Who owns Copenhagen?

I was intrigued to discover a recent Danish study [1] that explored the degree to which sustainable building technologies can be applied to listed buildings without detracting from their historic value. Under the direction of Realea [2], a Danish organization that purchases historic and modern buildings that serve “the common good,” the investigators evaluated various possibilities for retrofitting and renovating the Fæstningens Materialgård complex at Frederiksholms Canal in Copenhagen. This group of buildings played an important role in the expansion of Copenhagen’s defenses at the end of the eighteenth century and represents a landmark on the city’s harbor front. The Materialgård’s “listed” status [3] means that the national Heritage Agency has subjected these buildings to a series of regulations intended to protect their historic qualities.

The study found that the buildings’ energy efficiency could be improved by almost 20 percent without compromising their historic value. In other words, if the energy efficiency of an ordinary existing building can be improved by 40 percent [4], then the energy efficiency of a preservation-worthy existing building can be improved by about half the technological limit without neglecting its preservation needs. 
 

This case is intriguing to me for several reasons, not the least of which is the adaptive reuse of the historic building complex to create modern office spaces. So too am I interested in the decisions made during the renovation process. Replacing window glass was acceptable to preservationists but replacing entire windows was not—sealing building gaps was acceptable but not increasing exterior insulation—waterborne cooling systems but not airborne cooling systems—furnishing interior spaces so that rooms with similar functions are grouped together but not installing solar panels on roofs—and so forth. Realea presents these compromises and their results as a triumph for the effort to reconcile historic preservation with sustainable development. And it certainly is exciting to know that energy efficiency can be improved to such an extent without detracting from the historic qualities of a centuries-old building complex. But I also see the problematic implications of this study, a hint at the difficult compromises that will need to be made as sustainability becomes a more significant component of city development worldwide.
 

As I see it, the renovations at Fæstningens Materialgård represent one extreme of the historic preservation-sustainable development spectrum. In this case, it was determined that the historic value of the building complex was so great that all improvements in energy efficiency and other retrofits should be subordinate to preservation efforts. On the other end of the spectrum, we have crudely-made buildings with no historic value, for which replacement likely represents the best solution. In between these extremes, however, we have the vast majority of the built environment. We have charming buildings whose ornamentation and architectural details contribute so much to the city’s aesthetic character. We have industrial buildings that can be transformed into those mixed-use urban districts that are so popular among “new urban” planners. And we have buildings that a British organization [5] has termed “risky buildings [6],” those uncelebrated examples of what was once considered great twentieth-century architecture. How will we determine the appropriate balance of preservation and development in these spaces?
 

Last week we discussed how these seemingly opposed values of sustainable development and historic preservation should be reconciled through an integrated approach to city planning. But who will perform the reconciling? Given that we live in a world of scarce resources, who will determine how much time, money, and city space should be devoted to historic preservation efforts and how much should be assigned to the sustainable developers? And so we reach what is perhaps the ultimate question in city planning: who owns the city?
 

If we are to look at Copenhagen as a model for urban development, for balancing historic preservation and sustainable development, then we are forced to see the importance of citizen involvement in city planning. The jury is, to a certain extent, still deliberating about the value of public participation in these sorts of planning processes. And we certainly do need experts and officials to create strategic plans for urban spaces. But as I see it, Copenhagen’s example teaches us that we also need public involvement to keep historic cities dynamic and to ensure that sustainable development does not become too detached from ordinary lives.
 

Consider the recent revitalization of Copenhagen’s waterfront [7] as an example. The city has managed to create a public space that subordinates car traffic to bicyclists and pedestrians, to clean up the harbor to a swim-able standard, and to create outdoor recreational facilities. At the same time, the city has protected the area’s historical gems, both neighborhoods such as Nyhavn and individual buildings such as the eighteenth-century warehouse converted into the Admiral Hotel. Of course, many of these changes have pitted conflicting interests against each other, and one could cite particular instances in which either historic preservation or sustainable development was favored unduly over the other. The story of Copenhagen’s harbor development is certainly filled with controversies. But in many ways, the successful revitalization of this area occurred because the unsuccessful harbor development of the early 1990s taught Copenhageners “what they did not want” and caused them to “deman[d] more intelligent development.” The essential lesson from this case, I think, is that Copenhageners used an unfortunate past experience to create a positive vision for the future.
 

The Danish government seems to have realized the value of this public participation in city planning, in determining the proper balance between old and new. The most recent amendment to Denmark’s Planning Act [8], passed in 2007, gives primacy to municipal plans rather than regional or national ones. This change occurred as part of the Danish government’s deliberate effort to “reinforce[e] public participation in planning,” even to require a minimum level of public involvement in this process. Perhaps most striking to an American observer, however, is the provision of the Planning Act that calls for the development of a “planning culture” in Denmark. It seems that Danish officials have realized that legal requirements for public participation are meaningless if the public does not wish to participate. In order for citizens to enter the discussion about historic preservation and sustainable development, citizens have to care.
 

And so Copenhagen also teaches us that the citizenry must feel ownership over its city’s historic legacy and sustainable development strategy. If we return to the essential question of city planning, about who owns the city, Copenhagen’s example would indicate that the worst possible answer, the one that every city should try to avoid, is “no one.” Public participation in Copenhagen works because the discussion, at its best, occurs at a high level, manifesting itself constructively rather than only destructively. Whether this model can be replicated in cities around the world is still open to discussion. But from my observations and explorations, public involvement has proven to be one of Copenhagen’s greatest assets in its effort to reconcile historic preservation and sustainable development, making the process more complicated but often making the result more thoughtful.