Our suburbs will create housing — if state law requires them do so

Ridgefield, like most of Fairfield County’s bedroom suburbs, is mostly white and affluent — characteristics my wife and I didn’t dwell on when we moved our family here in 1991. We were drawn by the good schools, charming downtown and a home with a stunning view. It’s the kind of town you can fall in love with easily.

Around that time, the Sheff v. O’Neill lawsuit was working its way through the courts. A group of Hartford-area families had sued the state, alleging disproportionate educational spending that favored white communities. As I followed the story in the news, it became clear to me that Ridgefield — like its sister suburbs — was something else: segregated.

In 1993, to forestall court intervention, Gov. Lowell Weicker launched a statewide initiative to combat what he called “the racial and economic isolation in Connecticut’s school system.” His plan divided the state into 11 regions, each of which was to develop its own voluntary desegregation plan. I signed up to serve on our regional committee. We held hearings, conducted research and developed a plan. Unfortunately, the plan was voted down by a majority of towns in our region, and it went down in seven of the other regions, as well.

That experience opened my eyes not only to Connecticut’s segregation but to the pervasive resistance to addressing it. (“I moved here to get away from diversity,” one Ridgefielder memorably declared during our local hearing). I channeled my disappointment into a commitment to affordable housing — the best way to integrate the schools, I figured, would be to integrate our communities. I’ve served on Ridgefield’s Affordable Housing Committee since we were appointed in 1996, and I’ve chaired it since the turn of the century.

We’ve worked hard for the past 25 years, and we’ve failed.

Sure, there have been small victories — a modest development here, an expansion of accessory apartments there. But if our goal was to help Ridgefield become a more economically and racially diverse community, we’ve fallen short.

Many people in places like Ridgefield believe that the segregation in our towns “just happened” — and that, if we keep an open mind, it will simply “unhappen.” It won’t. As scholars and authors have shown, as Richard Rothstein did in his widely read book “The Color of Law,” segregation was designed into the suburbs, through an ugly history of economic discrimination and exclusionary land-use policies. And it will take equal intentionality to remedy it.

The advocacy organization Desegregate CT understands this, and it’s why they’ve shrewdly focused on land-use policy. Their modest proposals, contained in SB 1024, would require some towns to allow certain types of multifamily housing where it currently is not allowed.

Opponents of the bill wave the flag of home rule. “It’s a state takeover of local zoning!” they cry, which will “destroy the character” of our towns. Underlying the current histrionics, I believe, is not racism, but an antipathy toward change: Our town is perfect — why change it?

I long approached this as a communications challenge: If everyone simply understood the systemic discrimination behind our land-use and housing policies, they’d become advocates for change. But I was naive. I now believe the only way communities like Ridgefield will enact the needed changes is if they have to. And that’s why I enthusiastically support SB 1024 — and hope the provisions excluded by the committee will be reinstated.

When I ask my fellow Ridgefielders to envision the perfect town, most want to see Ridgefield become an inclusive community, with meaningful economic and racial diversity. Yet they fear the change required to achieve it. And so Ridgefield, like our sister towns, lacks political will. Without an impetus to change — and that’s SB 1024 — the status quo will endure.

I love Ridgefield. In almost every way, it’s a great town. If we can summon the guts to address the bias in our land-use policies, someday it may even be perfect.