An empty bungalow stands silent on Sheppard Avenue, a stark symbol of Toronto’s housing frustrations. It’s ready for a family, a tenant, anyone – but the city won’t allow it until a staggering six-figure fee is paid.
The bungalow’s owner, Brian Goldfinger, a personal injury lawyer, isn’t a large-scale developer. He simply wants to convert the small property into a duplex, a modest solution to the city’s desperate need for housing. He’d done similar conversions before, expecting a smooth process, especially given the city’s promises of streamlined approvals.
Instead, he’s facing a financial wall. Despite the building’s footprint remaining unchanged, and no increase in density, the city demands over $125,000. Nearly $50,000 is a standard development charge, but more than half is a “cash-in-lieu of parkland” fee – a requirement for park space that’s impossible to fulfill on his small lot.
Goldfinger feels betrayed. “It’s crazy, it’s mind-boggling,” he says, seeing the charge as a hidden tax grab. “They don’t want to raise property taxes directly, so they find ways to line the city coffers through the back door.” The fees, he points out, exceed the cost of the renovation itself.
The situation is particularly frustrating because the bungalow was commercially zoned since 1991. The city’s own rules acknowledge that converting it back to residential use should be straightforward. His plans call for two 700 sq. ft. units, offering much-needed housing in a tight market.
Local Councillor Lily Cheng remains unresponsive to his pleas, leaving Goldfinger feeling powerless. The parkland fee, while understandable for large developments, seems absurd for a small duplex with no space for a parkette. It highlights a disconnect between city policy and practical reality.
Richard Lyall, president of the Residential Construction Council of Ontario, argues that development fees have spiraled out of control, far outpacing income growth. He describes the fees as a “modern-day version of crack-cocaine for municipalities,” fueling an addiction to revenue generation.
The original intent of development charges – to fund infrastructure needed for growth – has been lost, Lyall contends. He questions the justification for such hefty fees on a small-scale conversion like Goldfinger’s: “What’s the additional infrastructure involved with that?”
Councillor Stephen Holyday defends development charges as a fair way to distribute the cost of growth, but admits to being “intrigued” by Goldfinger’s case, acknowledging the property’s prior residential use. He suggests the development industry hasn’t demonstrably lowered housing costs through fee reductions.
The City of Toronto insists the fees are mandated by provincial legislation and city bylaws, emphasizing they fund essential services like transit and libraries. They classify the conversion as “development,” triggering the parkland requirement, despite the property’s history.
Ironically, the city recently introduced a policy encouraging small businesses to operate from residential buildings. But if converting a commercial space back to a residence incurs tens of thousands in fees, it could stifle that very initiative, creating a chilling effect on home-based businesses.
Goldfinger is left hoping for a reversal, a moment of reason from city hall. He sees his bungalow not as a development project, but as a home waiting to be lived in, a small piece of the solution to Toronto’s housing crisis held hostage by bureaucratic hurdles and financial demands.
