Same Story, Half a World Away

I received an unexpected message recently from Fuheis, a community of 22,000 people in the hills northwest of Amman, Jordan. Known for oak trees, olive groves, and a deep history, they told me they are struggling to hold onto what makes their town worth living in as the modern world presses in from every direction. Sound familiar?

Their representatives asked how a small coastal community managed to protect its character for more than a century against the relentless pressure of tourism, development, and change. What principles guided us? What could never be sacrificed? What advice would we offer a community fighting the same battle half a world away?

The Decision That Shaped Everything

What I told them first was this: Carmel's character was not entirely planned. It emerged from an unlikely collision in the early 1900s between a land developer's vision and a wave of artists, writers, and bohemians who arrived looking for a place to settle. Out of that collision came a conviction that hardened into a mantra: protect the character above all else.

That character expanded over time to include the arts, protections for the endemic Monterey Pine and Cypress, cottage architecture becoming historic treasure, streets without curbs that avoided existing trees, and human-scaled buildings. Then came the absence of chain retail and fast food, strict signage ordinances, and careful zoning. It required generations willing to say no, even to things that made short-term economic sense but caused long-term cultural damage.

The Pressures We Are Living Through

But I also told them something harder. Carmel is living through a moment that tests everything we built. Street addresses after 110 years. State-mandated fire safety rules reshaping our forested neighborhoods. Housing mandates straining design standards. Deferred maintenance, pension liability, and parking pressures all demanding hard choices. With school attendance down 50 percent and roughly 60 percent of our residences now second homes, the community that shows up to volunteer, serve on commissions, and attend council meetings is a shrinking share of those who technically own this place.

The One Question That Matters

I told Fuheis that the sooner a community addresses its financial pressures, the more likely it is to preserve its character on its own terms. The communities that fare best have the clearest shared answer to a single question: what can never be sacrificed? Not what we prefer to protect. Not what would be nice to keep. What is absolutely non-negotiable regardless of what the state requires, the market demands, or any individual project promises. Have that conversation now, I told them, before the real pressure arrives.

What Their Response Made Me See

When they wrote back, I was not prepared for how closely their story mirrored ours. Fuheis had no street addresses until 2015. In 1998 their population was around 12,000, with 98 percent of residents tracing roots there for generations. Today it is 45,000, with original natives now just 35 percent of that total. Rapid growth, outside development pressure, and economic migration have rewritten the community in a single generation. They face a national minister of municipalities who can override any local decision, regardless of what residents want, a dynamic familiar to anyone who has followed California's Builder's Remedy.

And there is one more parallel that struck me hardest. At their most recent community meeting, only one young person attended out of roughly 100 present. In Fuheis, a youth organization called Shield of Fuheis is now working to change that.

Sometimes it takes a stranger asking why you do what you do to remind you why it matters. Fuheis is producing a documentary about communities like ours. I hope they come here.

We just have to keep earning it.

(Note: To hear a podcast generated from this column go to cli.re/onequestion).

Dale Byrne, Mayor of Carmel-by-the-Sea

dbyrne@cbts.us