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Three months ago, the city changed the way it does planning, again. Collette Crepell, the executive director of the city’s Planning Commission resigned and at the same time it was revealed that many seats on the Historic District Landmarks Commission are being left vacant in an apparent effort by the mayor to get more control over the HDLC, a city agency that now answers to the city’s Chief Technology Officer, Greg Meffert.

While Crepell’s decision came as a surprise to some, it’s clear that hers was a tough job, making recommendations that were regularly tossed by city council members when politically expedient. The changes at the HDLC had been in the pipeline for a while. About a month earlier, many neighborhood groups received letters informing them that their representative on the Historic District Landmarks Commission would be thanked for their service and pink-slipped. Mayor Nagin putting his Chief Technology Officer in charge of one of the city’s primary architectural preservation agencies sent a pretty clear signal to anyone paying attention that the agency would be run differently.

While many in the preservation community have adapted to the realities of a “pro-business” administration by emphasizing the business value of preservation, they, as well as the administration, continue to miss the point. Instead of elite organizations duking it out on the public stage or in marathon lobbying sessions—all the while holding developer’s investments hostage—we need to work to decentralize the decision-making process: moving it down to the neighborhood level, down to those who will ultimately live and work in these places. Simultaneously, we need to help inform neighborhood residents about what makes good communities and how to work creatively with developers and city agencies to achieve outcomes that benefit all members of the community. The real value of preservation, economically and culturally, isn’t in a building or any particular group of structures; it is in protecting the integrity of the community, in its physical structure, its ambiance and its people.

There are problems with trying to make a “business case” for preservation. One reason politicians tend to ignore preservation is because, like the CEOs of public companies, they are incentivized to think only one month, one quarter, or one year into the future. In running economic development like salesmen trying to meet quotas, they easily overlook long-term gains that fall outside the standard banker’s model. Anyone looking for a short term return on an investment in a building project, say within typical bank terms of 7-10 years, will have minimal incentive to use higher quality materials or innovative design. A cinderblock Wal-Mart trumps newer urban designs when it comes to cost savings, but even that is only in the short term. If this thinking had held sway 40 years ago, it’s safe to assume the French Quarter would be gone because it wasn’t generating enough revenue. The point is that the real value of preservation—or in any investment that is done with quality materials—accrues over a longer period. But it does so with greater and longer lasting returns.

Another reason the preservation message is often missed by politicians is that many of the leading voices of preservation are white, wealthy, and members of the New Orleans’ old guard. New Orleans’ epidemic unemployment can easily make the difficult to document preservationist claims of economic development through preservation ring hollow. Add to that a general devaluing of manual and craft labor in modern culture, a lack of interest by city government in jump-start training in the construction trades, as well as the at-times-misinformed perception that preservationists only care about old dead white guys’ houses, and you can begin to see why many politicians focus their interest on big boxes and Subway restaurants.

So, what’s a poor preservationist to do as politics buttons up the official mechanisms for preservation in New Orleans? It depends on what you want. If you want to perpetuate your organization, by all means keep duking it out with the other elites—politicos or developers—in the carefully choreographed dance we have seen all too often. It makes for great headlines and every once in a while you win one. Unfortunately, the destruction of New Orleans through the slow water torture that is bad development will continue unabated.

If, however, the idea of cultural continuity, democratic control of neighborhoods, and long-term business investment sounds appealing, start working now to shift control of your neighborhood away from politics-as-usual and into the hands of those who actually have to live with the results of planning. You think preservationists have too much power—wielding control over the city council and thwarting development in your neighborhood? Take the power away from the council and give it to the neighborhoods. You think developers have too much influence on the city council and get bad projects approved for your neighborhood? Take the power away from the council and give it to the neighborhoods. And when we say “neighborhoods,” we mean all the stakeholders in a given area like the districts defined by city planners, including the existing neighborhood associations and other homeowners, renters and businesses.

There are plenty of examples of communities that are starting to do this. In the coming months, we will be detailing successful programs for improving community input in the planning process from similar cities, like Memphis, as well as others. Many cities are actively overhauling their planning and input process because most of their soul has already been bulldozed, and the few remnants left have become precious. Let’s take the lead so we can keep New Orleans’ assets in place and continue to reap their benefits.

Filed under: Editorials