Legacy Conservation

(see also other glossary terms)
An article by John Wood - first published in Sublime Magazine 2023

Heritage

Like many other Brits living in a post-Brexit, post-coronation Britain I find that the concept of ‘Heritage’ (note the deferential capital ‘H’) is wearing thin. So I was surprised to find myself agreeing with tourists eulogising about our local architecture. But why has the conservation culture remained so important to our self-identity? Maybe self-irony is part of it. There is something refreshingly surreal about a golden carriage sharing cobbled streets with electric scooters and Uber cabs. Seriously, though, in a world of homelessness and climate change, is ‘heritage conservation’ a luxury the future can no longer afford?

As a resident of a ‘conservation area’ I sometimes wonder what planners think they are ‘conserving’. This is not a simple issue. As planning decisions include aesthetics they cannot conform to tick-box criteria. However, although climate change and extinctions have raised the stakes, a lack of government vision has made planning even more arbitrary and controversial than it need be. In an era when scientists are discussing our possible extinction, standing up for the conservation of a particular architectural trope can easily seem like a badge of denial. Communities need to make ‘future conservation’ their top priority.

The practice of designating ‘historic conservation areas’ was a welcome innovation of the 1960s, given the indecent speed at which developers will cheerfully replace the old with the new. Unfortunately, it has not stood the test of time, as it largely means ‘conserving the character or appearance’ of our urban milieu. Of course, the basic principle of conservation is sound enough as it enables planners to oppose the wilful destruction of beautiful buildings or trees. But the aesthetics of form is only an outward sign of good health and we need to think more deeply. One the underlying causes of our anachronistic planning policies is a growth-centred mindset that is long past its sell-by date. In effect, the invention of unit-based money has led us into an economic flatland that makes trees seem like liabilities, rather than assets. We know that they improve the mental wellbeing of communities yet this is hard for accountants to justify. However, just as a well designed building can preclude fuel bills, so a mature tree detoxifies our air and moderates our water without sending us an invoice. The transition from a ‘conservation’ and ‘preservation’ mindset to a culture of 'renewal' and ‘regeneration’ is long overdue. But we should see it as an opportunity to embrace a more fulsome grasp of biodiversity. At least it is dawning on us that conserving CO2 is more important than conserving the stylistic conceits of old, leaky buildings.

Sadly, Britain leads the world in celebrating the past but it ranks near the bottom for conserving the biological diversity that keeps us alive. Within this paradigm it is ‘normal’ to surround stately homes with machine mown lawns comprising a single species of grass. Perhaps the Heritage industry has forgotten that the 16th century word ‘lawne’ referred to common pastures with a rich diversity of species and uses. It is hardly surprising that the Conservative Party is reluctant to reclaim the word ‘conservation’ as it would mean promoting conviviality for all, rather than blaming our incompetence on refugees from climate calamity. Today, by preserving the ‘character and appearance’ of this era we also sustain painful memories of the building boom of the mid-nineteenth century.

I admire many of the Victorian styles that remain but am bemused when neighbours fight to preserve the infamous ‘butterfly roofs’ for reasons of nostalgia. They were designed to cut costs rather than to look good, so Victorian builders hid them behind parapet walls. Today, protected by ‘conservation area’ planning decisions, they continue to squander energy and to take up space that could otherwise be occupied by families. If the possible loss of our future is a bigger challenge than the erasure of our past, politicians should be asking urban planners to prioritise the conservation of life itself. Heritage is only important as part of legacy. At worst, ‘heritage conservation’ without ‘legacy conservation’ would ensure that our beautifully preserved historic buildings will languish beneath the rising tides of a climate disaster.

On the positive side, there is no technological reason why we cannot live in self-renewing cities designed to work for at least the half-life of the Sun. Indeed, we have at least a billion years of ample free sunshine left. What is missing is a framework for imagining how we want to live. Unfortunately, choice is always designed to outrank imagination. As consumers and citizens we are always called upon to choose but never invited to dream. This is the fatal fault line of our democratic system. Perhaps the idea of ‘legacy conservation’ will catalyse a transition to a creative democracy. First we need to imagine how we would like to live in the future. But this means asking ourselves who we are and why we are here. And this calls for a radically revised education system.

Legacy Conservation

Heritage

Further Reading