In The Beginning: AN INTERVIEW WITH JOSEPH E. PETRILLO.

Joseph E. Petrillo played a significant role in drafting the Coastal Plan and shaping the bills that turned it into law in 1976. He served as counsel for the California State Coastal Commission from 1973 to 1975, acted as a consultant for the State Senate land use committee from 1975 to 1977, and then became the inaugural executive officer of the Coastal Conservancy. After nine years, he resigned to pursue a career in private practice as an attorney and consultant specializing in land use planning. Rasa Gustaitis, the editor of WaterfrontAge, interviewed Petrillo.

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WaterfrontAge: You were involved right from the beginning. How did the Conservancy come about?

Joe Petrillo: It emerged out of a necessity we recognized during the drafting of the Coastal Plan by the California Coastal Commission. During the three-year period following the approval of Proposition 20 by the voters on California, we had nearly absolute authority to deny development permits. I often joked that we had unconstitutional power to do whatever we pleased on the coast.

How did the voters grant such extensive power to a government body?

It was primarily a conservative response. They, the voters, didn’t want further changes in the coastal environment, which was transitioning from recreational and open spaces uses to closed communities and intense development. They foresaw this trend continuing and voted against it. It’s important to remember that the proposition was temporary. We had three years to create a plan for the Coast and regulate development during that time so as not to foreclose the plans options.

So, what did you accomplish with all that power?

Well, we initially believed we could do almost anything because of remarkable breadth our authority to say “No” to anything that may foreclose plan options. However, we soon realized that simply saying “No” didn’t achieve our intended long term goals for the coast. A simple “No” couldn’t restore already damaged resources or protect those about to be harmed due to prior commitments. Saying “No” also couldn’t provide greater public access, except in limited circumstances. It couldn’t revitalize waterfronts.

There was also another issue: we had to say “No” because, activities on the coast were driven by substantial economic value coastal land had in the market. Just saying “No” didn’t eliminate that value. Therefore, we would have to keep saying it again and again, indefinitely.

So, under Proposition 20, you had the power to obstruct the river’s flow but couldn’t redirect it?

Exactly. Eventually, the river would find alternative paths around our obstructions. It appeared to many who supported the proposition that we were compromising left and right when, in reality, we were doing our best.

And then?

We felt frustrated. The entire staff was passionate about our work. We weren’t that young; most of us were in our thirties. We had prior professional experiences, and while we were idealistic, we had become somewhat cynical due to those experiences. We tried  hard to figure out how to save the coast after making the decision to do so.

Eventually, we developed a three-pronged approach. We continued to say “No,” but we also established a planning process to handle projects collectively. We acknowledged that when dealing with cumulative impacts, controlling individual projects was futile.

Secondly, we sought funding to acquire lands that should remain undeveloped—those that weren’t worth debating over, such as significant dunes or rare wetlands.

Lastly, we called for the establishment of a new entity to be called the California Coastal Conservancy with extensive powers to restore land, facilitate access, protect agriculture, and other powers that were introduced later. I was responsible for writing the management section of the Coastal Plan. I sought inspiration from existing models. Which entity could restore land, even if it appeared open but was actually comprised of scattered parcels?

Redevelopment agencies could. Granted, they often mishandled their authority, but that was a failure of planning perception, not an inherent flaw in the land acquisition and redevelopment mechanism. So that was one model. The second model was the land trust, particularly the ones in Massachusetts, which have a long history of such trusts.

While exploring these options, I encountered two influential individuals, Bob Lemire and John Olmsted. Lemire, who later wrote a book called “Creative Land Development: Bridge to the Future,” was involved in planning the future of Lincoln, Massachusetts, an affluent town outside of Boston. The city was expanding towards the community, and its residents didn’t want to be overwhelmed by the changes. Instead of resisting change outright, they decided to confront it. They didn’t just establish a planning operation—which is always a flawed approach because it disconnects you from reality—they addressed each land parcel individually. They assessed what they wanted to happen on each parcel and devised appropriate mechanisms. Some parcels were acquired, while others were subject to regulations or redevelopment strategies.                                                                              

Who, precisely, was responsible for all of this? The town planners?

No, it was the community. They held a series of town meetings. And then Lemire took charge to ensure that everything would be accomplished. They have been undertaking such endeavors in New England forever. When I observed that, I thought, “That’s what we should do on the coast.” If we want to preserve some of the coastline for agriculture, simply designating it as agricultural land is not enough. That still leaves two problems: first, there might not be anyone interested in practicing agriculture, and second, the land is already divided into numerous small lots. Zoning becomes meaningless when dealing with 11,000 small parcels.

So, Lemire was very innovative.

Nothing he did was actually innovative. Everything was traditional. However, the people in Lincoln sat down together and focused on implementation. They didn’t leave the implementation solely to the zoning process.

And what about John Olmsted?

John Olmsted was attempting to conserve a section of the coast at Jughandle Creek in Mendocino County. He discovered it to be a unique environment. In essence, he acted as a conservationist, utilizing the full range of mechanisms that would later become part of the Conservancy. He not only acquired the land but also restored it, taught on it, built accessways, and managed all of this with very little funding, primarily by selling Christmas cards. At that time, there was no public agency dedicated to habitat restoration. Although one might assume that the Department of Fish and Game fulfills that role, in reality, it has limited authority. For instance, their stream restoration team is only responsible for restoring streams under public ownership and solely for anadromous fish, not for the entire range of habitats. Nobody was restoring streams for the water ouzel.

Before you became involved in coastal management, you participated in Buckminster Fuller’s World Game. Did you gain any insights from that experience?

My personal environmental and planning consciousness originated from the World Game, and the emphasis on implementation. Not so much because implementation was part of the workshop, but rather due to its absence. The workshop lacked the transformation of ideas into action, even though Fuller himself discussed that conversion. I also adopted the important notion of considering trends when analyzing things. Coastal management, to me, became a series of actions addressing the trends along the coast. The aim was to identify and capitalize on emerging trends that aligned with our objectives. It’s like being an opportunist, patiently waiting for a warm-blooded animal like a tick, remaining motionless for months or even years until the perfect opportunity arises. Then you seize it. You either ride the wave of an existing trend or create a trend yourself by presenting a model. You take the risk of doing something without knowing if it will succeed, with the intention of creating a model. If people then criticize your approach, claiming they could do it better, that’s fantastic. It means they have overcome their negativity and now believe that it can be achieved. Our goal was to initiate and then allow others to improve upon it. No system worth influencing is so small that a single person can significantly impact it.

So, you integrated the lessons from Lemire, Olmsted, redevelopment agencies, land trusts, and the World Game into the concept of the Conservancy?

Yes, we incorporated the Conservancy into the Coastal Plan and divided the plan into three bills. We found authors and worked to push it forward. Eventually, I was responsible for the legislation under Senator Jerry Smith, who authored the Coastal Act, which continued the regulatory process. The “Conservancy Act” (the enabling legislation for the agency) was authored by Michael Wornum, who was an assemblyman at the time and is currently the chairman of the Coastal Commission and a member of the Conservancy Board. Fred Stiles, a consultant in the Assembly Office of Research, drafted the Conservancy Act for Wornum, and I also contributed to its development. The bond act was authored by Senators John Nejedly and Gary Hart.

From the beginning, did you consider conflict resolution to be an important principle?

Indeed, it was. However, when we drafted the Conservancy Act, we couldn’t explicitly incorporate elements of conflict resolution. Firstly, I wasn’t sure what those elements were, and secondly, it’s challenging to articulate such concepts within legislation. When I assumed the role of executive officer, I dedicated a significant amount of time to conflict resolution and the development of mechanisms, which the Conservancy pioneered to a large extent. One such mechanism is direct conflict resolution, or what I refer to as “active negotiation.” It involves engaging with the landowner and offering something in return, such as land acquisition, financial assistance, or help with the permit process. The innovative aspect of this approach was that we made the agency flexible enough to apply it to an almost unlimited variety of cases, enabling us to purchase or provide grants for nearly anything that would resolve the conflict. It could involve constructing something or acquiring something. By investing money, we removed the conflict from the opposing parties and eliminated the economic struggle from the equation. We had to bring something to the table that would break the deadlock, especially when dealing with land use. Otherwise, our mediation would become just another planning exercise. There is also a series of steps to follow. Initially, we attempt to resolve as much as possible through technical means. We bring together as many individuals as possible in a room and determine if they are essentially discussing the same thing but using different terminology. In Berkeley, I have seen seven plans that are exactly the same. Each proponent insists not only that the other six plans are entirely different from theirs, but also that they are generated by the devil. However, the truth is that the plans are identical and their differences are insignificant.

So what does that mean?

When dealing with an environmental group and a developer, you reduce everything to economics. This allows you to communicate effectively because both sides speak the same language. I don’t know anyone else who consistently approaches mediation in this way. You say to the developer, “Okay, we want to preserve this marsh. It will cost you x dollars. In return, we will provide you with time, allowing you to develop faster, and that’s worth *dollars. We’ll offer you tax benefits, which are worth x dollars. We can even provide a bonus, › dollars.” You create your own plan with the aim of achieving returns for the developer that are similar to what they expected.

Can you give me an example?

Let’s consider the case of Bolsa Chica, where we wanted to protect a wetland that was at risk due to a planned development of a marina and 4,000 houses. We conducted an economic analysis of the returns the developer would get under their plan. We used that as a target and designed a plan that would preserve the desired amount of wetland while still providing the developer with a comparable return to their original plan. We created a model and ran both plans through the computer, continually adjusting our plan. We discovered that the houses with the highest returns for the developer were the ones with a view. In our plan, we expanded the marsh and, consequently, the perimeter around it. This allowed for many more houses with views compared to the developer’s plan. Additionally, we found a way to eliminate nearly seventy-five million dollars in capital costs that the developer would have had to pay upfront under their plan.

Although we disagreed on many elements, I’m confident that our plan was far more feasible and would have provided the developer with much greater returns than the existing plan. The developer accepted our proposal, and it is currently progressing through the different agencies for approval. A similar case was seen with Stearns Wharf. We developed a financing plan and focused on the hard economics to demonstrate its feasibility.

Most citizen participation efforts, prior to the existence of the Conservancy, involved bringing people together to determine their collective desires. At best, as in Jim Burns’ approach (Burns, an innovator in citizen planning, has frequently collaborated with the Conservancy), they would engage in some planning themselves. We took Jim Burns’ approach a step further by introducing a process I refer to as “reality training.” After everyone agreed on what they wanted, I had my economist calculate the associated numbers. We then assessed all the funds available for implementation, which usually turned out to be considerably less than what was hoped for. That’s when I would say, “Your city council will need to decide what to cut, so why don’t you do it.”

Subsequently, Jim Burns developed a game in which people make choices. The idea of incorporating the hard economic choices into a game is an innovation by the Conservancy. As a result, the citizens’ plan always aligns with the economic realities.

You actually addressed the entire problem.

I always said that if the Conservancy wasn’t solving problems, then it would serve no purpose as a separate agency. If it only distributed grants to local governments for access or restoration, any agency could do that. You write some guidelines, wait for the submissions, review them, and send them out. The Conservancy is only valid if it uses its power to grant in a way that also resolves issues.

Can you give an example?

We discovered early on the concept of swiftly taking the first step when entering a community. Usually, all the bureaucrats want the final plan before you even begin. The Conservancy itself, if left unmanaged, would behave the same way. What we did was initiate a small part of the plan immediately. In Oceanside, we provided access by building a single stairway from the top of the bluff to the beach. In Morro Bay, it was the construction of a T-pier for commercial fishing. This kept the momentum going, and people could see progress. Once that was in place, the entire plan became tangible, and it became very difficult to change it politically. As a result, everyone had more time to complete the plan.

Another thing we discovered—I discovered—was that managing conflict resolution is very challenging. It’s the first thing the agency tends to avoid because it’s difficult for individual staff members to accept that responsibility unless the agency’s head insists on it.

Because you intervene in the middle of conflicts?

Yes, and it also requires a lot of work. Things need to be done on time because if you cause delays, there’s no reason for anyone to turn to you. You won’t provide any hope of resolution if the focus is on you as a problem. This means that you’re asking bureaucrats to be present, deliver things punctually, be adaptable, and be non-judgmental. Many people who enter government agencies have a tendency to be judgmental and enjoy being regulators. Given the opportunity, a bureaucrat will always say, “It doesn’t comply with regulations.” However, the moment you start doing that, you become useless to the Conservancy. On a daily basis, when we got involved in problem resolution, the typical response from the assigned staff member would be either, “It doesn’t comply with regulations,” or “I’m waiting for them to propose alternatives.” If this way of thinking prevails, the agency’s creativity is stifled. The management’s role is to say, “No, tomorrow morning, I want at least five alternatives that solve the problem, and I want them presented in a letter with an economic analysis.” The important thing is to do that, not to determine whether these alternatives will work or not because you won’t know until after you send the letter. The alternatives must make economic sense, of course, and be thoughtful.

This work is both creative and challenging.

Yes, but it also follows a certain formula. There is a formula to our approach to conflict resolution, our method of land acquisition, and our way of involving citizens. However, that formula will never be implemented unless management insists on it because the natural inertia level will prevent it from taking effect.

Did you find a way to overcome that inertia?

Initially, we provided a lot of training and motivation. It worked well, especially with people who joined us from outside and had some experience at higher levels. We were also able to divide people into two groups: those who naturally excelled in this way of working and those who felt more comfortable with managing our established programs. We assigned the first group to special projects and gave the regular grant program to the second group. However, maintaining this arrangement becomes increasingly difficult over time because, firstly, the civil service system doesn’t allow for easy adjustments or the recruitment of the desired individuals. Secondly, people who understand the system and realize that they have mastered it will eventually leave.

Why is that?

Because we asked staff members, who might be 24 years old and fresh out of school, not just to review permits and ensure consistency with the Coastal Act, but to create development plans that surpass the plans of someone who made a million dollars last year. People who can do that for the Conservancy can put together almost any deal in any format. They no longer see themselves as mere learners or bureaucrats. They suddenly recognize their capabilities and their ability to interact on the same level as anyone they meet.

That sounds a bit arrogant.

Well, it does. But these tasks are not beyond the capabilities of competent, well-trained, positive, and fairly creative individuals. That encompasses a wide range of people. People with MAs and PhDs have the ability to learn a system—they had to in order to obtain their degrees. What they need is confidence. Once they gain it, these people tend to leave.

Where have they gone?

Dennis Machida is now the executive officer of the Tahoe Conservancy, demonstrating his creativity in his own way. Another person joined us as an academic economist and is now a full partner in a large development company on the East Coast. Two former staff members are among the four individuals overseeing the entire property development office of a major corporation. One woman holds a key position in BRIDGE, the organization responsible for constructing a significant portion of low-income housing in the city. Another woman is a professor of architecture at the University of Kansas. Another ex-staff member is a principal in an economic planning firm, even though he didn’t join us as an economist. And an ambitious young biologist, who initially didn’t believe he could solve problems and restore wetlands, is now one of the top consultants on wetlands and a principal in a major planning firm. Peter Grenell left but we managed to bring him back by offering him an irresistible challenge—to become the director of the Conservancy.

Does this mean that you just hired talented people who were on their way up?

I’m not sure. There is no doubt that these people are capable, but would they have progressed as quickly without the sudden confidence that they could succeed at higher levels? I’m convinced that the answer is no.

So, the Conservancy has acted as a great school for future leaders.

One of the most important things any agency does is this. The more people you have coming through, learning something, and then feeling compelled to leave because they believe they can accomplish more elsewhere, the better it is for the agency. If you can continuously replenish the staff with fresh talent, it prevents the agency from becoming stagnant within five years. The agencies that don’t do this are remarkable. The Coastal Commission ceased to exist about five years ago.

Has the Conservancy become stagnant?

To some extent, our innovative work may be complete, although there is still much to be done. People have embraced the idea of restoring piers, marshes, and creating accessways. When I initiated these programs, nobody believed restoring a marsh had any value, nobody considered restoring piers, and nobody wanted accessways. In fact, the Coastal Commission and the Department of Fish and Game opposed the idea of habitat restoration. They argued that it interfered with nature and that encouraging restoration would lead to further human intrusion, which could be misused. Seriously, they repeatedly told me that. But now, restoring things is a major trend. However, ten years ago, I couldn’t get anyone in the entire U.S. to listen, except for a few individuals. For example, our stream restoration program. As far as I know, nobody was doing it comprehensively when we started providing funding to fence streams and prevent cattle from entering, planting and repairing streambeds, and undertaking various other activities. Now, everyone is engaged in stream restoration. In essence, the Conservancy’s role has shifted from creating the program to supporting others in their efforts.

Did the idea for marsh and stream restoration come from coastal communities?

There is always input. If you’re a creative agency, you absorb ideas from your surroundings.

If restoration is gaining popularity, what is the reason? Is it just a change in the times?

I believe the Conservancy played a significant role in the change. It’s not that we completed numerous projects, but rather that we pushed through the model. Usually, people are not willing to do the right thing until they are certain of success. But once they see a successful model, everyone takes credit and claims they can achieve the same or better results. They have embraced the system. The more people you have working towards the same goal, the greater the chances of discovering more effective methods and attracting more participants, leading to increased support. That’s the idea behind nonprofit programs. The Conservancy has faced criticism in the current administration because some individuals fail or are inept, and some don’t pay sufficient attention to accounts. These issues are understandable and expected, and the agency should always address them. However, that should not be a reason to step back, as some of these individuals are doing an excellent job. You can’t attract experienced and capable individuals unless you give them a chance. Working with nonprofits helps develop talent and expertise. The nonprofit program was established to theoretically create more individuals like John Olmsted, perhaps not exactly like him, but many more who can carry out the job. John is an extreme advocate for the environment, but he doesn’t just talk about it; he takes action and preserves it. Jughandle Creek has been saved, and the land has been acquired.

He was always dealing with some emergency. Does the Coastal Conservancy also handle emergencies?

That’s precisely what it’s supposed to do because emergencies are where environmental destruction occurs. Each permit application represents a crisis because someone is attempting to develop on a valuable resource. If you don’t respond to these crises, we’ll end up with localized zoos instead of a healthy environment.

Do you see broader applications for the principles you developed in the Coastal Conservancy?

Yes, there is a great deal of interest in conservancies now. Florida recently passed a law establishing its first conservancy outside of California. In our state, we currently have three. More will emerge, but they will likely resemble the Tahoe Conservancy, which has a similar structure but isn’t pushed to be as innovative as we were. Many of the techniques we pioneered are now widely accepted. Lot consolidation and stream restoration, for example, have been successful in Tahoe with significant modifications. The staff at the Tahoe Conservancy is trained to carry out these activities, so their path may be smoother than ours.

What do you envision for the future of the Coastal Conservancy?

There is still much to be done, particularly in continuing programs related to access, stream and wetland restoration. In agricultural preservation, where creativity is crucial, I see a promising future for agriculture, provided the agency can come up with politically acceptable alternatives. There are also other issues that we haven’t focused on yet, such as beach preservation. Additionally, we haven’t truly addressed habitats beyond streams and wetlands. Watershed work has only just begun, and it initially faced resistance as people viewed it as excessive government intervention. In reality, such projects can benefit everyone. The Conservancy has a bright future, and there is plenty of work to be accomplished.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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