Business owner David Brambila has a long history in Quincy, Massachusetts. For 18 years, his company has operated Acapulcos Mexican Family Restaurant & Cantina across the street from City Hall.
Customers love the food. However, in terms of popularity, the eatery cannot compete with John Quincy Adams, the sixth U.S. president and one of the city’s most famous native sons. Anxious to honor such an important figure, the city pushed aside Acapulcos at the end of December to make room for a “pocket park” featuring a 7-foot-tall statue of the former president.
Public planners could have tried negotiating voluntary terms with Acapulcos. Instead, the city opted for eminent domain, which allows the government to take private property by force.
The strong-arm tactic is a strange way to honor Adams, who was a proud advocate of the oppressed. Even when eminent domain works as intended, the burden falls disproportionately on lower-income individuals.
At least publicly, Acapulcos has not resisted the oncoming bulldozers. An unsigned Facebook post on Dec. 18 says the restaurant would “truly miss being at the heart of such a wonderful community” and would look for a new site within Quincy.
Hopefully, the city’s payout will cover the relocation costs. Either way, the move will be risky. Location is everything in real estate. If Quincy had an equally desirable plot somewhere else, the city would plunk down its statue there and leave Acapulcos alone.
Put simply, the city gets the first serving. Acapulcos gets the leftovers.
Our public interest law firm, the Institute for Justice, has been fighting eminent domain abuse for 30 years, starting 100 miles south in New London, Connecticut. This landmark case, which went all the way to the Supreme Court, ended in a loss for dozens of residents, who were evicted from a former whaling community to make room for a biotech paradise that never materialized.
Instead of a “hip little city” with a luxury hotel and shiny office buildings, New London received vacant lots and feral cats. Susette Kelo, the face of the opposition, described the human toll.
“Some of my neighbors, already in their 90s, lost the only homes they ever knew, where they raised their families, celebrated their holidays, carried on their traditions,” she said. “Some were forced into nursing homes, and some died waiting to see whether they would be allowed to stay in their homes.”
Now, Quincy could get mired in grandiose visions of its own. The city already took land in 2021 for a presidential library, which Mayor Thomas Koch quickly downgraded to a “presidential center” that would honor both Adams and his father, the second U.S. president John Adams.
Four years later, crews have not yet broken ground. Yet the city’s appetite for eminent domain remains strong. A dermatology office and Planet Fitness franchise could be next. If the city decides to move forward, property owners would have little recourse.
Courts generally give policymakers wide latitude to play with people’s lives. Judges frame the matter in terms of separation of powers. They are reluctant to interfere from the bench, even when government actions appear “unjust,” “unfair,” “unwise,” “foolish,” or “stupid.”
Call it legislative prerogative. As long as policymakers can articulate some rational basis for their meddling, courts look the other way. One Long Island city took land from hardware store owners Ben and Hank Brinkmann for no reason at all and still fended off a legal challenge.
The brothers wanted to build a new store on the land. However, officials in Southold, New York, argued with straight faces that they wanted the property for a “passive park,” meaning an empty lot with no improvements at all. One judge called this a “fake park” in a dissenting opinion. However, a 2-1 majority signed off on the taking at the 2nd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals.
CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER
At least Quincy taxpayers will get a pocket park for their money, more than $3.3 million, not counting the cost of the statue and budget overruns. The Adams Presidential Center could come next. Or not.
Follow-through is optional when cities use eminent domain.
Erica Smith Ewing is a senior attorney, and Daryl James is a writer at the Institute for Justice in Arlington, Virginia.