Preserving a Building Is Not Enough: How Architectural Heritage Keeps a City Alive

In July 2026, the modernist architecture of Tashkent was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The serial nomination encompasses ten buildings and urban complexes dating from the 1960s to the early 1990s; nine of the ten are situated along the new urban axes of the reconstructed city centre. UNESCO regards them not as a collection of individual monuments, but as an ensemble in which modernist planning is interwoven with the climatic, seismic and cultural conditions of Central Asia.

Yet I think what is particularly interesting today is not only the UNESCO decision itself, but what comes after it.

When a building is granted heritage status, the first imperative naturally becomes the preservation of its façade, structure, details and the architect's original vision. Yet a city is not a museum, and architecture does not exist apart from the people who use it. People pass through these buildings, work in them, gather around them and make use of them every day.

To preserve a building physically, therefore, is not necessarily to preserve it for the city.

From architectural object to urban system

Tashkent modernism is particularly interesting because many of its buildings were conceived from the outset not as isolated architectural statements.

They were part of a larger urban system.

Photo: Karel Balas

Following the 1966 earthquake, Tashkent was effectively given an opportunity to rethink the structure of a substantial part of the city. The new architecture had to respond to several challenges at once: seismic safety, the hot climate, civic functions and the need to create a modern urban environment.

This is precisely why Tashkent modernism cannot be understood through architectural form alone. The market, the metro, the museum, the palace of culture and the residential block each generated a particular pattern of urban life around them.

Today, decades later, this principle has acquired a renewed relevance.

We are once again talking a great deal about multifunctionality, mixed-use development, public spaces, climate adaptation, pedestrian connections and the ways people move through and use the city. Yet many of these concerns were already embedded in Tashkent’s architecture and urban planning logic in the second half of the twentieth century.

Perhaps this is precisely why UNESCO recognition should be understood not merely as a restoration of historical value to these buildings, but as an opportunity to reread the principles embedded within them.

This perspective also aligns with the broader international approach to urban heritage. The UNESCO Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape calls for moving beyond the preservation of the physical fabric and considering heritage in relation to infrastructure, public spaces, social practices and economic processes. The value of a site is determined not only by what must be preserved, but also by the role it continues to play in a changing city.

Chorsu: When a Building's Role Preserves Its Architecture

A particularly telling example is Chorsu.

Photo: Karel Balas

Its distinctive dome can be read as an architectural image, an engineering structure or an element of cultural heritage. But the strength of Chorsu lies not only in its architecture.

It continues to function as a market.

Every day, this place sees a steady flow of people: trade, meetings, tourist routes and daily shopping. The architecture is not separate from its function; it continues to live through it. And that, to my mind, is fundamentally important when we talk about heritage.

If a historic building preserves only its physical shell but loses its function, a distance gradually emerges between the building and the city. People see a monument, but they no longer have a reason to interact with it regularly.

When a function is preserved, or given a new contemporary interpretation, the opposite happens: heritage remains part of everyday life.

Kosmonavtlar Metro Station: Infrastructure as Culture

Another example is Kosmonavtlar Metro Station.

Photo: Karel Balas

It is transport infrastructure used by thousands of people every day. At the same time, it is architecture, an artistic expression and part of Tashkent’s identity.

Here, it becomes particularly clear that cultural value does not necessarily require a space to be turned into a museum. Sometimes the best way to preserve architecture is to allow it to continue playing its role.

A person can be travelling to work while simultaneously moving through a work of architectural heritage. This kind of everyday interaction may create a far deeper connection with the city than an occasional visit to a monument.

Zhemchug: The Complex Question of Residential Heritage

Residential architecture brings a different set of questions.

Photo: Karel Balas

The experimental Zhemchug building is neither a museum nor a public building. It is housing. That means its architectural heritage has to respond to changing human needs.

Engineering systems are updated, ideas about comfort evolve, safety standards shift, and residents’ lifestyles change. So where do we draw the line between preserving the architecture and allowing a building to adapt?

If change is stopped altogether, the building risks gradually becoming less comfortable to live in. If uncontrolled transformation is allowed, its architectural value may be lost.

This is why working with residential heritage requires not a prohibition on change, but managed adaptation: rules that allow engineering systems and living conditions to be updated without destroying the building’s architectural identity.

And this is no longer an issue confined to Tashkent. Many cities are facing the same challenge as 20th-century architecture gradually moves from being seen as the “recent past” to being recognised as heritage.

Three Levels of Conservation

It seems important to distinguish between three levels of engagement with architectural heritage.

• The first is the object-as-monument. We preserve the physical fabric: façades, structure, decorative elements, proportions and the architect’s original vision.

• The second is the object-as-function. The building retains a function that people still need, or receives a new one that allows people to continue using it.

• Yet there is a third level: the object-as-system. The building becomes part of a broader urban life: routes, public spaces, services, economic activity, cultural events and everyday patterns of use develop around it.

And it is precisely this third level, in my view, that determines whether architectural heritage remains alive.

A city preserves not only what is protected by law. It preserves what people continue to use. This is where another criterion emerges: the functional value of architecture. It is determined not only by how well a building has been preserved, but also by how many connections it continues to generate around itself. Is there a reason for people to come here? Does an everyday route pass through the building? Do new patterns of use emerge around it? Do space, function and territory interact with one another? The more of these connections remain, the harder it becomes to separate architecture from the life of the city, and the more resilient its value becomes.

The opposite process can be described as functional loss. It does not necessarily begin when a building starts to deteriorate. Sometimes the object is physically preserved, its façade has been restored and its protected status remains intact, yet the space gradually falls out of everyday life. Routes disappear, functions disappear, and so do the reasons to return. The architecture remains, but its influence on the surrounding territory diminishes.

Preserving heritage, therefore, also means working with what happens inside a building, around it and between it and the city.

Heritage Must Generate New Value

International recognition inevitably draws greater attention to Tashkent. New research routes are emerging, architectural tourism is growing, and international practices, universities, photographers and cultural institutions are showing increasing interest in the city.

But the potential goes far beyond tourism.

Architectural heritage can become part of the economy of a territory.

Significant sites can generate new routes, support small businesses, bring cultural programmes to life and create new public spaces. They can give neighbourhoods a stronger sense of identity, while offering the city new ways to present itself to the world.

At the same time, it is important not to turn heritage exclusively into a tourism product. A city becomes interesting to visitors precisely when it remains authentic for its residents.

The value of Chorsu, therefore, lies not only in the fact that a tourist can see its famous dome, but also in the fact that the market continues to function as a place of trade.

The value of Kosmonavtlar is not only that visitors can photograph the station’s interior, but that the station remains part of the city’s everyday routes.

This is where cultural heritage connects with the development of the territory. In this sense, heritage can be understood not as a separate category of the urban environment, but as one of its assets. If architecture continues to generate functions, movement and interaction between people, its value does not necessarily diminish over time. It can accumulate through the identity of a place, established patterns of use and the ability of the territory to remain relevant.

A function that people continue to need generates footfall; footfall supports services, cultural programmes and small businesses. In this way, the functional value of architecture gradually becomes the functional value of the territory.

Preserving Not the Building, but the Relationships

Tashkent is changing rapidly. New residential complexes, public spaces, commercial developments and transport infrastructure are appearing. Against this backdrop, UNESCO’s recognition of Tashkent modernism raises important questions not only about the past, but also about the future. Which of the buildings we design today will still matter to the city fifty years from now? Will they be valued only for their architecture, or for the life that has grown around them?

Perhaps this is the main lesson of Tashkent modernism.

Good architecture does not end at the boundary of a building. It creates relationships between people and space, shaping routes, habits and patterns of life.

That is why the next stage after international recognition is not simply the preservation of ten sites. Much more important is preserving their ability to continue creating the city.

True architectural heritage isn't only what has survived from the past: it's what continues to function in the present and creates value for the future.

Sources

• UNESCO World Heritage Centre — Tashkent Modernist Architecture. Modernity and Tradition in Central Asia

• UNESCO — Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape

• UNESCO World Heritage Centre — Historic Urban Landscape approach