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 it seems to me that what is particularly compelling today is to look not only at the UNESCO decision itself, but at what unfolds in its wake.

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

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

From architectural object to urban system

Tashkent modernism is of particular interest precisely because many of its constituent works were conceived from the outset not as isolated architectural ideas.

They were part of a larger urban system.

Photo: Karel Balas

Following the earthquake of 1966, Tashkent was effectively afforded the opportunity to rethink the organisation of a substantial portion of the city. The new architecture was required to address several imperatives simultaneously: seismic safety, an intense climate, civic functions, and the necessity of creating a modern urban environment.

It is for this very reason that the modernism of Tashkent cannot be considered through architectural form alone. The market, the metro, the museum, the palace of culture, the residential block — each of these works generated around itself a particular scenario of urban life.

Today, decades on, this principle has acquired a renewed urgency.

We speak once again at length of mixed use, shared public space, climatic adaptation, pedestrian connectivity, and the choreography of human behaviour. Yet a considerable number of these concerns were already embedded in the architecture and urban logic of Tashkent in the second half of the twentieth century.

Perhaps this is precisely why the UNESCO recognition ought to be understood not merely as a restoration of historical value to these buildings, but as an opportunity to re-read the principles inscribed within them.

Such a perspective aligns with the broader international logic of engagement with urban heritage. The UNESCO Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape proposes moving beyond the preservation of the physical envelope and considering heritage in relation to infrastructure, public space, social practices, and economic processes. The value of a site is determined not only by what must be conserved within it, but by the role it continues to play within an evolving city.

Chorsu: when a building's role preserves its architecture

One of the most legible examples is Chorsu.

Photo: Karel Balas

Its distinctive dome may be read as an architectural image, an engineering structure, or an element of cultural heritage. Yet the power of Chorsu lies not in its architecture alone.

It continues to function as a market.

Each day it generates flows of people, commerce, encounters, tourist itineraries, and everyday transactions. The architecture is not severed from its function but continues to live within it. And it is precisely this, in my view, that is of fundamental importance when we speak of heritage.

When a historic building retains only its shell while losing its function, a distance gradually opens between the object and the city. The visitor perceives a monument, yet ceases to have reason to engage with it on a regular basis.

When the function is preserved, or acquires a new contemporary reading, the reverse occurs: the heritage remains part of everyday life.

Kosmonavtov Metro Station: infrastructure as culture

Another example is Kosmonavtov metro station.

Photo: Karel Balas

It is a piece of transport infrastructure used by thousands of people every day. Yet it is simultaneously an architectural work, an artistic image, and a constituent element of Tashkent's identity.

Here it becomes particularly evident that cultural value does not necessarily require the transformation of a space into a museum. Sometimes the finest means of preserving architecture is to allow it to continue playing its role.

A person may travel to work and simultaneously find themselves inside a work of architectural heritage. It is precisely this daily engagement that perhaps forges a far deeper connection with the city than the occasional visit to a monument.

Zhemchug: the complex question of residential heritage

With residential architecture, the situation becomes still more intricate.

Photo: Karel Balas

The experimental Zhemchug building is neither a museum nor a civic institution. It is housing. And this means that architectural heritage here is in constant negotiation with the evolving needs of its inhabitants.

Engineering systems change, notions of comfort shift, safety requirements evolve, and the way of life of residents transforms. Where does the boundary lie between the preservation of architecture and the building's capacity to develop?

To halt all change entirely risks the gradual erosion of the building's habitability. To permit unregulated transformation risks the loss of its architectural value altogether.

Working with residential heritage therefore demands not a prohibition on change, but managed adaptation: a framework of guidelines that allows engineering systems and living conditions to be updated without dismantling the building's architectural identity.

And this question extends well beyond Tashkent. It confronts many cities in which the architecture of the twentieth century is gradually moving from the category of the recent past into that of heritage.

Three levels of conservation

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

• The first is the object-as-monument. We preserve the material shell: façades, structure, decorative elements, proportions, and the author's original intent.

• The second is the object-as-function. The building retains a relevant function or acquires a new one, allowing people to continue making use of it.

• Yet there is a third level — the object-as-system. The building becomes part of a broader urban life: around it exist routes, public spaces, services, an economy, cultural events, and the rhythms of everyday existence.

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

Because a city preserves not only what is protected by law. It preserves what it continues to use. This is where another criterion emerges — the functional value of architecture. It is defined not solely by how well a building has been maintained, but by how many connections it continues to generate around itself: whether there is a reason for people to come here, whether everyday routes pass through the site, whether new scenarios arise nearby, whether space, function, and territory interact with one another. The more such connections are sustained, the harder it becomes to separate the architecture from the life of the city — and the more resilient its value becomes.

The reverse process might be termed functional loss. It does not necessarily begin when a building falls into disrepair. Sometimes a structure is physically intact, its façade restored, its status protected — yet the space gradually slips out of everyday life: routes disappear, functions vanish, reasons to return fade away. The architecture endures, while its influence on the surrounding territory diminishes.

The preservation of heritage is therefore also a matter of attending to what happens inside a building, around it, and between it and the city.

Heritage must generate new value

International recognition inevitably draws additional attention to Tashkent. New research itineraries emerge, architectural tourism flourishes, and interest grows among international practices, universities, photographers, and cultural institutions.

Yet the potential extends far beyond tourism.

Architectural heritage can become an integral part of a territory's economy.

Around significant sites, routes take shape, small businesses emerge, cultural programmes develop, and public spaces are formed. Districts acquire a stronger sense of identity, and the city itself gains a new platform for international positioning.

At the same time, it is vital not to reduce heritage to a purely touristic product. A city becomes genuinely compelling to the visitor precisely when it remains authentic for its own inhabitants.

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

The value of Kosmonavtlar station lies not only in the opportunity to photograph its interior, but in the fact that it remains part of the city's daily flow of movement.

It is here that cultural heritage converges with territorial development. In this sense, heritage need not be regarded as a separate category of the urban environment, but rather as one of its assets. If architecture continues to generate functions, movement, and human interaction, its value need not diminish over time. It may accumulate through the identity of place, enduring patterns of use, and the capacity of a territory to remain relevant.

A living function generates a flow of people; that flow sustains services, cultural programmes, and small businesses. In this way, the functional value of architecture gradually becomes the functional value of the territory itself.

Preserving not the building, but the relationships

Tashkent is changing at a remarkable pace today. New residential complexes, public spaces, commercial developments, and transport infrastructure are all taking shape. Against this backdrop, UNESCO's recognition of modernism raises important questions not only about the past but about the future — which of the buildings we design today will remain significant to the city fifty years hence? Will they be valued solely for their architecture, or for the life that has formed around them?

Perhaps this is the central lesson of Tashkent modernism.

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

The next step following international recognition is therefore not simply the preservation of ten buildings. Far more important is preserving their capacity to continue making the city.

Because true architectural heritage is not only what has survived from the past. It is what continues to function in the present and to create 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