At the August 2025 meeting of the Youngsville Mayor and City Council, what might have seemed like a technical debate over ordinances quickly turned into a showdown over liberty and control, with the developer refusing to agree to any form of compromise. Council members, homeowners, and developers sparred over a proposed amendment to the city’s Traditional Neighborhood Development (TND) ordinance, with Sugar Mill Pond at the center of the controversy. Join us as we explore the nature of this dispute as well as the history and dangers associated with TNDs.

Uncomfortable Truths

It was during the August meeting that residents pointed out that, under Sugar Mill Pond’s covenants, the developer reserves the power to exempt or override certain restrictions. This loophole effectively places him above the very rules imposed on homeowners. Another point highlighted was the existence of two classes of ownership: on one hand, residential lot owners, bound tightly by covenants; on the other, the developer, multi-family (apartment complexes), and commercial interests, operating under lighter, more flexible standards. This unequal application of what is supposed to be uniform rules fuels the perception that TNDs are less about “community” and more about maintaining permanent leverage for the developer.

The issues raised were anything but minor: Who controls a neighborhood — the people who live there, or the companies that designed it? How long should a private entity be allowed to govern residents through restrictive covenants? And perhaps most importantly, why is City Hall entrenching this private rule by requiring covenants as a condition of development approval?

For many, the meeting crystallized a growing unease. What began years ago as an experiment in “community building” now looks more like a form of central planning and corporate governance, in which ordinary citizens find themselves bound by rules they never consented to. To understand how Youngsville arrived at this point, we must step back to the origins of the very idea that led to the creation of Sugar Mill Pond: the movement known as New Urbanism.

Origins of a Movement

In the 1980s, architects and planners began rebelling against the unchecked growth of American suburbs. Suburban sprawl, as it came to be called, was blamed for hollowing out city centers, creating endless transportation-dependent subdivisions, and saddling municipalities with the high costs of scattered infrastructure. Into this vacuum came a new vision: New Urbanism.

New Urbanism was spearheaded by architects like Andrés Duany, Elizabeth Plater-Zyberk, and Peter Calthorpe, who sought to revive the compact, walkable neighborhoods of pre–World War II America. These planners argued that neighborhoods should be designed around a “pedestrian shed” — a five- to ten-minute walk radius where shops, schools, and civic spaces coexisted. Their designs promised to restore a sense of place, community, and tradition that had been lost in the postwar flight to suburbia. But this restoration was never left to the neighbors themselves. It would be engineered through codes, charrettes, and restrictive covenants — the heavy hand of central planning dressed up as nostalgia.

Birth of the Fifteen-Minute City

The New Urbanists’ core idea — daily life within a short walk — has since been globalized in the form of the 15-Minute City. Popularized in Europe, particularly by Paris mayor Anne Hidalgo and academic Carlos Moreno, the concept emphasizes that work, healthcare, education, and leisure should all be reachable within a 15-minute walk or bike ride.

But this promise is not achieved organically. It requires central planning — government deciding where shops may go, what kind of housing can be built, how transportation is arranged, and which “uses” are permitted within a neighborhood. Where Duany and Plater-Zyberk framed their designs in terms of tradition and civic order, the 15-Minute City is marketed through the lens of being eco-friendly, climate resilient, and sustainable. Yet in both cases, the underlying assumption is the same: ordinary people cannot be trusted to shape their communities; only planners and regulators can.

Political Roots of the Idea

The intellectual roots of New Urbanism reveal why its promises often conceal hidden dangers. Duany and Plater-Zyberk (DPZ), though not outspoken partisans, have long been culturally conservative in taste but politically comfortable with regulation and centralized control. Their anti-market view is grounded in the idea that markets left to their own devices “produce sprawl” and insist on strict architectural codes to enforce conformity.

By contrast, Peter Calthorpe is an open progressive closely aligned with Democratic administrations and environmental policy circles. He advised the Obama White House and California lawmakers, advocating for centralized planning in the name of addressing climate change and promoting equity. His “transit-oriented development” agenda aligns neatly with the European “15-minute city” concept, now championed by global climate policy advocates.

When viewed together, it becomes clear that New Urbanism is not a neutral planning philosophy, but a hybrid of progressive climate politics and elitist cultural regulation. The common thread is always central direction: ordinary families making their own choices produce “sprawl,” but planners and regulators working together can impose the “right” kind of neighborhood.

The Louisiana Experiment

Louisiana became one of the testing grounds for this philosophy. In Lafayette, the most notable example is River Ranch, which was launched in the mid-1990s. Designed with inspiration from DPZ, River Ranch was touted as the state’s first Traditional Neighborhood Development.

It features narrow streets, a town square, and design codes that mandated classical aesthetics. Houses sit close to sidewalks, and commercial spaces are woven into residential blocks. At first glance, it seems to deliver on the New Urbanist promise: a lively, walkable neighborhood in the heart of Acadiana.

However, the reality is that things are more complicated. A University of New Orleans post-occupancy study found that River Ranch delivered rigid uniformity rather than genuine community life. Critics argued that community is stressed at the expense of individuality, that design unity has become uniformity, and that the neighborhoods are ‘Disneyesque’ and do not reflect real life. Strangely enough, it was Disney who pioneered a functional city of the future, known as EPCOT, or Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow.

The study also observed how the market transformed the project into an exclusive enclave, accessible only to those with significant means. Homes started in the upper $400,000s and climbed well past a million. What was marketed as a revival of traditional town life became, in practice, a lifestyle for the affluent — a manufactured environment that appeared to be a community but lacked the freedom and variety that real neighborhoods naturally offer.

The Broken Promise of TNDs

The great irony of New Urbanism is that it has often produced the opposite of what it promised. Its founders spoke of restoring ‘a sense of place, community, and tradition’ that had been lost in the postwar flight to suburbia. Yet in practice, developments like River Ranch and Sugar Mill Pond have not revived tradition — they have manufactured artificial environments that depend on strict rules, high prices, and permanent oversight. Additionally, instead of curtailing flights to suburbia, it has encouraged the development of rich, priceless farmland.

Far from reviving liberty and self-government, TNDs replace them with corporate-style management and government-enforced covenants. What should have been authentic neighborhoods rooted in tradition became contrived lifestyles sold as products, built on the assumption that central planners know better than citizens how they ought to live.

Exporting the Model to Youngsville

Encouraged by River Ranch’s market success, the model was exported to Youngsville. Sugar Mill Pond was launched in the early 2000s. Like River Ranch, it offered convenience, manicured parks, and a picture-perfect town square. There were even early attempts to relocate the then City Hall within the community plan. That proposal was met with staunch resistance from residents who felt their city was being taken over and influenced by outside interests. Ultimately, Youngsville embraced Sugar Mill Pond, embedding TND requirements into its development ordinance, or rather, initially, a resolution.

In September of 2004, a Resolution was adopted directing the Department of Planning, Zoning, and Codes for Lafayette City-Parish Government to utilize certain standards when reviewing plats for traditional neighborhood developments in the Town of Youngsville. The resolution was initially tabled but adopted at a future special meeting. Interestingly enough, the City Attorney at the time, George Knox, indicated that it was necessary to adopt an ordinance. But that didn’t occur. It would not be until February 2017, when the Mayor and City Council adopted a new code of ordinances, replacing, repealing, and modifying wholesale portions of taxing, criminal, traffic, and other ordinances, that traditional neighborhood development standards were established for the City. All done very privately and without inviting public scrutiny. 

It didn’t stop there, though. Sugar Mill Pond carried the model further, locking residents into a web of Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions (CCRs) that act as a private contract. No lot can be sold, no home built, without submission to these rules — not by choice, but as a condition.

The Covenant Trap

The Sugar Mill Pond CCRs are sweeping – nearly two hundred pages in length. They dictate architectural style, landscaping, parking, signage, and the use of common areas. Homeowners automatically agree to them by accepting a deed. There is no opt-out.

But the covenants also include a critical imbalance. The developer reserves the right to exempt or override restrictions in some instances. In practice, that means the rules bind homeowners strictly. However, the developer can selectively loosen them for commercial partners, future projects, or his own interests. This carve-out places the developer above the very order he imposes on others. It creates a system where ordinary residents must comply while the developer remains free.

The declaration lasts 20 years from filing (2005–2025) and then automatically renews in ten-year increments. Termination requires 90% of all owners plus the Developer, a threshold nearly impossible to meet. (If only tax elections needed a 90% approval of the voters!) In effect, once you buy into Sugar Mill Pond, you are bound to its rules in perpetuity.

The Developer’s Grip

Control of the homeowners’ association (HOA) is supposed to pass to residents once 75% of the lots “that may be created” are sold. But the Developer can manipulate this by holding back large parcels or annexing new tracts through supplemental declarations. Each annexation resets the denominator, keeping turnover just out of reach. As of July of this year, Sugar Mill Pond entered its thirtieth supplemental declaration. It now moves on to Phase 28.

Even if turnover were to occur, the system is not equal. The covenants establish two tiers of ownership. Aesthetic codes and fines heavily bind residential lot owners. However, the developer and certain commercial entities enjoy lighter restrictions and more flexibility. Commercial entities include multi-use apartment complexes. This two-class system ensures that even as residents shoulder the burdens of governance, the developer retains leverage and influence.

What appears to be a community is, in fact, a manufactured corporate town in disguise.

Thus, the Developer can maintain control indefinitely, governing not through elections but through ownership and contract. What appears to be a community is, in fact, a manufactured corporate town in disguise.

A False Democratic System

Supporters argue that once turnover occurs, the HOA becomes a more democratic model. But this is a democracy in name only. Homeowners may elect board members, but they cannot escape the cage built by the Developer and blessed by the City. The rules remain, the dues persist, and the power of covenants looms.

As the UNO study of River Ranch concluded, these developments created an artificial utopia detached from the realities of ordinary life. Sugar Mill Pond repeats that formula, offering the appearance of freedom while constraining genuine self-government.

City Hall as Enforcer

Youngsville is not a neutral actor in this story. By law, the TND ordinance requires CCRs as a condition of approval. Developers are free to pursue conventional subdivisions, but for the City’s model development — the TND — private covenants are mandatory. In this way, government colludes with industry, embedding private governance into public law.

What does this mean for ordinary residents? It means they pay HOA dues that can rise without limit, under rules they cannot change. Residents live under the threat of fines and liens for violating aesthetic codes. It means their neighborhoods are managed not by neighbors, but by corporate interests and city hall working together. It is governance without meaningful consent — a system they inherit but cannot escape.

The Orwellian Parallel

George Orwell imagined a world where freedom was constrained not only by government but by the small details of daily life. Sugar Mill Pond reflects a softer version of that dystopia. It doesn’t dictate your thoughts, but it dictates your porch railings, your landscaping, your parking, and even your neighborhood politics.

A community that must be compelled is not a community at all.

Residents are told this is for the sake of “community.” But a community that rules and contracts must compel is not a community at all. It is the assumption of every central planner that people cannot be trusted with freedom. Only a managed order can prevent chaos. In reality, what they have created is a simulation of liberty. Here, the codes of bureaucrats and developers bind every choice.

From Idealism to Monopoly

What began as an ideal — to counter suburban sprawl and restore traditional towns — has hardened into a lifestyle monopoly. Developers sell not just houses but entire ways of life, enforced by contracts that cannot be escaped. Cities, desperate for growth and tax revenue, happily underwrite the system.

The winners are the developers, who enjoy near-total control. The losers are the homeowners, who live under perpetual management.

This is not unique to Lafayette or Youngsville. Across America, New Urbanist TNDs are sold as solutions to curtail sprawl but operate as corporate-managed communities. The rhetoric is about liberty from the car and reconnection with neighbors. The reality is that new forms of control are often hidden in the fine print of covenants.

At stake is nothing less than the meaning of community itself. Is a community something organic, created by people living side by side and shaping their own rules? Or is it a lifestyle product, designed in boardrooms, mandated by contracts, and enforced by government regulation?

Sugar Mill Pond makes the answer plain. Under the TND model, communities are planned, packaged, and sold, rather than being developed organically.

A Call for Reconsideration

Citizens of Youngsville should ask hard questions. How is it fair that 90% of owners — plus the Developer — be required to escape a covenant regime? Why should annexations allow developers to delay turnover indefinitely? Should City Hall condition development on the developer’s submission to private governance?

These are not trivial details. They go to the heart of liberty, property, and self-government.

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