By Carlos Augusto Garcia AIA
In the 1960s, New York’s Grand Central Terminal faced threats of demolition due to falling ridership and rising maintenance costs. In the 1980s, Union Station in Los Angeles saw calls for demolition when it couldn’t keep up with increases in traffic flow. A 1910 Allen Forge & Welding building in Raleigh - expanded in 1927 for the Brogden Produce Company - fell into disrepair before finally being purchased again in 1997.
Today, Grand Central Terminal is a beloved icon in New York’s thriving commercial center. Union Station is a major transportation hub and a cherished landmark that embodies the history and cultural diversity of Los Angeles . The building in downtown Raleigh, where fresh goods historically changed hands in a constant state of activity, became the centerpiece of revitalization in their bustling Warehouse District. It was developed into the city’s Contemporary Art Museum (CAM), and is now an integral part of their vibrant cultural landscape, spurring other development and fostering a unique sense of place.
In each case, the buildings were given second, or even third lives, due to strong public attachment and a recognition of their cultural value. Preservation efforts were often spearheaded by passionate individuals and organizations who rallied public support, working with government agencies to ensure the buildings' survival. Buildings don’t just house people and spaces, they can house stories and memories. This exemplifies the clear emotional connection that develops between people and well-designed structures in their public realm.
This is not simply a retelling of historic preservation efforts, rather a provocation to build - if we must - to last. After all, the most sustainable building is the one that’s already built, so why do we not take every opportunity we have to reuse our existing building stock?
The typical responses range from economic (misaligned incentives and unforeseen complexities), to regulatory (unfavorable zoning regulations and building codes), to constructability (toxic materials and lack of design flexibility). This is why the commonly cited range for mid-20th century commercial buildings is only around 50 years. There are also issues of knowledge and perception. We’re trained to believe that “newer is better” in our daily lives - with little thought given to quality - so why would we feel any differently about our built environment? In the US alone, construction and demolition waste accounts for about a quarter of all landfill material. Building new for every change in use is a luxury we no longer have.
The problem is that new is not always good, nor is new always built to last. Design that does little to engage or respond to context can not only feel out of place, too much of it can actually affect the moods of passersby. British architect Thomas Heatherwick’s “Humanise” campaign commissioned a survey that found 71% of respondents believe buildings have an impact on their mental health, and a majority prefer living in areas with character and variety. Poorly designed buildings lack the qualities that foster public attachment, and are therefore more susceptible to demolition and replacement.
Good design can manifest in many ways: programmatic flexibility, engaging aesthetics, modern cultural relevance, or historic connection to place. On a more practical level, we must remember that we have influence on community engagement, material selection, and appropriateness of design choices. We have the tools to leverage historic and contextual knowledge of sites, which can heavily influence impactful characteristics from parti to ornamentation. If reverence is given in the process, design can elevate the built result. The structure can even transcend its initial function and become deeply ingrained in the cultural fabric of a place.
The AIA’s Framework for Design Excellence provides support for many of these techniques. If you are Designing for Integration you are giving consideration to how your project will connect with the history of a place and its people. When you’re Designing for Communities, you’re thinking about the project’s greater reach, encouraging human connection beyond the property line. Designing for Change means you’re future-proofing by leveraging resilient design strategies and anticipating future uses.
These tools are sufficient to make our work not simply a benign intervention, but an active contributor to the health and well-being of the public. The closer we get to this goal, the more support we will have in making use of our existing building stock. As the stewards of the public realm, we have a responsibility to drastically reduce carbon emissions. We won’t get there with new construction alone, much less if buildings can’t outlive their architects.
As we forge our Path To Zero Carbon (as LMN describes), if we are not explicitly Designing for Disassembly, then we must design for resilience and adaptability. A large part of the latter is designing for the communities who will fight for the enduring qualities of good design. If we center the people who will experience and inhabit our work in their daily lives, we can prove to them that good design is something worth preserving.