The Skyscrapers That NIMBYs and Zoning Couldn't Stop

This episode of Planet Money tells the story of the Squamish Nation, an Indigenous community in British Columbia, who reclaimed 10.5 acres of ancestral land in Vancouver and are now building 11 skyscrapers—a megaproject that defies the zoning restrictions that have paralyzed housing development across North America. Hosts Alex Mayasi and Jeff Guo trace a century-long saga from violent eviction to legal victory to a daring construction project, using the Squamish experience as a case study in what becomes possible when a community is freed from the normal rules of urban development. The episode is both a specific story about Indigenous land rights and a broader economic lesson about how zoning laws, NIMBY opposition, and the problem of "concentrated costs versus diffuse benefits" shape—and distort—housing markets in expensive cities.

0:00The Land That Was Taken and Reclaimed

The story begins in the 1800s with Sen̓áḵw (pronounced "sen-ack"), a Squamish village on the shores of what would become Vancouver. Chief Gilbert Jacob—known as Chief Gibby—describes it as one of the most bountiful areas on the entire Pacific coast, where his ancestors hunted elk and moose, fished for salmon, and harvested the sea. Then came the white settlers. In 1913, government officials from British Columbia forcibly removed the Squamish people from their land. The eviction was brutal: families were put onto a barge with no time to gather their belongings, and as they watched from the water, the authorities set the entire village ablaze. "They burned everything, all our people's belongings," Chief Gibby recalls. "They didn't want us to come back."

The land was strategically valuable because it sat next to a fast-growing seaport—a seaport that would become Vancouver, one of the most expensive cities in the world. Over the decades, the former village was transformed into streets, single-family homes, apartments, government buildings, a park, a wharf, and a marina. But the Squamish never stopped fighting for Sen̓áḵw. In 1977, they sued the Canadian government, and the legal battle stretched on for more than a quarter century. Finally, in 2003, they won back 10.5 acres—roughly the size of a large football stadium. "I was ecstatic," Chief Gibby says. "This place, we never doubted it belonged to our people."

The location was extraordinary: undeveloped land in the middle of one of the world's most expensive housing markets, within walking distance of downtown Vancouver. Chief Gibby recognized this as "the biggest economic opportunity in the history of the Squamish Nation." He gathered his team and declared, "We got a plan."

5:03The First Plan: A Modest ATM

Chief Gibby's initial vision was pragmatic and conservative. He wanted to build a few mid-rise apartment buildings—about a dozen stories tall—with roughly 1,500 rental units. His goal was straightforward: create a dependable revenue stream for a community that had been economically marginalized for generations. Growing up in the 1950s, Chief Gibby had no plumbing or running water in his home, and many Squamish people had struggled to catch up economically ever since. He called his concept an "ATM"—"plug the card in every end of the month, the money comes out. Pay the bills."

In the United States, some Native tribes have turned to casinos for economic development, but the Squamish saw a different opportunity. Their land sat in the middle of a major city with a severe housing shortage, especially for young people who couldn't afford to buy. "Let's house them," Chief Gibby says. The plan seemed sensible: a fairly typical, modest-size development that would generate steady rental income.

But when Chief Gibby and his team presented the proposal to the Squamish Nation through bulletins, newsletters, and community meetings, a younger generation pushed back. Wilson Williams—whose ancestral name is Sxwélten—was in his early twenties at the time. His great-grandfather had lived in Sen̓áḵw and was among those driven off the land in 1913. Wilson found himself thinking about a phrase he'd often heard Squamish elders repeat: "We gotta start planning seven generations ahead."

7:34The Seven Generations Problem

The concept of planning seven generations ahead is a teaching common to many Indigenous cultures: the idea that you should be stewards of the land so it can keep providing for your children, your grandchildren, and their children in turn. Wilson Williams says he learned it as a Squamish teaching "to ensure the health and wealth of the next generations" and to make sure "they don't have to deal with what we've had to."

This principle made Wilson skeptical of Chief Gibby's modest proposal. He saw two problems. First, the mid-rise buildings felt generic—they didn't feel Squamish. "Sen̓áḵw was the place of beauty," he says, "and that beauty wasn't presented in this proposal." Second, and more fundamentally, the plan seemed too small. A few mid-rise buildings wouldn't generate the kind of profit that could transform the economic future of the Squamish Nation for generations to come.

Wilson recognized that the Squamish were in a unique position. As a self-governing nation on their own sovereign territory, they were not bound by Vancouver's zoning laws. In most North American cities, zoning regulations limit what you can build on any given piece of land—at the time, more than half of Vancouver was restricted to single-family homes, with additional rules about lot sizes and parking minimums that made dense development nearly impossible. But on Squamish land, none of those rules applied. "We can do different things, build higher, build differently, not abiding by the same bylaws," Wilson says. Building mid-rise apartments would be squandering that opportunity.

The initial plans never moved forward. Chief Gibby eventually retired, and in 2013, Wilson Williams was elected to the Squamish Council. His late father-in-law gave him a piece of advice: "We need to get you some silver." Wilson initially thought he meant actual silver jewelry, but his father-in-law explained that in Squamish teachings, wearing silver deflects bad energy. Wilson got the jewelry and stepped into his leadership role, part of a new generation tasked with figuring out what to do with those 10.5 acres.

10:07The Megaproject: Skyscrapers and a Resounding Mandate

By the time Wilson joined the council, Vancouver had become one of the most expensive cities in the world. Rents had skyrocketed, driven by a fundamental geographic constraint: Vancouver is surrounded by water, so the only way to build more housing is to build up. But zoning laws prevented that. This is not just a Vancouver problem—economists almost universally agree that restrictive zoning is one of the main reasons rents are so high in cities like New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. For the Squamish Nation, however, the housing crisis was an opportunity.

Wilson and the council worked with developers on a radically different plan. Instead of a few mid-rise buildings, they would build 11 skyscrapers. The tallest would be about 60 stories. This megaproject would add roughly 6,000 new apartments to the city—four times the number in Chief Gibby's original plan. Most units would be market-rate rentals available to anyone, with some subsidized apartments reserved for Squamish Nation members. The development would also include shops, restaurants, parks, and artwork designed by Squamish artists. It would make Sen̓áḵw one of the densest uses of land in all of Vancouver.

In 2019, the Squamish Nation put the plan to a vote. They set up two polling stations—one in Vancouver and one about an hour outside the city. When the ballots were counted, the result was a resounding mandate to move forward. "That was music to the ears of our people," Wilson says. The announcement made big news in Vancouver: the Squamish were about to permanently transform the city's skyline.

And that's when the nasty letters started arriving.

14:05The NIMBY Backlash and the Problem of Concentrated Costs

The construction site today is impressive. Jacob Lewis III, who has helped oversee the Sen̓áḵw development for years, gave the hosts a tour. Three of the 11 towers are nearly complete—sleek, modern buildings with floor-to-ceiling tinted glass windows, orange balconies, and giant orange metal panels shaped like wishbones. Jacob explains that this shape, called a trigon, appears in all kinds of Squamish artwork. "This represents us," he says. "We've experienced so many years of erasure. It's very important for us for people to understand whose land and territory they're visiting."

From the roof of the tallest completed tower—38 stories up—the view is spectacular. Straight ahead lies English Bay; to the right, across a narrow inlet, is downtown Vancouver with its skyscrapers. But immediately around the towers, there are parks and a leafy neighborhood of cute houses. Jacob points to it: "That's the NIMBY area."

The neighborhood is called Kits Point, and when the Squamish first announced their plans, some residents were furious. They put signs in their yards and posted complaints on social media. Some had rational concerns about traffic and overcrowded parks. Others worried about migratory birds. But Jacob says many complaints had a different undercurrent. People called the Squamish greedy. Some questioned why Indigenous people would build tall, modern high-rises at all. A former city councilor told a reporter there was a "big gap" between concrete high-rises and "an indigenous way of building." Jacob found this offensive: "A lot of people look at us as indigenous developers, so they're expecting longhouses and things like we used to live in. No—we're creating something new."

This dynamic illustrates a classic problem in politics and economics. Even when cities know that zoning laws make housing unaffordable, they keep those laws because they give existing residents a say in what happens in their neighborhoods. In theory, that sounds great. In practice, most people don't want big, disruptive construction projects nearby, and they complain loudly to planning boards and politicians. Meanwhile, the people who would benefit from new housing—future residents who don't yet live in the neighborhood, or in Vancouver at all—aren't around to advocate for the project. Economists call this the problem of "concentrated costs versus diffuse benefits": a project that might benefit thousands of people gets stalled because it would inconvenience a small, vocal, highly motivated minority.

Normally, developers have to tread carefully around such opposition. But the Squamish Nation could more or less ignore the critics because this was their land, with their own zoning laws. They did agree to fund traffic upgrades—a new transit hub, bike lanes—and they eventually started finding allies. The city of Vancouver signed an agreement to connect the towers to roads, sewage, and the power grid. The Canadian government provided a $1.4 billion low-interest loan (about $1 billion US), a major show of support for building rental housing. In 2022, the Squamish held a groundbreaking ceremony with elders, the mayor, and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in attendance.

20:04Speed, Cost, and the Economics of Permitting

Since the groundbreaking, construction has moved at a remarkable pace. "We're three years in and we have three towers up," Jacob says. "I'd say it's crazy fast." This speed is another consequence of the Squamish Nation's sovereign status. When neighbors can block projects and take developers to court, it creates delays and uncertainty that cost real money—hidden costs that are usually hard to quantify.

But a recent working paper by economists at MIT and Princeton tried to measure exactly those costs. The researchers looked at the housing market in Los Angeles, where developers can buy land that has already been pre-approved for new construction—meaning someone else has already gone through the permitting process. They found that developers are willing to pay, on average, 50% more for land with all the right permits attached. In dollar terms, that means developers are willing to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars extra just to avoid battles with NIMBYs. The paper estimates that in Los Angeles, the slow and messy permitting process accounts for about a third of total construction costs.

This finding helps explain why the Squamish project is so significant. By being exempt from Vancouver's zoning laws and the associated political battles, the Squamish Nation can build faster and cheaper than almost any other developer in the city. And the need is urgent: in the first phase alone, Sen̓áḵw will add about 1,400 new apartments—roughly a third of all the new rental units built in all of Vancouver last year.

Over time, public opinion in Vancouver has started to shift. In 2019, the city eliminated almost all single-family zoning, allowing duplexes; in 2023, it allowed multiplexes. Jacob noticed the change when he saw a TikTok news report about the towers. The comments section had the usual complaints—"it's so ugly," "it shouldn't be in this neighborhood"—but then he scrolled down and saw something new: people jumping in to defend the project. "No, this is great," they wrote. "Housing's being provided." They were saying YIMBY—Yes, In My Backyard.

23:04Conclusion: A Footprint Back on the Land

The Sen̓áḵw towers are scheduled for completion by 2033. When the hosts spoke with Chief Gibby, now retired, they stood in a park next to the construction site as the towers cast long afternoon shadows. "What do you think the story of this village and now these towers means?" they asked. "We're back," he said simply. "We're back. It's just placing our footprint back on our land again. And to me, that's important."

The episode leaves the listener with a powerful case study in what becomes possible when a community is freed from the normal rules of urban development. The Squamish Nation's primary goal is to generate wealth for the next seven generations—but in doing so, they are also providing something to the rest of Vancouver: thousands of new apartments in the middle of a housing crisis. The project demonstrates how zoning laws, NIMBY opposition, and the permitting process impose enormous hidden costs on housing development, and how removing those barriers can unlock both speed and scale. It's a story about Indigenous sovereignty, economic opportunity, and the practical consequences of a simple economic insight: when the costs of development are concentrated on a few vocal opponents, and the benefits are spread across many future residents who aren't yet present to advocate for themselves, the system tends to produce too little housing. The Squamish Nation found a way around that problem—and in the process, they are reshaping both their own future and the skyline of Vancouver.

Key Takeaways

• The Squamish Nation reclaimed 10.5 acres of ancestral land in Vancouver in 2003 after a 26-year legal battle, and because the land is sovereign territory, they are exempt from the city's zoning laws.
• The original plan for modest mid-rise apartments was rejected by a younger generation who argued that the Squamish should plan "seven generations ahead" and build something that would generate lasting wealth.
• The final plan calls for 11 skyscrapers (the tallest at 60 stories) with 6,000 apartments, making it one of the densest developments in Vancouver and adding roughly a third of the city's annual new rental supply in its first phase alone.
• The project faced intense NIMBY opposition from neighbors in Kits Point, including complaints about traffic, birds, and the aesthetics of Indigenous people building modern high-rises—which Jacob Lewis III called "levels of racism."
• Economists describe the political dynamic as "concentrated costs versus diffuse benefits": a small, vocal minority of existing residents can block projects that would benefit thousands of future residents who aren't yet present to advocate for themselves.
• A working paper from MIT and Princeton found that in Los Angeles, developers pay 50% more for land with pre-approved permits, suggesting that the permitting process accounts for about a third of construction costs.
• The Canadian government provided a $1.4 billion low-interest loan for the project, and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau attended the groundbreaking ceremony.
• The Squamish Nation's sovereign status allows them to build faster and cheaper than other developers, demonstrating how zoning reform could unlock housing supply in expensive cities.