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 green space that’s impossible to fulfill on his small lot.
Goldfinger feels betrayed. “It’s crazy, it’s mind-boggling,” he says, seeing the fee as a hidden tax grab. “They don’t want to raise property taxes directly, so they’re lining the city coffers through the back door.” The charges, 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 requirement, while logical for large developments, feels absurd for a small duplex on a tiny property. There’s simply no space to create a parkette.
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 unsustainable addiction to revenue.
The original intent of development charges was reasonable – new growth should contribute to the infrastructure it requires. But Lyall questions the justification for Goldfinger’s exorbitant fee. “What additional infrastructure is involved with that?” he asks, highlighting the disconnect between the charge and the actual impact.
Councillor Stephen Holyday defends development charges as a fair way to fund city services, arguing that developers should contribute to the demands their projects create. However, he admits to being “intrigued” by Goldfinger’s case, acknowledging the unusual situation of converting a former house back to residential use.
The City of Toronto insists the fees are mandated by provincial legislation and city bylaws, emphasizing that exemptions exist but don’t apply here. They claim the charges fund essential services like transit, libraries, and paramedics.
Ironically, just months ago, the city introduced a policy encouraging small businesses to operate from residential buildings. But if it costs tens of thousands of dollars to revert a commercial space back to a home, as in Goldfinger’s case, it could stifle that very initiative.
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 simple solution caught in a web of bureaucracy and escalating fees.
