Boston residents have gotten so used to having a say over what their neighbors do with their property that the exceptions can come as a rude surprise. Just ask the 100 mostly angry people who crowded into a West Roxbury church on Tuesday to learn about a homeless shelter scheduled to open in the neighborhood this summer.
A state contractor plans to turn a long-vacant nursing home at 5 Redlands Road, near the intersection with Centre Street, into a shelter for dozens of families.
There’s a good reason the neighbors might have filed into Emmanuel Episcopal Church expecting to offer input on the shelter plan, and maybe even to sink the project. After all, there’s seemingly a community-review process for everything in Boston: If a landowner wants to build a school or an apartment building, abutters have to be notified and invited to comment. That’s led to a culture of reflexive NIMBYism and maybe even a sense of entitlement — as if it’s just the natural order of things for the neighborhood to have a veto over other people’s property.
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But you could almost see the realization set in at Emmanuel Episcopal Church Tuesday that officials from the shelter operator, Making Opportunity Count, weren’t there to ask permission. They were there to tell the neighborhood about a plan that, in this case, neighbors would be powerless to stop.
“This was basically a fait accompli,” one meeting attendee fumed.
In one sense, the West Roxbury controversy is just another classic NIMBY drama, like the ones that have played out all over the city. But it was also something more complex and more revealing about expectations, and the way that “the process” becomes an end in itself.
The facility, slated to open in July, will house up to 48 families — pregnant women and families with children under 21, which may include parents or guardians, spouses, siblings, or stepparents. Though the shelter will be state-run, it will give preference to Boston residents and could end up saving the city money if it can spend less on busing homeless students to shelters outside the city.
Some attendees welcomed the plan and offered to volunteer. But many others voiced familiar concerns: traffic, trash, smoking areas, and neighborhood safety.
This being Boston, parking was also a top concern of neighbors, never mind that the likelihood of unhoused families owning a car is minimal. When a Redlands Road resident asked about the capacity — “48 families equals how many people?” — the room audibly groaned as Colby O’Brien, vice president of programs at MOC, answered that it would be between 150 and 175.
Jesus, of course, was invoked at some point. “Jesus didn’t say ‘help people who are less fortunate unless they’re going to take your parking spot,’ ” said an attendee. Predictably, someone yelled at her right after, “Then why don’t you open your own home [to homeless people]?”
“We don’t want it!” yelled another neighbor. “Yes, we do!” answered a young woman who had expressed her support earlier.
What the critics kept coming back to, though, was not the merits of the proposal but the process — a sense that the community was owed a seat at the table that it didn’t get. One attendee questioned the state officials present: When was Mayor Michelle Wu notified of this? Of course, there was no approval sought from the mayor because none was needed. “In the springtime, we let the city know” of the plans to turn the old nursing home into a shelter, said Chris Thompson, undersecretary of housing stabilization at the Executive Office of Housing and Livable Communities.
One reason residents may have felt blindsided was that a previous plan for a three-story, 30-unit apartment building at the site did go through a community process. It drew neighborhood concerns about traffic and lack of income-restricted units, and the developer withdrew it for unknown reasons. Because the homeless shelter will just reuse the nursing home, though, the change of use did not trigger a city review. No public input. No community veto.
Why does a condo development trigger a review but converting a nursing home to a homeless shelter doesn’t? There’s no rational explanation why one would be subject to community approval and not the other. And you can ask the question the other way around: If someone can open a homeless shelter with so little fuss, why does building housing require all the public process and “mitigation” often expected of developers?
The system of community review in Boston is meant, at least in part, to soothe tensions over neighborhood change. But what if it actually does the opposite? What if by practically inviting residents to complain about developments, the city has guaranteed that they will, while also creating expectations that can’t always be met? After all, the hard truth is that in West Roxbury and everywhere else, you can’t always tell other people what to do with their property.