Political Research Quarterly

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Adopting Local Environmental Institutions: Environmental Need and Economic Constraints

Stephen M. Meyer and David M. Konisky
Political Research Quarterly 2007; 60; 3
DOI: 10.1177/1065912906298533

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 Political Research Quarterly
Volume 60 Number 1
March 2007 3-16
Adopting Local Environmental Institutions © 2007 University of Utah
10.1177/1065912906298533
http://prq.sagepub.com
Environmental Need and Economic Constraints hosted at
http://online.sagepub.com

Stephen M. Meyer*
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge
David M. Konisky
University of Missouri, Columbia

Communities are increasingly turning to local environmental institutions (LEIs) to address unmet environmental chal-
lenges. Yet there has been very little empirical analysis of LEIs, and we know surprisingly little about their origins. In
this article, the authors use a rational choice framework to examine the incentives and disincentives communities face
in deciding whether to establish LEIs. In particular, the authors study the decision of communities to adopt local wet-
lands bylaws under the Massachusetts Wetlands Protection Act. Using event history analysis, the authors find strong
evidence that environmental need, economic attributes, and economic constraints have strong effects on the impulse of
communities to adopt LEIs.

Keywords: local environmental institutions; policy adoption, wetlands protection

1. Introduction less resistance and generate stronger environmental

The past decade has been a period of major reeval-
uation of U.S. environmental policy. Academic schol-
arship (e.g., Davies and Mazurek 1998; Chertow and
Esty 1997), blue-ribbon commissions (e.g., Center for
Strategic and International Studies [CSIS] 1998;
National Academy of Public Administration [NAPA]
1997; President’s Council on Sustainable Development
[PCSD] 1996), and politicians (e.g., Bush 2003; Clinton
and Gore 1995) alike have recommended that the
command-and-control regulation central to the exist-
ing environmental protection system be supplemented
with, if not replaced by, more flexible approaches. In
addition to the broader application of market-based
mechanisms and voluntary approaches to pollution
control and natural resource management, reform
advocates have called for greater resort to place-based
solutions (e.g., Shutkin 2000; Mazmanian and Kraft
1999; John 1994).
This momentum toward place-based solutions and
the creation of local environmental institutions
(LEIs) is fueled by the desire to make environmental
policy more responsive to local values and interests
and to move away from “one-size-fits-all” environmen-
tal programs crafted by distant government agencies.
By giving communities more say in environmental
decisions, advocates of LEIs argue, policies will meet
protection with lower transaction costs.
Despite all of their perceived benefits, not all
communities are eager to create LEIs. What
accounts for early adopters? Why do some commu-
nities fail to follow the lead of their neighbors in
establishing LEIs? In this article, we search for evi-
dence of systematic structural influences that explain
why some communities choose to build LEIs while
others do not. Specifically, we examine whether the
adoption of LEIs fits the standard rational choice
framework of incentives and disincentives facing
community action, using the case of local wetlands
protection in Massachusetts to test the arguments.
The article proceeds as follows. In the next section,
we discuss several types of LEIs, differentiating between
what is often considered the archetype—community-
based environmental protection—and two alternative
models of LEIs we study in this article. In section 3,
Authors’ Note: The authors gratefully acknowledge the financial
support of the National Science Foundation (SES-0213842). We
also wish to thank Megan Goldman, Aladdine Jaroff, and Lilly
Picchione for their research assistance and several anonymous
reviewers for their helpful comments and suggestions.
*This article appears posthumously. Steve was a dedicated
scholar, colleague and friend, and he will be missed.
—David M. Konisky

3
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4 Political Research Quarterly

we describe the system of local wetlands protection in with considerable discretion, state- or federal-level
Massachusetts. In section 4, we consider the incentives environmental laws and regulations. Local concerns,
and disincentives facing communities in their decision values, and interests are infused into decision making
as to whether to adopt a stronger type of LEI. In sec- by implementory discretion (Lipsky 1983). Typically,
tion 5, we present and discuss our regression results. LRIs involve the use of existing government machin-
Last, in section 6, we offer some brief conclusions. ery but nevertheless are place based in the sense that
decision making is centered with local authorities.
A second type of LEI is one in which more innov-
2. Local Environmental Institutions
ative communities create new institutions altogether.
Dissatisfied with the limitations of existing environ-
The best-known and most intensely studied type of
mental protection measures, some communities may
LEI is often referred to as community-based environ-
choose to impose new measures that they enforce
mental protection (CBEP).1 CBEP represents a myriad
through a local regulatory structure. These local rules
of activities in which communities take the lead in cre-
could reach far beyond those imposed by federal or
ating and implementing environmental protection.
state law. We characterize this LEI model as commu-
Although there is no authoritative definition of CBEP,
nity-based environmental regulation (CBER), an
there is considerable consensus about its defining char-
institution that retains a more traditional, hierarchical
acteristics.2
“we-them” decision-making style, but one that creates
First, CBEP institutions are place based, providing
a new institution to deal with an otherwise unaddressed
the opportunity for policy to be informed by local
local environmental challenge.
knowledge and sensitive to the preferences and values
The more general point is that beyond CBEP insti-
of local actors (John 1994). Local perceptions, values,
tutions, there are a number of different types of LEIs,
and interests frame the environmental problem and the
most of which we know very little about. In particu-
response. Second, CBEP efforts are participatory.
lar, scant attention has been given to the factors that
CBEP institutions typically allow for broad participa-
lead to the emergence of LEIs, whether we are talk-
tion among all relevant stakeholders and tend to have
ing about CBEP efforts, LRIs, CBERs, or other
collaborative and nonhierarchical decision making.
forms. To our knowledge, only Lubell et al. (2002)
Advocates argue that meaningful public participation
have considered this question in a systematic way.
builds social capital and helps shape democratically
The primary objective of this article is to address this
legitimate decisions (Fiorino 2000; Shutkin 2000).
gap in the empirical literature.
Finally, CBEP institutions tend to focus on problems
In thinking about a community’s decision to adopt
extending beyond the reach of the existing environ-
some form of an LEI, it is useful to distinguish
mental regulatory system, such as diffuse causes of
between the structural characteristics of that commu-
pollution (e.g., nonpoint source water pollution) and
nity that make the setting conducive to the adoption
the management of common resources (e.g., water-
of the LEIs and the triggering mechanism or impulse
shed, rangelands).
that precipitates the action. In this article, we are con-
CBEP institutions have broad appeal due to their
cerned with the former: the conditions that make a
promise of delivering both procedural and environmen-
community ripe for the creation of an LEI. We adopt
tal quality outcome benefits over traditional environ-
a rational choice approach that considers the incen-
mental regulation (Mazmanian and Kraft 1999; Sabel,
tives and disincentives facing a community in its
Fung, and Karkkainen 1999). For this reason, this type
choice of whether to adopt an LEI. To test this model,
of LEI has received the bulk of attention in the schol-
we consider the case of local wetlands protection in
arly literature. However, it is important to recognize
Massachusetts, which we describe in the next section.
that CBEP efforts represent a particular form of an LEI
and, while prominent,3 do not represent the population
of place-based institutions created to address difficult 3. Massachusetts Wetlands Protection as
environmental challenges. In fact, when we back away Local Environmental Institutions
from the narrowly defined characteristics represented
by CBEP, we encounter other types of LEIs. The Massachusetts case we study in this article
In this article, we consider two alternative LEI consists of two types of LEIs: LRIs under the
models. The first type of LEI is what we term local Massachusetts Wetlands Protection Act (MWPA) and
regulatory implementation (LRI), which involves a the more expansive CBERs in the form of local wet-
setting where local decision makers implement, often lands bylaws.
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The MWPA—first passed in 1972 and later
amended in 1987 and 1996—establishes a general
framework for wetlands protection in what at first
seems to be a classic command-and-control style reg-
ulation. The statute empowers the Massachusetts
Department of Environmental Protection (MDEP)
with the general responsibility for protecting wetlands
in the state. The MWPA and corresponding MDEP
regulations specify the wetlands resources to be pro-
tected, the definitions of harmful impacts, and the per-
formance standards to be enforced. Under the statute,
a wetlands permit is required for any activity that may
adversely affect protected wetlands resources.
In an interesting twist, however, the statute directs
the MDEP to devolve implementation responsibility
of the MWPA to the state’s 351 cities and towns.
Each community has a conservation commission
whose main task is to write and enforce MWPA per-
mits. Conservation commissions consist of five to
seven community residents who volunteer to serve a
three-year term. The official appointments to town
conservation commissioners are made by the town
senior executive body (i.e., board of selectmen, town
manager, mayor, city council). Town conservation
commissions meet once or more each month to review
wetlands permit applications from applicants (e.g.,
property owners, developers, and engineering firms)
and to issue permits.
MDEP nominally has the authority to review all
conservation commission-issued permits to ensure
compliance with the MWPA, and it has the authority
to write superseding permits if it determines that the
community-based permit does not uphold minimum
MWPA standards. In practice, however, little serious
scrutiny takes place unless an explicit challenge is
made through the appeals process. Permit applicants
have the right to appeal the community-based permit
to MDEP if they believe it goes beyond the minimal
discretionary protective standards set by the law.
Similarly, community residents (usually project abut-
ters) or other aggrieved parties may appeal the permit
if they believe that it does not meet the MWPA’s stan-
dards. The appeals process under the MWPA is adju-
dicated though the Massachusetts administrative
court system.
We argue that the MWPA is a good example of a
LRI institution—a weak form of an LEI—in which
town conservation commissions implement and
enforce state-determined standards with “arm’s-
length” oversight by the state. In this system, commu-
nities have many opportunities to incorporate
community-based values, interests, and preferences
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Meyer, Konisky / Adopting Local Environmental Institutions 5
into their decision making. First, the selection and
appointment of community resident volunteers by the
town selectmen imparts a local character to the com-
mission that reflects a broad range of local concerns.
Conservation commissions often consist of local
lawyers, realtors, developers, farmers, and business
owners, and there are no specific requirements to
serve as a conservation commissioner.4 Second, the
arm’s-length oversight by MDEP allows for commu-
nity discretion in implementing the MWPA. For
example, even though the MWPA does not require
protection of wetlands buffer zones (dry upland areas
adjacent to wetlands), many conservation commis-
sions “extralegally” choose to protect these areas in
accordance with local sensibilities.5
The analytic utility of the Massachusetts wetlands
case goes further. The “home rule” provision of the
state’s constitution gives communities the right to
pass their own local bylaws and regulations, as long as
they are more stringent than corresponding state law.
In fact, the MWPA statute explicitly recognizes the
right of communities to create wetlands bylaws that
are more (but not less) restrictive than the state statute.
In all areas where local bylaw provisions are more
stringent than the MWPA, the former are definitive.
The same conservation commissions that implement
and enforce the MWPA implement and enforce the
wetlands bylaw permits. However, the local wetlands
bylaw is a creature of citizen activism, not bureau-
cratic rule making imposed by state authorities.
The initial impulse for a wetlands bylaw comes in
the form of a proposal made to the town selectmen to
put a warrant article before a town meeting. Any town
resident may submit a proposal for a wetlands bylaw,
although in practice, conservation commissions most
often offer these proposals. The town selectmen then
decide whether the proposal has merit, and should
they decide it does, the warrant article goes before a
town meeting where it faces debate, amendment, and
ultimately an up-or-down vote. Thus, everyone from
local developers and real estate agents, to private and
commercial property owners, to environmental orga-
nizations, to ordinary residents can have substantial
input into the formulation of the local wetlands
bylaw. The resulting wetlands bylaw is a product of
both institutional and public engagement.
Further strengthening the hand of local interests is
the fact that wetlands permits authorized under a
home rule wetlands bylaw are not reviewable by the
MDEP. Thus, by invoking a local wetlands bylaw,
the conservation commission moves out from under
the administrative oversight of MDEP, and aggrieved
6 Political Research Quarterly
parties (e.g., applicants, abutters) must take their
appeal to the Massachusetts Superior Court.
We argue that towns with wetlands bylaws repre-
sent a stronger form of an LEI–CBER—one in which
communities enjoy far greater independence to set
standards and protect environmental resources out-
side the authority of a higher-level government
agency. First, in crafting a wetlands bylaw, the com-
munity is legally obligated to impose tougher protec-
tion standards for wetland resources already within
the jurisdiction of the MWPA. That is, the commu-
nity must choose to rise above the floor set by state
regulation if it wishes to invoke home rule. Second, a
community bylaw may choose to protect additional
“resources” not recognized by the MWPA. For example,
vernal pools (seasonal ponding areas important to
amphibian breeding) and buffer zones—all outside
the statutory jurisdiction of the MWPA—may be pro-
tected as community bylaw resources. Third, a bylaw
may invoke interests other than those recognized by
the state as appropriate public interests (e.g., commu-
nity aesthetics, recreation, and sport fishing). Last, in
moving out from under the administrative umbrella
of MDEP, a community that adopts a local wetlands
bylaw attains decision-making independence.
In sum, we argue that this two-tiered system of
community-based wetlands protection represents theo-
retically and empirically valid forms of LEIs. In fact,
we believe that the Massachusetts wetlands case is
among the most plausible examples of what might
happen were place-based decision making to become
more widespread, displacing command-and-control
regulation from a higher level of government.
4. Incentives and Disincentives for LEIs
Why would a community choose to create an LEI?
Both the literature and participants in the policy process
clearly frame this as a matter of rational choice: com-
munities attempt to solve pressing environmental prob-
lems (that occur in the context of other policy
problems) while striving to incur minimum transaction
costs. Within a rational choice framework, a commu-
nity decides to create an LEI in response to the incen-
tives and disincentives it faces.
In terms of incentives, one might first hypothesize
that the more severe the problem, the more likely a
community will respond.6 This explanation is consis-
tent with the idea of the “matching hypothesis” in the
state environmental politics literature (Potoski and
Woods 2002), and there is some evidence of its
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importance at the local level as well. For example,
Lubell et al. (2002) found that collaborative water-
shed partnerships were more likely to emerge in
watersheds with severe pollution problems. Greater
environmental need, then, should be closely associ-
ated with efforts to adopt stronger forms of LEIs.
We measure environmental need with three vari-
ables: the percentage of town area that is a freshwa-
ter wetlands resource, the percentage of town area
that is a wetlands buffer zone, and a binary measure
reflecting whether the town has coastal wetlands
resources. We directly measured wetlands resource
area and buffer zone resource area using U.S.
Geological Survey geographic information system
(GIS) topographic data for Massachusetts towns.7 We
also used the topographic data to determine commu-
nities with coastal wetlands resources.
The value of wetlands to a community is twofold.
First, where they exist in abundance, wetlands provide
substantial “natural services” to the community.
Wetlands provide flood and storm damage control,
corrosion protection, municipal water supply, pollu-
tion mitigation, wildlife habitat, and recreational
opportunities. Second, wetlands play an important role
in community identity. For inland communities, ponds,
rivers, and marshes are important open spaces that help
define environmental quality in town. Beach and dune
areas in coastal regions confer a special identity on
those communities (most notably on Cape Cod). Thus,
threats to their existence represent serious environ-
mental challenges to town character. The more preva-
lent wetlands are in a community, the more likely they
are going to collide with development, and therefore,
the more this environmental conflict will appear in the
public eye. We expect, therefore, that the likelihood of
a community adopting a wetlands bylaw grows as the
percentage of town land that is wetlands increases.8
A similar argument holds with respect to buffer
zones adjacent to wetlands. Growth control, open
space and wildlife habitat preservation, and wetlands
integrity are all issues raised by development in
buffer zones, especially during times of rapid
growth.9 The greater the proportion of town land that
lies in the buffer zone, the more likely it is to become
an environmental issue and, we posit, the more likely
affected communities will implement local wetlands
bylaws to protect it. Thus, the extent to which a com-
munity protects its wetlands buffer zones is a strong
measure of its effort to expand the scope of environ-
mental protection.
A second incentive influencing community deci-
sions to adopt LEIs relates to the demands of local

citizens. Many economists argue that environmental
quality should be considered a normal economic good—
that is, something people demand more of as their
income increases. In fact, some research indicates
that environmental quality is a luxury good since it
has high income elasticity of demand (Coursey
1992). Supporting this argument is survey research of
individual-level preferences, which has shown that
wealth is correlated with environmental preferences
(e.g., Guber 2003).10 Other scholars argue that there
is a similar association between demand for environ-
mental quality and education (Paehlke 1990), but
there is not much empirical evidence to support this
conclusion. Thus, as community prosperity grows, so
too does interest in purchasing additional increments of
environmental quality. And there may even be a com-
pounding effect: community environmental quality may
become a magnet for wealthy and better-educated
residents, which then increases the demands for more
environmental quality.
In pursuing environmental quality, communities
may strive to contain growth and keep undesirable
projects out of town. Moreover, as wealth increases,
what a town deems to be undesirable broadens. In
this way, purchasing environmental quality can
become indistinguishable from not-in-my-backyard
(NIMBY) politics. Similarly, prosperous communi-
ties can afford to preserve undisturbed areas as open
space in lieu of economic growth, whereas poorer
communities are more likely to consume their
remaining open space in the interest of economic
development. Community prosperity provides the
resources to infuse local values and interests into land
use decisions, and its consequent demand for envi-
ronmental quality can create the impetus for LEIs.
We use two measures regularly employed by the
Massachusetts Department of Revenue to gauge
community wealth: per capita income and equalized
value of land per capita.11 The former taps commu-
nity wealth in the form of income, while the latter
reflects property-based wealth. We expect each of
these measures to be positively related to wetlands
bylaw adoption.
Communities also confront disincentives for
adopting LEIs. One of the primary purposes of gov-
ernment at any level is economic development. In
general, both government and business perceive that
there is a real and significant trade-off between eco-
nomic growth and environmental protection, where
the latter significantly impedes the former.12 For
example, it is widely believed that states facing seri-
ous economic and demographic pressures may even
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Meyer, Konisky / Adopting Local Environmental Institutions 7
“compete” by intentionally minimizing environmental
protection.13 The argument for this kind of “race-to-
the-bottom dynamic” among local communities seems
equally compelling, perhaps more so given the relative
absence of organized interests capable of opposing
development at the local level (Gould, Schnaiberg,
and Weinberg 1996; Kemmis 1990; Peterson 1981).
Consequently, the adoption of an LEI may be per-
ceived as a threat to community economic develop-
ment needs and goals.
We use three variables to measure different aspects
of the economic and demographic pressures facing a
community. First, we use the unemployment rate in a
community as an overall measure of its economic
health. Towns with relatively high unemployment rates
should remain content with the weak form of an LEI
created under the MWPA and should eschew passing
local wetlands bylaws that, plausibly, could constrain
economic growth. In fact, these towns should be the
least likely to take advantage of even minimal levels of
discretion allowable under an LRI system. Thus, we
expect a negative relationship between unemployment
and the likelihood of moving to an CBER system by
adopting a local wetlands bylaw.
Second, we use the percentage change in popula-
tion during the prior five-year period. A shaky economic
outlook can precipitate not only an outflow of jobs but
an outflow of people as well. Population loss, in turn,
undermines economic stability. Communities experi-
encing population losses may be unlikely to impose
new environmental institutions during unstable times
due to fears of further exacerbating problems.
Conversely, a sudden influx of new residents can spur
demand for “growth control,” including attempts to
protect open space. Communities facing strong popu-
lation pressures may sense threats to overall commu-
nity environmental quality. In this respect, population
growth may be an implicit indicator of environmental
need. Given both of these arguments, we expect that
population growth will be positively related to the
likelihood of adopting a wetlands bylaw.
Our third measure of economic and demographic
pressure is population density. On one hand, we can
assume that higher population densities imply a
scarcity of developable land. Local governments may
not wish to hobble the few economic expansion
opportunities remaining by imposing additional envi-
ronmental constraints. Therefore, we might expect a
negative association between population density and
bylaw creation. On the other hand, community residents
may interpret high population density as “crowding” and
push for additional local environmental mechanisms
8 Political Research Quarterly

to contain further growth, including preserving remain- Table 1 Community Characteristics and
ing open spaces (i.e., buffer zones near wetlands). Explanatory Variables
Here, then, we would expect a positive relationship. Predicted Relationship to
Thus, we cannot make a definitive prediction for how Variable Wetlands Bylaw Adoption
this variable should affect the likelihood of a wet-
Environmental need
lands bylaw.
Percentage of town Positive
Another disincentive for engaging in the creation land in buffer zone
of LEIs is the fiscal implications for the town budget. Coastal community Positive
Although the creation of an LEI is supposed to lower Percentage of town land in Positive
the transaction costs of environmental protection, it is wetlands
certainly not cost-free. Communities may require the Community wealth
Per capita income Positive
use of legal, scientific, and engineering expertise, Equalized value of property Positive
some (or all) of which it may not already have. The per capita
fiscal and administrative capacity of the community, Economic and demographic pressures
therefore, may weigh heavily on decisions to create a Percentage change in population Negative
new local institution. Communities lacking in sub- Population density Positive/negative
Unemployment rate Negative
stantial fiscal and administrative resources may be
Community fiscal and administrative
less willing to take on the burden of creating an LEI, capacity
even in the face of real environmental problems. The Fiscal budget Positive
best single measure of a community’s fiscal and
administrative capacity is its fiscal year budget. We
expect that towns with more fiscal and administrative
capacity are more likely to adopt a wetlands bylaw. Roughly half of the 58 coastal communities that would
We summarize the variables we use to measure the eventually adopt bylaws did so between 1975 and
incentives and disincentives in Table 1. We also indi- 1985. This is about double the rate of noncoastal
cate the direction of the relationship we expect to towns, which is not surprising given the well-recognized
observe with respect to the likelihood of adopting a weakness of the MWPA in adequately protecting coastal
wetlands bylaw. wetlands resources. All of the communities to adopt
wetlands bylaws, save one, were in the nonrural eastern
half of the state.
5. Analysis
Second, during 1985 to 1989, wetlands bylaws began
appearing in western Massachusetts, most noticeably in
Tailoring our inquiry to the Massachusetts’ case
a contiguous cluster of communities in the Connecticut
study, what would compel a community to adopt a
River valley (left side of the maps) where they appear
stronger form of LEI when it was already participating
in near-unison. The location of this cluster suggests
in a weaker form? Why would a community adopt a
environmental need: the MWPA had very poor river
local wetlands bylaw when the existing environmental
protection rules at this time.15 The temporal correlation
regulatory process already incorporated locals in deci-
may also suggest local coordination as a trigger—
sion making?
watershed coordination to create CBER.
The third pattern is a bit harder to discern. On the
Spatial and Temporal Analysis
1990 to 1994 and 1995 to 1999 maps, we see commu-
We begin our analysis with an overview of the nities straddling the Route 495 highway system (the
spatial and temporal distribution of wetlands bylaw outer ring looping around Boston) adopting wetlands
communities in Massachusetts.14 Figure 1 displays six bylaws. Along this corridor, development activity was
maps arrayed by period. The dark-shaded towns repre- especially high during these periods, and communities
sent communities with wetlands bylaws adopted during struggled with the rapid disappearance of previously
that period. The light-shaded towns adopted bylaws in undisturbed areas. Here, we may be looking at CBER
previous years; unshaded towns do not have bylaws. being used to pursue environmental quality via land
Of the 351 communities in Massachusetts, 191 had use and growth control.
adopted wetlands bylaws as of the year 2004. Three The rate at which new bylaws were introduced follows
spatial patterns deserve attention. First, coastal towns an inverted U-shape over the thirty-year period: 1975-
were among the earliest adopters of wetlands bylaws. 1979: 20; 1980-1984: 35; 1985-1989: 66; 1990-1994:

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Figure 1
The Distribution of Wetlands Bylaws, 1975-2004
20; 1995-1999: 21; 2000-2004: 29. The 1980s were
clearly a time of rapid LEI building in the form of
wetlands bylaws, with the likelihood of adopting a
wetlands bylaw peaking in the late 1980s.
Event History Analysis
Are there particular community-level characteris-
tics that make a town prone to enact a local wetlands
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Meyer, Konisky / Adopting Local Environmental Institutions 9
bylaw? Here, we turn to event history analysis to esti-
mate the individual effects of environmental need,
economic prosperity, economic and demographic
pressures, and fiscal and administrative capacity on
the underlying propensity of a community to adopt a
wetlands bylaw.
Event history analysis is often used to study binary
time series cross-sectional data and is particularly
appropriate for studies of policy adoption (e.g., Balla
10 Political Research Quarterly

Table 2
Predictors of Community Wetlands Bylaw Adoption
Dependent Variable: 1 = Bylaw Enacted; 0 = Bylaw Not Enacted

(3) Percentage (4) Percentage Change

(1) Coefficient (2) P-Value Change In in Risk per
Covariates (Standard Error)a (One-Sided) “Risk” Standard Deviationb

Environmental need
Buffer zone area (percentage of town land) 0.051 (0.0224) .011 +5.2 +23
Coastal community 0.703 (0.2163) .000 +101 —
Wetlands area (percentage of town land) −0.008 (0.0143) .774 −0.8 −6
Economic prosperity
Income per capita ($10,000) 0.249 (0.1497) .048 +28 +17
Equalized property value per capita ($10,000) 0.004 (0.0130) .370 +0.4 +3
Economic and demographic pressure
Change in population (lagged) 0.040 (0.0087) .000 +3.8 +41
Population density (100 people/square mile) −0.031 (0.0070) .000c −3.0 −52
Unemployment rate −0.135 (0.0557) .001 −12.6 −30
Fiscal and administrative capacity
ln fiscal budget ($ million) 0.733 (0.0096) .000 +108 +180
Observations = 1,607
Log-likelihood = -472.856
Wald χ2 (9) = 149.34, p = .000

a. Exact partial likelihood estimation.

b. Weighted average over periods.
c. Two-sided probability.

2001; Berry and Berry 1992; Berry and Berry 1990).16
An event history model is appropriate for our data
given the argument that communities more likely to
adopt local wetlands bylaws have stronger prefer-
ences for a stronger form of an LEI. In our analysis
below, we use Cox proportionate hazard regression,
which is a particular form of event history analysis.
We note three specific benefits to applying the Cox
regression model: (1) it does not require us to choose
a specific, parametric form for the distribution of time
until the event occurs; (2) it allows for consistent esti-
mates in the presence of spatial dependence of the
errors; and (3) it handles “ties” without bias.17
The unit of analysis is the town-period. For each
community, we collected data for the dependent and
explanatory variables over six time periods: 1975-1979,
1980-1984, 1985-1989, 1990-1994, 1995-1999, and
2000-2004. We are limited to a discrete-time interval
structure rather than an annual time series because of
data availability: only five-year data were available for
all the variables.
We judged each community as at being “at risk”
for adopting a wetlands bylaw by the beginning of our
data series given that the state enacted the MWPA in
1972. Our dependent variable is an indicator variable,
which we code 1 if the “event” of a bylaw being adopted
occurred during the interval, and 0 otherwise. (Once
a town has adopted a bylaw, it is removed from the
data set.) Covariates are measured as of the beginning
year for the corresponding period. (Three covariates
represent fixed effects: wetlands resource percentage,
buffer zone percentage, and coastal community.)
We present the results from our model in Table 2.
The first column presents the Cox regression coeffi-
cients (with associated standard errors in parenthe-
ses), where positive coefficients connote an increased
likelihood of passing a wetlands bylaw and negative
coefficients are associated with a decreased likeli-
hood. The second column presents the corresponding
p-value, which is a one-tailed test of statistical signif-
icance, since our arguments are directional (except
for population density). (We use a threshold of p =
.05 to denote statistical significance.) The third col-
umn converts the regression coefficients into a sub-
stantively useful value: the percentage change in the
base hazard (or risk) produced by a one-unit differ-
ence in the explanatory variable between any two
communities at any given time t.18 Last, since the
units of the explanatory variables have unique measure-
ment scales, one way to compare the relative effect of
the covariates is to ask how much of a change in the
base risk of adopting a wetlands bylaw is produced
by a one-standard-deviation change in the variable.
We report this value in the fourth column.19

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 Meyer, Konisky / Adopting Local Environmental Institutions 11
Consider first the indicators for environmental need.
Two of the three variables are statistically significant
predictors of the increased risk that a town adopted a
wetlands bylaw: buffer zone area and coastal commu-
nity. The positive coefficient of .05 for buffer zone area
and the one-sided probability of .01 confirm the pre-
dicted positive relationship. Each 1 percent positive
difference between two towns’ physical area that is
buffer zone corresponds to a 5 percent increase in the
underlying risk of adopting a bylaw. For example,
Barnstable, which is 11 percent buffer zone, has about
a 5 percent greater risk compared to Provincetown,
which is 10 percent buffer zone.20 The value we report
in column (4) shows that buffer zone has a moderate
effect with a standard deviation increase in buffer zone
area (about 4.1 percent), producing a 23 percent
increase in the underlying bylaw “risk.”
Next, we examine the coastal community variable.
The base risk of adopting a wetlands bylaw almost
doubles for coastal communities. This variable demon-
strates the second strongest influence on whether a
town chooses to institute a local wetlands bylaw.
The third row shows that there does not appear to be
any statistically significant association between the per-
centage of freshwater wetlands in town and the action
of adopting a wetlands bylaw. This finding contradicts
our initial hypothesis, but we think there might be a
good explanation for this result, which we discuss fur-
ther below.
Turning now to the explanatory variables associated
with community prosperity, we see that per capita
income is positive. A $10,000 positive difference in per
capita income translates into a 28 percent proportionate
increase in the base likelihood of the wealthier commu-
nity adopting a bylaw, sitting on the margin of our cho-
sen threshold of statistical significance. The standard
deviation-calibrated effect of per capita income ($6,300)
is 17 percent, and so we conclude that per capita income
is a modestly influential factor. In contrast, our second
indicator of community prosperity, equalized value per
capita, fails to produce a statistically significant effect.
Our measures of economic and demographic pres-
sures perform consistently well. The effect of a
change in town population is statistically significant: a
1 percent positive difference between population
growth rates between two towns during the prior five-
year period produces a 4 percent increase in the base
likelihood of the faster-growing community adopting
a wetlands bylaw. A one-standard-deviation increase
in population growth (8.6 percent) increases the base
risk by 41 percent, indicating that population growth
has a comparatively strong effect.
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The second measure in this category is population
density (in units of one hundred people per square
mile). Here, we see a moderately strong negative effect.
Each positive difference in population density by one
hundred people per square mile yields a 3 percent
decrease in risk; a community with a population den-
sity equivalent to one standard deviation (twenty-four
hundred people per square mile) below another town
will have a base likelihood of adopting a wetlands
bylaw only half that of the more densely populated
community. This result is consistent with the disincen-
tive hypothesis that (1) more densely populated com-
munities have other policy priorities and (2) “crowding”
pressures may compel communities to retain develop-
ment opportunities, all else equal. We explore the inter-
pretive implications of “all else being equal” below.
Turning to unemployment, we find a statistically sig-
nificant negative impact on adopting a wetlands bylaw.
A 1 percent increase in unemployment between two
communities is associated with a 13 percent decrease
in the base risk of the community with the higher
unemployment rate adopting a bylaw. A one-standard-
deviation difference in unemployment rates (2.6 per-
cent) produces a 30 percent reduction in the likelihood
of adopting a bylaw.
Last, consider community fiscal capacity. Here,
we find that fiscal budget (logged) demonstrates
the strongest influence over the likelihood of adopting
a wetlands bylaw.21 A one-unit difference between
ln(fiscal budget) of two communities more than
doubles the base risk of the higher-budget commu-
nity adopting a bylaw. For example, the mean fiscal
budget for Massachusetts towns in 2000 was $27
million. A community with a $73-million fiscal bud-
get would have its base likelihood of adopting a
bylaw double that of the average town. In terms of
change per a standard deviation differential between
communities, fiscal budget gives the strongest
boost to the likelihood that the community with
the greater fiscal and administrative resources will
adopt a bylaw.
Overall, the Cox regression model performs well.
The Wald chi-square statistic is a test of the likeli-
hood that all the covariates jointly are “zero”—that
is, that actually no overall systematic relationship
exists. This measure is analogous to the “F-test” in
regression and analysis of variance. In this instance,
the chi-square value suggests that the model is statis-
tically significant (p = .000). In the reduced model,
which excludes our two statistically insignificant
variables, the effects and standard errors of the
remaining variables are virtually unchanged.
12 Political Research Quarterly

6. Discussion Table 3
Covariate Mean Values by Community Type
What explains the lack of statistical significance of Mean Values by Community Type
the wetlands area variable? Indeed, one might con-
sider it a paradox that the extent of wetlands seems Rural Suburban Urban
Covariates (n = 148) (n = 158) (n = 45)
unrelated to the likelihood of a community adopting
a stronger form of an LEI that supposedly is intended Income per 2.0 2.6 1.9
to protect wetlands. We think there is good explana- capita ($10,000)
tion. In 1983, the MDEP overhauled MWPA regula- Change in population 6.6 5.4 0.2
(lagged)
tions in a manner that has effectively prevented work
Population density 3.7 11.2 44.6
in most wetland systems. Even under the LRI (100 people/square mile)
regime—that is, the weaker form of LEI—only minor Unemployment rate 6.3 4.8 7.2
wetlands losses have occurred. Thus, the extent of ln fiscal budget ($ million) 1.2 2.7 4.0
wetlands per se is not a good fixed effect measure of
environmental need.
However, this does not mean that environmental
need fails to materialize as an incentive for commu- each community type should produce identical hazard
nity action. As reported above, towns with more adja- curves. Conversely, if suburban efforts to create LEIs
cent buffer zone did have incentives to adopt bylaws. are driven by the environmental and economic con-
This makes sense. It is in the buffer zone areas around cerns postulated in this article, then we should see real
ponds, lakes, streams, and marshes—not on filled differences in the curves.
wetlands—where commercial, industrial, and hous- Using our reduced Cox proportionate hazard regres-
ing development most often takes place. (In fact, sion model, we constructed three cumulative hazard
when work in wetland is proposed it is almost always curves—one for each of three community types—
to gain access to noncontiguous buffer zone areas.) rural, urban, and suburban.22 To do this, we “centered”
Thus, when we consider the results for wetlands area the base hazards using the mean levels of the five
collectively with the results for buffer zone area (and reduced model covariates for each community type
coastal communities), they suggest that problem (see Table 3). We use the state mean for environmental
severity does matter in pushing a community toward need across all three community types (we only con-
a stronger form of an LEI. What is needed is a good sider buffer zone and coastal communities in these
set of dynamic measures of environmental need to models since wetlands resources failed to reach statis-
supplement these structural measures. tical significance in the prior model).
Having looked at the individual effects of the In Figure 2, we show how the cumulative risk of
covariates, we can explore some interesting aggregate wetland bylaw adoption varies among these three
effects. Are there specific constellations of covariate community types as a function of the combined pos-
values among community wealth, economic and itive and negative effects of the economic prosperity,
demographic pressures, and fiscal capacity that com- economic and demographic pressure, and fiscal
bine to define the structure and pattern of community capacity covariates. The systematic pattern is quite
adoptions of wetlands bylaws? For example, subur- clear. Rural communities run the lowest cumulative
ban “bedroom” communities are often thought to cre- risk of adopting a wetlands bylaw, about 23 percent
ate LEIs in a surreptitious effort to enforce a NIMBY thirty years after the opportunity first presented itself.
agenda. However, a plausible alternative explanation Urban communities just break 34 percent after three
is that suburban communities adopt LEIs for the decades. On average, the constellation of covariate
same reasons as other communities; it just happens values for urban communities makes them about 50
that they are at higher “risk” to do so because of their percent more likely to adopt a wetlands bylaw than
particular combination of structural attributes. rural communities.
If the NIMBY argument is true, then sequentially Suburban communities demonstrate the highest
centering the Cox hazard model on the relevant cumulative risk at 74 percent after thirty years. A sub-
covariate values for rural, suburban, and urban com- urban community is more than three times as likely to
munities should produce no measurable difference in adopt a wetlands bylaw than a rural community based on
hazard curves among these community types. That is, differences in their economic, demographic, and capac-
the differential mix of values among the covariates for ity variables and twice as likely as urban communities.

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Cumulative Hazard by Community Type
.8
Cumulative Hazard
.6
.4
.2
0
1975
In short, one does not need a sinister NIMBY expla-
nation to account for suburban interest in LEIs.
If we think of the transition from rural to suburban
to urban as a simple ordinal scale of community devel-
opment, then the results in Figure 2 belie a nonlinear
relationship. As communities transition from rural to
suburban, a combination of structural factors combine
to increase the likelihood that they will establish LEIs
to handle environmental needs and to satisfy demands
for environmental quality. Among those communities
that continue to develop in an urban direction (or that
have already passed the point of suburban develop-
ment), the lure of LEIs seem to decline. While eco-
nomic prosperity taken alone may produce increasing
pressures for environmental quality, community devel-
opment shows a more complex effect. As communities
transition from rural to suburban, the nonfixed effects
elements of their characteristic profile coalesce to
increase the proportionate odds of adopting a wetlands
bylaw. However, as communities continue to develop
along an urban path, their characteristic profiles shift
to reduce their base risk.
6. Conclusion
Communities face numerous incentives and disin-
centives when deciding how to respond to local public
policy problems. In this article, we considered what we
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Meyer, Konisky / Adopting Local Environmental Institutions 13
Figure 2
1980 1985 1990 1995 2000
Years
rural suburban
urban
believe are the primary ones communities confront
when deciding whether to create a place-based institu-
tion for addressing an environmental problem. We
interpret these incentives and disincentives as compris-
ing the structural characteristics of a community that
make it more (or less) conducive to adopting a stronger
form of an LEI.
Our findings suggest a multifaceted explanation
for community adoption of an LEI. We find evidence
that environmental need plays a strong role. Towns
with more uplands area adjacent to wetlands and with
coastal wetlands resources were more likely to adopt
a wetlands bylaw than towns with fewer of these
resources. Community characteristics such as eco-
nomic prosperity, economic and demographic pres-
sures, and fiscal capacity substantially influenced
whether a town adopted a stronger form of an LEI, in
the ways one would expect.
In this article, we concentrated on the structural con-
ditions that make some communities more conducive
to adopting LEIs than others. We cannot say much
about the actual trigger mechanism(s) that spawns local
activity to create them. One might speculate that the
impulse of bylaw adoption in the late 1980s was due to
a “campaign” by environmental groups to foster the
creation of LEIs, or that there was there some kind of
delayed and brief diffusion effect. While beyond the
scope of this article, identification of the trigger mech-
anisms is clearly worth investigation.
14 Political Research Quarterly
Although our analysis concentrated on two partic-
ular LEI models—LRI and CBER—we believe that
our findings apply more generally. We do not think
these types of LEIs are so different from other forms,
including the collaborative environmental institutions
that people most often associate with CBEP, that the
fundamental incentives and disincentives communi-
ties confront to create them should manifest them-
selves in a vastly different manner. Similarly,
although we study a single policy context—local
wetlands protection in Massachusetts—the hundreds
of towns we examine vary considerably in the same
ways they would in other communities in other states
facing similar (or different) local policy problems.
Furthermore, we believe our findings have strong gen-
eralizability to other contexts. There is nothing
“Massachusetts-specific” to our analysis. In other set-
tings, other indicator variables may be appropriate for
representing environmental need, economic prosper-
ity, economic and demographic pressures, and fiscal
and administrative capacity. For example, in a
Western grazing community, there is obviously no
reason to consider coastal factors, but it is possible
that extensive riparian landscape would be a viable
substitute indicating environmental need. Additional
research aimed at testing the relationships we have
shown here is certainly appropriate for better under-
standing the creation of LEIs.
Finally, while we certainly believe that scholars
should further investigate the factors that explain why
communities adopt LEIs, this is not the only avenue
of needed research. Studying the origins of LEIs is
only a first step in evaluating the promise of this
increasingly popular reform initiative. More empiri-
cal work is needed to evaluate the performance of
LEIs to determine if their promise produces results.
While scholars have focused attention on the proce-
dural outcomes of LEI initiatives, more study of the
environmental outcomes of LEI efforts is necessary
to better determine their potential efficacy in improv-
ing environmental quality.
Notes
1. Community-based environmental protection (CBEP) is
often used interchangeably with civic environmentalism (John
1994), collaborative environmental management (Koontz et al.
2004), and grassroots ecosystem management (Weber 2003).
2. The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA; 1999, 5) has
defined CBEP as a “holistic and collaborative approach to environ-
mental protection [that] . . . brings together public and private stake-
holders within a place or community to identify environmental
concerns, set priorities, and implement comprehensive solutions.”
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3. The prototypical example of a CBEP institution is a collab-
orative watershed group. These groups are generally volunteer
organizations consisting of traditionally competing stakeholders
that come together to collaboratively address long-term water-
shed protection goals (Sabatier et al. 2005). Lubell et al. (2002)
noted that there are nearly one thousand collaborative watershed
partnership groups operating in the United States.
4. There are no educational or experiential requirements to
serve as a conservation commissioner. While there are training
opportunities available, commissioners are not obligated to take
advantage of them.
5. About half of the 167 development projects we examined in a
random sample of seventy-two Massachusetts towns protected
buffer zones with median widths of about thirty-two feet. Under
strict implementation of the Massachusetts Wetlands Protection Act
(MWPA), these values should all be approximately zero; so this rep-
resents clear evidence of local discretion in implementation.
6. Potoski (2001), for example, found that the severity of state
air pollution problems was a good predictor of which states have
adopted control measures beyond federal law.
7. Specifically, we first delineated wetlands resources using
geographic information system (GIS) software. We then con-
structed a one-hundred-foot buffer zone around each resource
(the definition of buffer zone under the MWPA), and computed
the area measurements directly from the delineations.
8. One might posit a different argument, based on the idea of
scarcity—the less abundant the wetlands resources, the more
likely a community will take action to protect them. We think a dif-
ferent argument is more compelling: as the prevalence of wetlands
in a community decreases, so too will community identification
with the environment.
9. Wetlands science recognizes that buffer zones play a funda-
mental role in the ecology of wetlands, significantly affecting
their physical, chemical, and biological characteristics.
10. The Kuznets curve literature also relies on this assumption
(Grossman and Krueger 1995; Seldon and Song 1994).
11. We were unable to include education—another possible
indicator of community wealth—in our analysis because of
strong multicollinearity with per capita income. (Education and
per capita income have a correlation of .86.) We dropped educa-
tion because, prior to 1995, education data were not collected for
towns with populations of less than twenty-five hundred. Thus, to
keep the education variable would mean excluding all towns with
populations smaller than twenty-five hundred from the analysis,
potentially introducing a systematic bias.
12. These perceptions prevail despite substantial evidence to
the contrary (Meyer 1995).
13. In a survey of state environmental administrators, Engel
(1997) found evidence that state regulators at times modified
their decisions due to concerns about their effects on business.
Recent empirical work across a broad spectrum of pollution con-
trol programs, moreover, suggests that states do respond to the
environmental regulatory behaviors of states with which they
compete for economic investment (Woods 2006; Konisky 2005).
14. We compiled data on wetlands adoption from a statewide
town survey we conducted during 2000 and 2001 and Munilaw, Inc.’s
(1999) Massachusetts Wetlands By-laws & Regulations database.
15. The MWPA was amended in 1996 to protect riverfront
areas within two hundred feet of perennial streams.
16. See Box-Steffensmeier and Jones (1997) for a compre-
hensive discussion of event history analysis.
 Meyer, Konisky / Adopting Local Environmental Institutions 15
17. Since our data are sorted into discrete time intervals, we use
exact partial errors to estimate error variances in the Cox regres-
sions and to handle “ties” in failure observations. This produces
precisely the same results as using conditional logistic regression.
See Jones and Branton (2005) for a detailed discussion of the
advantages of the Cox regression model and their particular applic-
ability to policy adoption.
18. The change in base hazard is given by percentage change
in base hazard = exp(β) – 1, where β is the regression coefficient
19. Percentage change in base hazard per standard deviation =
exp(β∆) – 1, where β is the Cox regression coefficient and ∆ is
the value of one standard deviation of the variable.
20. To compare the change in risk between two towns with
two different values—a and b—on the covariate x, the compara-
tive hazard ratio is exp[β(a – b)].
21. Here the Martingale residuals suggest that this is the pre-
ferred functional form for this variable.
22. We modify an economic development scale developed by
the Massachusetts Department of Revenue to classify each com-
munity as one of these three types.
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