Liesbeth and Yves Thoraval live on 11th Ave., in a house built in 1911, immediately next door to a proposed tower. If approved, the tower’s underground parking entrance and commercial loading would run alongside their front yard.Tijana Martin/The Globe and Mail
In a Mount Pleasant enclave along West 10th and West 11th Avenues, there stands some of Vancouver’s most pristine heritage houses, pink, blue and yellow Victorians and Edwardians, and several coach houses, as old as the 1890s. Strolling along the streets is like stepping back in time.
They look like historic single detached homes, but they are some of the city’s most livable “missing middle” density, a mix of strata condos, duplexes and rental units – the result of a zoning experiment that goes back to the 1990s. According to planner Sandy James, who did her thesis on the community back in the 1980s, it started when the Davis family – legendary for their historic homes – moved into the then-rundown neighbourhood and started saving the old houses by scraping money together and converting them into affordable multifamily suites. The city’s policy change made house conversions official and enabled residents to densify their homes while retaining the character and preserving the historic look of the street. As a result, the rows of houses have become a tourist destination. It is one of several policy and demographic shifts that led to the densification of many detached houses throughout the city.
The conversions are one reason that there’s been a reduction of nearly 4,000 single detached homes in Vancouver, or an 8-per-cent drop, between 2006 and 2021.
While there have been recent, highly publicized policy changes announced to convert so-called “single-family” homes, the little-known fact is that the shift away from detached housing has already long been under way.
“Because it happened so slowly, it was an unspectacular decline that has gone unnoticed,” says Andy Yan, Simon Fraser University’s city program director and associate professor of urban studies, who analyzed the census data on Vancouver’s detached housing stock.
“That’s the problem with all this talk about densifying the single detached neighbourhoods. A lot of them haven’t been single family for a long time. Maybe in affluent neighbourhoods, but for working class neighbourhoods, they have quietly densified with affordable and livable rental units.”
But now, those residents who embraced the missing middle density early on in Mount Pleasant are facing a form of density that they say would likely bust up their tight-knit community: the Broadway Plan tower. Since the plan was approved in 2022, there has been a rush of rezoning proposals for high-rise towers within the 500-block area, with most towers from 18 to 30 storeys. A rezoning proposal sign for an 18-storey tower with a four-storey podium recently went up on three lots at 121 to 129 West 11th Avenue, a shady street that is a pedestrian oasis in the ragged days of summer.
Ms. James says that instead of focusing on the major arterial streets, some developers are looking for less expensive pockets where they can build one of two 18-storey towers that are allowed under the plan on certain streets, such as the pocket of West 11th. Otherwise, three to six storeys are allowed in the area. When a developer assembles houses for a tower, it has the chilling effect on the rest of the street, she says, causing residents to worry that they could one day be the lone-standing house if they don’t sell as well. West 11th has several heritage-designated houses that are protected, but there are many others that aren’t.
“It’s neighbourhood busting,” says Ms. James, a former planner with the city of Vancouver. Ms. James is one of many planners and urban designers who’ve criticized the plan for the damage that high-rise towers could do to neighbourhoods.
She also takes issue with the West 11th proposal because it would eliminate mountain views from Queen Elizabeth Park that have been protected by the city’s view cone policy for more than three decades. Removal of the view cone is key to the developer’s proposal, as is access to tiny Major Matthews Park, a pre-schooler playground on Manitoba Street. The park is integrated into the architect’s plans, so it appears as an extension of the site. The site is bookended by historic houses, and there are two coach houses immediately to the north.
The need for more density is clear in a growing city that lacks affordable housing, and the proposal offers 165 units of rental housing, with 20 per cent of floor space below market and underground parking. However, there’s also the question of whether a tower fits on a historic streetscape, and the fairness of changing the zoning rules among a group of residents who spent decades following them. For example, Peter Prince and co-owner Helga Martens have spent 40-plus years fixing up their three-unit, 134-year-old property across the street from the proposal. Like many others, they’ve invested considerable time and money into a streetscape they thought was preserved.
Pedestrians walk past signage for a proposed condo tower along West 11th Ave., in Vancouver.Tijana Martin/The Globe and Mail
They attended a meeting with a realtor who threw out a figure for a land assembly on the south side of the street, and although they declined, they now worry that their neighbours may be incentivized to sell. Mr. Prince says the deals aren’t always worth it, because they are contingent on the rezoning application being approved, and the property is tied up until then. The bigger pressure to sell is the fear of being the only house standing, locked in by bigger developments.
“We would become an orphan extremely quickly,” he says, “And we would have to decide if we really want to be an orphan on what would be a shadowed property with a tower over there and a tower there, on this weird little plot of land.”
Co-owner Helga Martens says apartment buildings four to six storeys would fit better on the street.
“I was in favour of the subway and all that, but I never dreamed that [a tower] would happen to this street. I thought they would concentrate on the arterials,” she says.
“To enhance what’s here instead would make us all happier,” she says. “It’s an insult to the efforts that we have put in, and others. We thought [the zoning] was here to stay, we thought it would protect us. And now it’s gone.”
There’s also the physicality of a massive tower going in next to a house. Liesbeth and Yves Thoraval live at 133 West 11th Ave. in a house built in 1911, immediately next door to the proposed tower. If approved, the tower’s underground parking entrance and commercial loading would run alongside their front yard.
They have concerns about stability of their foundation once excavation begins on the tower, of the tower’s out-of-scale massing, and the loss of mature trees. West 11th Avenue is a popular pedestrian street because of its big shady trees.
The Thoravals have a tall Douglas fir in their backyard that would get in the way of construction, a problem for the developer that would need to be worked out.
They are keenly aware that they will be called NIMBYs for opposing the project, but they are not opposed to the towers on nearby Broadway that will block their view of the mountains. They are trying to save their little community, which includes their friend Monique Poncelet, owner of the popular Daniel Chocolates, also in Mount Pleasant.
The Thoravals walk through their backyard, which is home to an old tree, pictured left.Tijana Martin/The Globe and Mail
The Thoraval's tree, centre, which is facing potential removal.Tijana Martin/The Globe and Mail
“It’s like a village. Everybody knows everybody. Yeah. It’s really nice,” says Mr. Thoraval. “Now, you put a tower there, it’s going to destroy everything.”
Ms. Poncelet argues that there are other places more suited to towers, instead of one of the most historic tourist-destinations in the city. She wonders if it is possible to add significant density without losing the fabric of the neighbourhoods, the features that make them livable.
“I know it’s the vision of the Broadway Plan, but it doesn’t mean you have to destroy everything.”
Tijana Martin/The Globe and Mail