offs. It’s about weighing the potential value of the proposed plan against the cost, risks and potential harm it may inflict. It is about assessing trade-offs carefully and judging that the potential benefit outweighs the cost and risk. I don’t see a lot of that happening right now.

This may seem a bit abstract. So, let’s be specific. In 2021, the County invoked a series of harsh reactive measures under the umbrella of Tourism Management. It did so in response to overcrowding of public spaces and beaches during the first summer of the pandemic. Three years later, the crowds are gone, but many heavy-handed measures remain in force. It has a cost. Some folks are okay with a punitive approach to the local economy. Others aren’t. But such policies must be built on a rational measurement of cost and benefit—rather than fear and loathing. At a minimum, such kneejerk policymaking should have a sunset clause—a time fuse upon which the policy must be reaffirmed, or it dies.

How else has our regulatory undergrowth become matted and deadening?

Currently, a builder is looking to construct 37 new homes in Consecon. On the municipal water system. The builder has studied the soil, the trees, the floodplain, the traffic, and the potential impact on neighbours, Consecon Lake and Wellers Bay. Its stormwater management plan, hydrological assessment, and traffic study have been peer-reviewed— that is, it has hired third-party experts to determine whether its conclusions are solid and whether the project presents little or no risk to the surrounding area. Another agency—Quinte Conservation—has reviewed the plan and given its blessing to the development.

But before it can go any further, the County has a nine-page list of (45) conditions the builder must meet before moving to the next stage of planning approval.

Notwithstanding such high regulatory barriers— for 37 homes—some council members worry it isn’t enough. What about the trees? The darkness? The vehicle graveyard that once occupied the pasture next door? Whatabout…

And to be crystal clear, Council has an important role in ensuring that local knowledge and insight inform changes in the land use in their midst. It is vital. Non-negotiable. But too often, such complaints mask a more generalized desire that such development does not proceed at all—at least, not here. Not where I have to look at it. Not where I grew up. Change is unsettling.

Yet, it’s important to ask ourselves from time to time: who benefits from elaborate regulatory hurdles? The bureaucracy is an obvious beneficiary—Shire Hall’s ranks have swollen considerably over the last decade or two thanks to the expansion of its regulatory apparatus. The environment is a clear winner. So too, are NIMBYs, as they are gifted with an array of cudgels to beat back the invading menace.

But you know who else benefits from high regulatory hurdles? The rich and powerful. When building a handful of homes, such hurdles can challenge the viability of a project—and ultimately, the cost is factored into the price of each home. But if your ambition is to build thousands of homes or create new communities, such rules represent a speed bump at best.

In this case, regulatory regimes transform insurmountable hurdles for the small into competitive advantages for the powerful. They erect barriers to lesser competitors and potential new entrants. The cost of doing business in the County ensures only the mighty may play, and it actively works to keep others out.

And sometimes, if you are really, really powerful, you can persuade local decision-makers that your vision is so beneficent that it shouldn’t be regulated at all. Further, they may even be persuaded that your role is so central to the County that the municipality should run ahead facilitating infrastructure for your exclusive benefit.

Whether conscious or not, Council and Shire Hall ensure that only the rich and powerful may live, invest, and build in our community.

Is this the purpose of local government?

rick@wellingtontimes.ca