Beyond the Numbers

A local NextDoor member recently posted statistics from AMBAG’s recent report showing the RHNA (Regional Housing Needs Allocation) numbers for Santa Cruz County, where the state has called for 12,979 housing units to be provided for the 2023–2031 cycle. As another member pointed out, once adopted, those numbers are binding for housing-element planning, not construction. And to help keep the thread from veering towards impassioned exchanges, he went on to provide the following assessment of our statewide and local housing issues which was so well-articulated that I am inspired to share here in its original form:

[Commentary follows] A few key clarifications: RHNA is not a construction mandate. Cities don’t build housing. They must zone enough land so this many units could be built across income levels if proposed. The Builder’s Remedy isn’t triggered by the numbers themselves. It only applies when a city fails to adopt a compliant Housing Element. Local control still exists, but it’s narrower than it was 20+ years ago. Cities decide where housing goes and under what standards, but they can’t zone in a way that makes meeting RHNA mathematically impossible. 

So this document isn’t “opening the door” to developers by itself, it’s explaining the framework the state now enforces. The deeper issue, though, isn’t just “underproduction.” It’s a collision of forces that were never designed to coexist at scale. 

First, demand concentrates around success. Places like Santa Cruz became desirable because communities grew with restraint, human-scale neighborhoods, access to nature, walkability, safety, charm. Those qualities are the product of limits. Standard supply-and-demand logic assumes you can add supply without degrading what people value, but here demand is driven by the very character that restraint created. 

Second, space exists, but usable space is constrained. California has land, but much of it is limited by water, fire risk, topography, agriculture, coastal law, infrastructure, evacuation capacity, and ecology. Santa Cruz County is hemmed in by ocean, mountains, forests, and protected land. What looks like “underuse” from afar is often intentional, decades-long restraint to keep communities functional and safe. 

Third, the state changed the unit of analysis, from places to people. Housing policy used to be place-based: communities balancing growth, infrastructure, risk, and livability. The state now treats housing as a statewide equity and labor-market problem. From that lens, local balance looks like exclusion. RHNA reflects that shift, it treats cities as containers for units rather than living systems with carrying capacities. 

So when the state says “you underproduced,” it often means: “You didn’t absorb a proportional share of regional demand.” When locals say “we built what made this place work,” they often mean: “We optimized for livability, not throughput.” Both can be true at the same time. That’s why simple supply-and-demand arguments fall flat. Housing isn’t widgets. You can’t scale charm, beach access, aquifers, evacuation routes, or community trust linearly. But freezing places in amber pushes costs onto workers, renters, younger generations, and neighboring regions. At bottom, this isn’t really about numbers. It’s about who gets to define success, the people who built and live in a place, or the state trying to expand access to it. That unresolved tension is why this debate feels emotional, moral, and political, not just technical. [End of commentary].

I couldn’t have put it better myself.