A few months prior to the police invasion of the Stonewall Inn, a famous gay bar located on Christopher Street in Greenwich Village, the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission had recognized the Village as a historic area. This was mainly due to the charming row houses and the intriguing labyrinth of streets, spilling colonial echoes. Once, the Stonewall Inn had accommodated horse stables, later morphing into a local eatery and bar, Bonnie’s Stonewall Inn, in the 1930s. However, it was the late ’50s when the Genovese crime family resurrected the bar, carrying forward the Stonewall name.
In that era, organized crime syndicates had a significant influence over gay bars due to prevalent laws against homosexuality. Long-standing issues with police were usually resolved through payments to the mob, and these interactions seldom involved violence. However, the events of the summer of 1969 took a starkly different turn, with Stonewall’s clientele fighting back against the police. This event significantly propelled the gay rights movement. Shortly after, the Genovese family sold the property; for a while, the location was converted into a bagel shop.
The history of the Stonewall Inn might never have reached public consciousness, hadn’t the city’s historic designation of the Village served to deter potential demolition attempts. This changed in 2000 when Stonewall was officially labeled a National Historic Landmark, followed by its declaration as a New York City Landmark in 2015. By then, Stonewall was once again a bar, this time catering more to tourists. Next to it, a museum had also been established. However, the landmark status does little to dictate the actual usage of the building.
The intricacies related to landmark designation are often the source of curiosity. Specifically, what are we truly looking to conserve when we nominate an entity as a landmark? While such laws have aptly been introduced to safeguard elements of historical, architectural, or cultural significance, they occasionally prove inadequate in protecting what people holistically value in their communities. This nuanced variability in viewpoints makes the landmarking process more challenging.
Public landmarks might often be acknowledged as singular, monumental entities like the Grand Canyon or Grand Central Terminal, but locals may also attribute this significance to small town traditions, specific businesses, or even communal events. While the Stonewall Inn undoubtedly carries important historical connotations, it isn’t as grand as some commonly recognized landmarks. This discrepancy between public and official perceptions of a landmark is not exclusive to New York; it extends across various American cities, each with its own unique landmarks and preservation laws.
Heritage is a complex concept, encompassing not only physical but also emotional, cultural, and community elements. We face a challenging question when we consider how to treat these less tangible aspects of heritage. Do we need new regulations to preserve them? Excessive regulations can sometimes obstruct progress and successfully limit the elements that communities value and wish to protect. Hence, we need a more inclusive conversation around the concept of preservation, ensuring an equal focus on tangible and intangible aspects.
An interesting term that has been gaining traction is ‘intangible heritage.’ This refers to community cherished elements, often deeply entrenched in cultural practices, that do not fit the traditional architectural landmark definition. Several nations, like Japan, have recognized the importance of safeguarding such elements. For instance, Japan has enlisted its Ningyo Johruri Bunraku puppet theater as an Intangible Cultural Property. Incredibly, the Ise Shrine, which is rebuilt every 20 years following Shinto traditions, is also marked as intangible heritage.
UNESCO introduced the concept of intangible cultural heritage over twenty years ago, categorizing it as a significant part of a community’s cultural heritage. It identifies the customs, knowledge, and skills that embody and contribute to the cultural richness of a society. Accordingly, things like French gastronomic traditions, Moldovan blouse embroidery, or specific xylophone plays from southern Mozambique qualify for inscription on UNESCO’s lists. This notion of intangible heritage forms the next frontier for preservation in America.
Intangible heritage might be challenging to define legally, but you nonetheless recognize it instantly within your community. For instance, New York’s Upper West Side views Barney Greengrass, an old smoked fish restaurant, as an integral part of their cultural identity. In comparison, the landmark laws do insufficient justice in protecting entities like Barney Greengrass compared to the city’s architectural monuments.
Intangible heritage is a flexible concept applicable across various cities, not limited to New York. Deciding what falls into this category calls for a deeper exploration of community values, beggining to extend beyond the conventional framework of landmark laws. For example, significant questions arise on how to preserve unique business communities like New York City’s dwindling flower district. What measures would be effective—tax breaks, subsidies, or something else?
New York City was once home to numerous specialty districts like the philately district, the millinery district, and the fur district, each contributing to the city’s commercial and cultural landscape. Such districts have progressively shrunk due to evolving industries and development initiatives, thus raising profound questions about the tension between progress and preservation.
Through ‘special purpose’ districts, New York has made attempts to preserve specific neighborhoods since the 1960s. This approach aimed to conserve the unique character and charm of places like Little Italy and 125th Street in Harlem, the latter being a mixed-use hub of commerce and culture. Regrettably, over the years, these neighborhoods have lost much of their original character.
San Francisco has implemented a different strategy, incentivizing local businesses with financial benefits and restrictions. In several districts, franchises and chain businesses must acquire permission before establishing operations, promoting the growth of local ventures. Moreover, the Legacy Business fund, approved by the local population, provides short-term grants to older, struggling local businesses and nonprofit entities.
The concept of safeguarding a neighborhood business confronts several complex considerations. Suppose an enterprise like Barney Greengrass were to be purchased by an external entity like Long John Silver’s—would the business still qualify for preferential treatment? This question nudges us to reflect on the delicate balance between maintaining community character and the forces of free market.
Fundamentally, preserving intangible heritage involves a broader perspective of community priorities and potential biases in landmark legislation. There’s an ongoing debate around the equity of preservation and its eventual beneficiaries. This crucially underscored by the case of a weekly farmer’s market, a prime example of intangible heritage, which the community might wish to preserve despite its transient nature. In conclusion, our quest to define and preserve our culture and neighborhoods is an ongoing process, one that we continue to navigate with earnest dialogue and evolving perspectives.