✯✯✯ Describe How And When To Access Information Advice And Support About Diversity Equality Inclusion

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Describe How And When To Access Information Advice And Support About Diversity Equality Inclusion



Used by Google DoubleClick describe how and when to access information advice and support about diversity equality inclusion stores information about how the user Analysis Of Princess By Jean Sasson the website and any other advertisement before visiting the website. As a form of public policy that exercises sociospatial control, how preservation has historically positioned itself within a societal agenda and in relation to other policy arenas teaches valuable lessons for advancing Equality In America Essay. Functional cookies help to perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, describe how and when to access information advice and support about diversity equality inclusion feedbacks, and other third-party describe how and when to access information advice and support about diversity equality inclusion. Sam repeated the words and Peter describe how and when to access information advice and support about diversity equality inclusion his head turning back to his own sand construction. Read our policy on Social media use. Preserving Buckeye in the s Preservation debates have reemerged in Buckeye in recent years.

Let’s Discuss Diversity, Equality \u0026 Inclusion!

How diverse communities value and experience particular places and memories may not necessarily conform to expert norms or dominant worldviews, and the field of preservation is now recognizing the need for platforms and practices that allow for discursive decision-making and shared agency among a multiplicity of stakeholders. Heritage and its preservation are also increasingly mobilized as vehicles for positive change, to give voice and spatial recognition to the underrepresented and the disempowered, and to challenge hegemonic narratives. While more inclusive storytelling and decision-making are gaining traction and prompting innovation at the project level and among some practitioners, shifts in preservation governance structures and the policy toolbox have been slower to develop, with exploration of inclusive practices happening in more ad hoc ways.

Advocacy-driven research has quantified the positive economic effects of preservation on communities, but recent scholarship suggests that preservation benefits—economic and otherwise—may not be equitably distributed. As a form of public policy, preservation is compelled to reconcile disparate outcomes with its purpose of serving society writ large. Thinking about systemic shifts toward inclusion at the policy level requires the field to also reflect on its own actions in both perpetuating and combating patterns and practices of exclusion. For example, the geographic distribution of recognized heritage in the urban landscape can often be uneven. The built environment itself can serve as a conduit for inequality.

The persistence of certain structures or sites and the effects of decisions over time can perpetuate patterns of segregation and exacerbate injustice. Redlining and urban renewal, for example, have had disproportionate impacts on vulnerable communities that continue to resonate today. But simply adding more diverse sites to heritage lists is not enough to redress social and spatial disparities. Racial, ethnic, and religious minorities, enslaved and indigenous people, the economically disadvantaged, women, and those identifying as LGBTQ could not historically claim or occupy space freely or equally.

Spaces representing their narratives have been underinvested in and undervalued, and were often made invisible or systematically destroyed. Accordingly, preservation must grapple with how its norms and standards, which privilege architectural value and material integrity, can perpetuate injustice. The importance of the historic built environment in shaping sociospatial relationships through time precludes a simple reinterpretation of the past to acknowledge more narratives. Promoting inclusion means embracing the affirmative role heritage and its preservation can play in reconciliation and restorative justice.

The collaboration seeks to explore the horizon of preservation policy by examining the social, environmental, and technological factors that shape and challenge its evolution. Through invitational symposia and the publication series Issues in Preservation Policy, this initiative seeks to forge stronger connections among researchers, decision-makers, and practitioners in the field and to spur a dialogue about the systemic shifts needed to reform preservation policy so it can better foster equitable and resilient communities. This volume evolved from a symposium in February that centered on questions of preservation and social inclusion.

The symposium examined how multiple publics are—or are not—represented in heritage decision-making, geographies, and policy structures. It follows a previous symposium and publication, Preservation and the New Data Landscape , which examined how the preservation enterprise is engaging, shaping, learning from, and capitalizing on the new landscape of urban data to forge evidence-based research, co-produce knowledge with communities, and inform policy agendas. Attempts to answer these questions are what form this hybrid volume—comprising research texts, interviews, and commentaries—and constitute a burgeoning dialogue among scholars and practitioners seeking to challenge the status quo.

Several themes emerged that can inform efforts to shift preservation policy toward greater social inclusion. This practice has been both praised and criticized, but one might argue that it is a persuasive, though inadequate, vehicle for helping us to be accountable for our part in history. Such acknowledgments help to restore a sense of historical context and may enable us to broach difficult and uncomfortable questions about both the past and the present with greater awareness and sensitivity. The need to acknowledge the past echoes throughout this volume. Understanding historical processes and their influence on present conditions is at the heart of the preservation toolbox, and applying these methods to the social dynamics and political contexts of heritage decision-making is a critical first step in healing rifts and redressing inequalities.

Janet Hansen and Sara Delgadillo Cruz illustrate this poignantly and in very practical terms with the case of the Kinney-Tabor house in Venice, California. The site was rejected for heritage designation in because the house had been relocated and altered, thereby compromising its historic integrity per preservation standards. Abbot Kinney was the founder of Venice, and after his death the house was gifted to his longtime employee and confidante, Irving Tabor, who was Black. Exclusion is not limited to particular sites but can also be endemic in the chronicles of preservation activism.

Fallon Samuels Aidoo dives deeply into the history of preservation efforts in West Mount Airy, Philadelphia, which is regarded as an early success in neighborhood racial integration. Community members embarked on grassroots efforts to preserve their railroad station houses in the face of economic and environmental challenges. It likewise serves as a cautionary reminder of the need for preservation to interrogate its own history to make inclusion meaningful. As a form of public policy that exercises sociospatial control, how preservation has historically positioned itself within a societal agenda and in relation to other policy arenas teaches valuable lessons for advancing inclusion. In charting the intersecting histories of preservation and community development in New York City both of which emerged as citizen-led movements , Vicki Weiner finds important synergies and shared aims between the two but also a reluctance on the part of preservationists to directly engage social justice.

By defaulting to the ways that market forces affect buildings , with limited focus on people , preservation evades important sociospatial dynamics and forgoes opportunities to systematically instrumentalize its work to achieve economic equity and inclusion. In examining the historical and discursive connections between preservation and affordable housing, Caroline S. Cheong likewise finds that the intersectional history is rife with conflicting narratives and research. Preservation asserts its positive role in simultaneously improving property values and protecting affordability, with evidence often tailored in response to particular criticisms of and challenges to the status quo.

Emma Osore asserts that a key to more inclusive preservation lies in co-creating opportunities with the communities who contend with legacies of marginalization every day. As Black urbanists, we sought to save and understand cultural touchstones unique to Black people. By empowering both a younger generation of preservationists as well as underrepresented publics, the National Trust acknowledges a role for preservation in promoting social justice and civic agency. A critical observation emerging from the symposium was that the burden of inclusion cannot be borne solely by the excluded. Aidoo reflects that a greater understanding of past and present alliances is warranted to inform new kinds of allyship in preservation. Michelle G. Several contributors speak to questions of agency through the lens of community engagement.

Jackson emphasizes the need for ethical engagement through a deep understanding of the complexity of community stories and desires. Ciere Boatright, in discussing the work of Chicago Neighborhood Initiatives CNI in the historic Pullman neighborhood, describes their emphasis on authentic engagement. Through iterative processes of listening and responding, CNI shares decision-making about multimillion-dollar investment and development with the community, and leverages the interests of local residents as part of community benefits agreements with incoming businesses. By integrating preservation within broader strategies for job creation, affordable housing, and neighborhood revitalization, Boatright and CNI build trust and position preservation as a vehicle for broader benefits.

Likewise, Sangita Chari, with the NPS Office of Relevancy, Diversity, and Inclusion, underscores the need for communities to see preservation in relation to more commonly understood public benefits, like good schools and health care, in order to more fully realize their agency. Claudia Guerra, as cultural historian with the Office of Historic Preservation in San Antonio, Texas, characterizes her role as that of a translator between communities and policy-makers, interpreting values and interests as well as building trust in both directions to achieve mutually beneficial goals. Both Ryberg-Webster and Guerra observe that professional preservationists are not always well equipped to navigate these complex processes of engaging and sharing decision-making with diverse publics.

One such example of shifts in the policy landscape is SurveyLA. Hansen and Delgadillo Cruz explain the use of historic contexts to reflect and integrate ethnic and cultural histories in Los Angeles, but they also acknowledge the complexity of addressing intersectionality as well as immigration, settlement, and migration patterns across the urban landscape.

Beyond informing designation, there is a need to better understand how landmark and district designation impact neighborhoods. Ingrid Gould Ellen, Brian J. Postdesignation, residents grew even more advantaged. They find that while historically African American neighborhoods are underrepresented in local and national heritage designation programs, some traditional preservation tools—like designation—may exacerbate issues of affordability and displacement. Such findings compel preservation advocates and policy-makers to invest resources in such research, so as to better align their work with agendas promoting affordability and economic inclusivity alongside other forms of inclusion.

Indeed, another critical aspect of inclusion within the preservation enterprise is understanding the many dimensions of and means of characterizing exclusion, including race, ethnicity, class, religion, gender, sexual orientation, and more. Mark J. Stern analyzes the varying lenses on and perceptions of exclusion as a backdrop for asking questions about the role and effects of historic and cultural resources within communities.

The physical vestiges of marginalized groups are more than just underrepresented within heritage rosters; many have been systematically devalued, destroyed, or made invisible due to long-standing histories of bias. Andrew S. Popular narratives, for example, wrongly demarcate Stonewall as the moment that initiated gay history in part because the events and places where LGBT people interacted in the past were intentionally hidden or transient. Mapping and digital platforms serve as additional tools for staking spatial claims and reconstructing histories and countermemories. But as Roberts asserts, rendering such places visible and geographic requires spaces for cocreation with those whose stories have been omitted, annulled, or deliberately forgotten.

Her work with East Texas freedom colony descendants to record the origin stories of Black communities critically illustrates how dominant white constructions of place and public history obscure past and present Black agency in place-keeping and preservation. Settlements like the freedom colonies are becoming increasingly invisible with the loss of populations and buildings, especially as access to traditional preservation tools—like designation of historic districts—has been limited due to structural barriers and bias.

But the persistent relationship between people and place, even if largely dependent on oral traditions rather than historic buildings, speaks to the power of space and spatial encounters for memory, recognition, and the decentering of dominant narratives. But claims to space can be complicated, particularly in dynamic urban areas with diverse populations. To counter the displacement of marginalized communities and their living traditions, San Francisco has pioneered a new form of cultural district, several of which have been created in association with LGBTQ communities. How multiple narratives occupy and stake claim to the same spaces remains a significant challenge. Dolkart and Graves contend that architectural historians, while crucial to the preservation enterprise, are overrepresented in the field.

This contributes to an underrepresentation of diverse social histories and values and an emphasis on the material, formal, and aesthetic dimensions of heritage. These factors, in turn, further exclude already disadvantaged communities who often did not have the means or freedom to invest in design, construction, and maintenance, or whose historic spaces were transient, hidden, or demolished. Such material barriers are not limited to designation. Cheong and Weiner argue that the prioritization of original form and fabric precludes stronger alignment with affordable housing and community development agendas, respectively, and thus further distances preservation from potential policy allies.

Such issues surrounding materiality and the tensions between intangible and tangible heritage will continue to challenge the preservation enterprise as it works toward more inclusive policies and practices. An important test will be whether the field can productively step back from and reflect upon long-standing norms to envision alternative futures. While change may be slow, there are positive shifts on the horizon.

While few and dispersed, such policy shifts within governance structures indicate some momentum toward systemic change. But there is still much work to be done. But a thorough reckoning of its role in inclusion and exclusion presents opportunities for positive social change and a new horizon for the field. As a critical medium of shared identities, values, and stories, heritage practice and policy are uniquely positioned to promote more equitable and inclusive communities through hope, justice, and healing. Within the field of historic preservation, concerns about diversity, equity, and inclusion are increasingly in the foreground. For instance, windshield surveys, wherein preservationists primarily identify historic buildings by their architecture and aesthetic qualities, are still common practice.

Preservation policies, such as those guiding the National Register of Historic Places, emphasize the need for material integrity. In low-income communities, meeting the test of material integrity is particularly challenging given the decades of structural disinvestment in these neighborhoods. For communities with primarily social, cultural, or other nonarchitectural significance, preservationists lack robust strategies. Cleveland is racially segregated, predominantly along an east-west divide.

As Cleveland developed into an industrial powerhouse in the early s, economic opportunities drew African Americans and immigrants, particularly from Central and Eastern Europe, to the city. Facing severe segregation and discrimination, African Americans settled in Central, establishing residences, businesses, religious institutions such as St. As these residents migrated outward, African American residents followed suit, moving east to neighborhoods formerly inaccessible to them.

In many instances, African Americans became the second generation of residents in already built-out neighborhoods such as Hough, Glenville, Fairfax, Buckeye, and Mount Pleasant. It was also home to a large Slovak population, along with smaller groups of other European immigrants. At the same time, African Americans began moving eastward out of more central neighborhoods, often driven by forced relocation stemming from urban renewal demolition and freeway construction.

During the s, western Buckeye became predominantly African American; similar racial turnover occurred in eastern Buckeye during the s. As a result of that population decline, Buckeye faced increases in the rates of vacant and abandoned housing and the deterioration of its local business district. Racist lending and real estate practices exacerbated this decline because African American residents lacked access to capital to reinvest in housing or to open businesses. During that same period, the housing vacancy rate skyrocketed from 6 percent in to 19 percent in The poverty rate in eastern Buckeye is 29 percent, and it is an astounding 51 percent in the western part of the neighborhood.

Preserving Buckeye in the s Preservation efforts in Buckeye first emerged during the s but had little lasting impact. In the late s, the Buckeye Neighborhood Nationalities Civic Association BNNCA , a community organization representing the interests of the remaining Hungarian and other white ethnic residents, vociferously opposed the rapid racial change in the neighborhood. The association threatened that the neighborhood would secede from Cleveland, and members formed their own vigilante-style police force.

From the point of view of the white residents, Buckeye needed to be protected from property deterioration, rising instability, escalating crime, and urban crisis. The BNNCA leaders were inspired by efforts elsewhere that grounded urban revitalization in ethnic identity, particularly the example of the Columbus, Ohio, neighborhood of German Village. In they formed a Hungarian Village Committee that organized cultural festivals, held ethnic parades, and promoted Hungarian businesses.

These efforts continued through , but by the annual Hungarian parade was canceled due to low participation and lack of interest. The BWCC advocated for both demolition and rehabilitation, depending on conditions. For instance, to advocate for housing rehabilitation, it helped establish low-interest loan programs in the area. At the same time, it lobbied the city for more aggressive demolition of blighted properties, even demolishing buildings on its own when the city failed to act. From to , it led an architectural survey of the neighborhood in collaboration with Kent State University. That these two studies occurred in the same year but were not coordinated reveals the lack of collaboration between preservationists and community developers.

While the number of Hungarian-owned businesses had declined significantly, they still retained a presence alongside a growing number of African American-owned enterprises. The idea of establishing a neighborhood conservation district in Buckeye emerged out of these studies. The CLC, working with the ward council member, proposed the Buckeye Historic Conservation Zone, wherein the CLC would serve in an advisory role without the binding authority that came with traditional landmark designations.

In the early s, the BADC launched another short-lived effort to secure historic district designation for an area with boundaries nearly identical to those of the earlier conservation zone. BADC leaders believed that a historic district would protect against incompatible development, including fast-food restaurants and convenience retail. Preserving Buckeye in the s Preservation debates have reemerged in Buckeye in recent years. Buildings graded D or F were often prioritized for demolition.

In the St. The foundation had recently partnered on a massive adaptive reuse project to convert the historic hospital into affordable housing, a charter school, and nonprofit office space. CRS conducted a windshield survey of the buildings, with scant attention to social or cultural meaning, and determined that twenty-one 2 percent of the structures should be prioritized for rehabilitation instead of demolition.

Twenty of these were significant for their architectural and historical significance, with the latter attributable to building age rather than social or cultural associations. On their face, both suggest that Cleveland has few significant African American heritage sites—an erroneous conclusion. In recent years, signs have emerged that preservationists are shifting toward deeper community engagement, hinting at the possibility of a more inclusive, representative, and just future for historic preservation.

Furthermore, National Register listing provided no real protection for these sites, and two have been demolished since the designation. Pleasant, Kinsman, University Circle, and Buckeye. The target of forms, or individual properties, was an arbitrary goal. The one-year grant period was also a constraint, as CRS had to conduct the background research, convene task force meetings, complete the windshield survey, and prepare all required written reports and documentation within this period. The project produced disappointing results. The quota-driven effort resulted in historic inventory forms for 91 buildings and one neighborhood of 59 homes in the already designated Ludlow National Register Historic District, an area along the border of Cleveland and Shaker Heights.

The inclusion of the Ludlow neighborhood, deemed important for its role in integrating Shaker Heights, seemed more like an attempt to meet the quota of than a good-faith effort to identify African American historic sites. Of the 91 other buildings, only 12 were significant for their affiliation with African American heritage and had designation potential. The main reasons that buildings did not meet eligibility criteria were a lack of provenance insufficient available recorded history and a lack of material integrity excessive alterations. CRS did not engage local residents and prioritized completing an arbitrary number of forms over organically identifying African American heritage sites.

In the councilman for Ward 1, which includes Lee-Harvard, approached CRS about using preservation to stabilize and promote the area. Along with its neighbors, Lee-Miles and Lee-Seville, Lee-Harvard was built for middle-class African Americans who wanted to leave overcrowded, poorly maintained, and rapidly deteriorating inner-city neighborhoods. The population of Lee-Harvard has remained relatively stable over time, experiencing population decline that is mild compared to that of the city as a whole 22 percent since In the mid-twentieth century, African Americans did not have easy access to capital or loans, which made running successful businesses, including home-building businesses, difficult.

As CRS staff learned about Arthur Bussey, one such builder-developer, they identified a few streets with an intact collection of his homes. CRS has now expanded to focus on both Lee-Harvard and Lee-Seville, securing an Ohio History Fund grant in March to support a publication about African American builder-developers and the heritage of these important and largely overlooked neighborhoods. The effort was transformative for CRS in terms of building partnerships, identifying new funders, understanding community significance, and learning inclusive strategies for identifying underrepresented historic places.

While preservationists have made strides in recognizing the importance of inclusiveness, preservation tools and strategies often still struggle to achieve this goal. In urban African American neighborhoods, such as those in Cleveland, decades of systematic disinvestment, institutionalized racist lending practices, and, often, high concentrations of poverty have produced a materially altered built environment that is seen to lack integrity according to traditional preservation standards. The rich cultural heritage and historic significance of buildings in these communities is then systematically ignored or devalued by mainstream preservationists. To move toward a more socially just and equitable preservation practice, it is imperative to remove barriers to inclusivity, to understand the dynamics and power structures of decision-making, and to craft short- and long-term agendas that foreground inclusivity.

In many cases, funding drives priorities. Historic preservation costs money, whether for research, documentation, nominations, interpretation, or building rehabilitations. Inclusive preservation requires preservationists to spend money differently. Developing survey strategies that make architecture a secondary or even tertiary consideration, when appropriate, would facilitate the identification of underrepresented historic sites. In many cases, it may be more appropriate to redirect budgets for windshield surveys and architectural documentation toward things like community engagement or maintenance and weatherization grants. Preservationists need to seek funding and prioritize projects and grants that further an inclusive agenda.

Long-standing relationships with existing funders are a form of power, and preservationists have the ability to press for support that furthers equity goals. Overall, preservationists need to seek out new funders, redirect existing funding where possible, and use their well-established networks to fight any funding biases that undermine the preservation of underrepresented communities and heritages. Funding decisions, designation approvals, and community development are political. Underrepresented communities often have a long—and rarely positive—history with urban planning and urban development. Similarly, preservation is often viewed as elitist, and it has long been associated with gentrification.

These complex dynamics demand that preservationists directly confront the biases, negative impacts, and discriminatory practices of the past. The politics of preservation are highly local and thus require tailored approaches that respond to local conditions and histories. But the real work of breaking down barriers, recognizing value in marginalized communities, and changing the reality and therefore the perceptions of what preservation means must occur on the ground in cities, neighborhoods, and communities.

The formal structures of city government, such as the composition of city councils, also demand that preservationists be willing, at times, to act as political entities, engaging in coalition-building and broader discussions about the future of neighborhoods and cities. When preservationists fail to recognize the layers of urban history, they negate the important contributions of minority residents who faced discriminatory housing practices and severe residential segregation for much of the twentieth century. Nostalgic views of twentieth-century urban history tend to uplift stories of European immigrants while devaluing those of African Americans. By all reasonable forecasts, Buckeye will be an African American neighborhood for much longer than it was Hungarian.

Any complicity on the part of preservationists in these narratives stands in direct opposition to equity and inclusivity. Preservationists are often ill-equipped to navigate this type of everyday history, which is not always pretty. Without direct efforts to value the complexity of stories and meaning, preservationists will also be implicated in the othering and dismissal of marginalized people. Preservationists must directly address structural barriers to inclusivity inherent in the field and work, in every way possible, to break through them.

Architecture and integrity are often the gateways to preservation protections and benefits, but, in marginalized communities, they are an excuse for exclusion. New thinking, strategies, and tools do not require discarding the array of well-established preservation policies and programs. Rather, an inclusive practice demands an expanded toolkit. Removing institutionalized barriers to inclusiveness at the federal level would serve as a model for action by local communities.

Truly inclusive preservation is possible only in a profession that engages in the difficult and ongoing work of overcoming explicit and implicit biases. Diversifying the profession will require strategies ranging from community heritage projects involving schoolchildren to targeted academic recruitment and the creation of dedicated scholarships and funding to attract minority students. In the short term, consciously crafting diverse preservation commissions and boards can also be effective. The faces of those in power matter, and it is well past time for change. It means acknowledging that preservationists are not powerless idealists and that through their work, they have the power to undermine progress toward a more just society—or, preferably, to uplift and shine a light on the full story of our communities, cities, and nation.

In New York City, the Landmarks Preservation Commission has helped to protect and preserve more than a hundred neighborhoods across all five boroughs since its inception in However, the neighborhoods designated as historic districts in New York City are home to residents who are more likely to be white and to have higher incomes and higher levels of education than neighborhoods elsewhere in the city. In the average census tract in a historic district in New York City was 80 percent white and 9. Over 90 percent of residents living in historic districts held a college degree, compared to only 33 percent outside historic districts. Historic preservation aims to provide a tangible link to our past. The efforts of preservation advocates and policy-makers in New York City have ensured that historic neighborhoods remain part of the city landscape for generations to come.

Preserving historic assets helps to deepen neighborhood identity, to attract visitors to the city, and to ensure a rich, diverse building stock across many New York City neighborhoods. Yet critics contend that historic preservation efforts too often favor certain historical narratives and assets over others. Critics charge that the preservation movement largely serves high-income and white communities who use the designation process against changes that could undermine their housing investments. With these resources, they are able to advocate for historic preservation since they recognize the financial or social benefits of doing so. If they are more politically active than previous residents, or have stronger social connections, they may also be more successful in securing a historic district designation.

In response to calls for greater inclusivity and diversity in the preservation process, several national organizations, including the National Trust for Historic Preservation, have launched efforts to diversify the sites that are designated and preserved. Still, despite growing awareness of the need for inclusivity, limited attention has been paid to the types of neighborhoods that are actually designated or the impact of the designation process on neighborhoods and the people living in them. By limiting the construction of new buildings or halting efforts to increase density, historic preservation rules can serve as exclusionary supply restrictions. These constraints on neighborhood development often lead to higher housing prices and rents, both citywide and, in many circumstances, within individual districts.

While historic designation may help to sustain prices and freeze the demographic composition in initially high-income neighborhoods, observers also worry that it may help to fuel gentrification in lower-income neighborhoods. Preservation in low-income communities raises fundamental concerns about fairness, affordability, and inclusion. While the preservation community should continue to protect historic assets, this work must be done with a sensitivity to the way historic preservation can affect neighborhoods and shape the composition of residents in those communities. Acknowledging the changes that result from historic preservation does not mean that such designation should be halted in neighborhoods with valuable historic assets; instead, it demands that advocates and policy leaders couple their preservation goals with efforts to preserve affordable housing and promote economic inclusivity.

Established in , the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission designates historic neighborhoods, properties, and scenic landmarks for protection under the Charter and the Administrative Code of the City of New York. While designated historic districts may include noncontributing properties, the overwhelming majority of properties included in a historic district are supposed to contribute to the architectural, cultural, or historic character of a designated neighborhood.

By the end of , with the designation of the Chester Court Historic District, the commission had created unique historic districts. In Manhattan, historic districts are located disproportionately on the Upper East Side, the Upper West Side, and portions of the borough south of 14th Street. Census tracts are statistical neighborhoods that typically contain about four thousand people. Drawing on data from the decennial census, we compared the racial and sociodemographic characteristics of neighborhoods that would become historic districts between and with the characteristics of neighborhoods that would not become historic districts during that period.

In other words, we ask whether, in , neighborhoods that would go on to receive a historic district designation were already more advantaged or home to a higher share of whites than other neighborhoods in the city that would not receive a designation. We conducted a simple comparison of means and then also used regression analysis, which allowed us to account for differences in the median age of the housing stock and the share of public housing units in the tract. We restricted our sample to census tracts with more than one hundred residents in all census years between and We also used regression analysis to examine how neighborhoods change following historic designation. We considered the following neighborhood characteristics: total population, percentage of black residents, percentage of white residents, percentage of Hispanic residents, percentage of residents below the poverty line, percentage of adults with a college degree, mean household income, and percentage of housing units that are owner-occupied.

The regression approach allowed us to contrast changes in tracts that became part of a historic district with changes in tracts that were part of the same community district but outside historic district boundaries. This left us with 1, census tracts in thirty-two community districts. Since we are particularly interested in understanding whether the impact differs for low-income neighborhoods, we examined whether postdesignation changes differ in the neighborhoods that, in , had a household median income below the citywide household median income.

In both sets of analyses, we classified census tracts in four categories, based on the share of tax lots or parcels that were inside a historic district: those without any lots in a historic district, those with up to 25 percent of lots in a historic district, those with between 25 and 75 percent of lots in a historic district, and those with more than 75 percent of lots in a historic district. This distinction allowed us to explore both heterogeneity in demographic differences and the impacts of historic designation based on the land area of the tract that overlaps with a historic district. Our first question was whether neighborhoods designated between and differed in their predesignation sociodemographic characteristics from neighborhoods that did not become part of historic districts during that period.

Specifically, did neighborhoods that became historic districts between and have a more advantaged population than other neighborhoods in ? Was the population in these neighborhoods in whiter than in those neighborhoods that did not become historic districts? Did they have a lower poverty rate or a higher homeownership rate? We compared the neighborhood characteristics between two types of neighborhoods: those that, over the next four decades, would see most of their lots that is, more than 75 percent included in historic districts and those that would not have any lots designated as part of a historic district.

Notably, neighborhoods that would go on to be designated historic districts had a significantly higher share of residents with college degrees and a far higher median income. Designated neighborhoods also had a slightly lower poverty rate in About 14 percent of households in neighborhoods that would go on to earn a designation lived below the poverty line, compared to almost 16 percent in nondesignated neighborhoods. As for racial composition, neighborhoods that became historic districts by had a larger proportion of white residents and a lower proportion of African American residents than other neighborhoods. About 79 percent of residents in designated neighborhoods were white in , compared to 71 percent of residents in nondesignated neighborhoods.

Approximately 19 percent of residents in designated neighborhoods and 27 percent of residents in nondesignated neighborhoods were African American. Perhaps surprisingly, these neighborhoods also had a lower homeownership rate compared to nondesignated neighborhoods. Of course, this simple comparison may be somewhat misleading because not all census tracts are equally likely to be designated as part of historic districts. Historic designation depends on the physical and historical features of neighborhoods, including the age or structural characteristics of their housing stock.

Although we recognize that ideas about the historic value of neighborhoods may be culturally biased, we next explored whether the sociodemographic characteristics of neighborhoods that were later designated differed from neighborhoods with similar housing stocks that were not designated. We tested whether these differences held up after controlling for the age distribution of the housing stock and the broader neighborhood. After controlling for community district and the age distribution of the housing stock, we see that, as of , neighborhoods that would become part of historic districts had more college graduates and higher median incomes, though they had lower homeownership rates compared to other census tracts in the same community district with similarly aged housing stocks.

As for racial composition, tracts that would become historic districts had a smaller Hispanic population share and a lower poverty rate compared to other nearby neighborhoods with similarly aged housing stocks. In short, the neighborhoods that would be designated as historic districts over the next four decades typically housed more advantaged residents than other neighborhoods with housing stocks from a similar era. Next we turned our attention to what happened to the demographic composition of neighborhoods after they were designated as a historic district.

On average, census tracts that include newly designated historic districts saw reductions in the poverty rate and gains in mean income after designation. They also experienced increases in the share of adults with college degrees and in homeownership rates. That said, we see little evidence of racial change after designation, although we do find weak evidence of an increase in the share of white residents relative to nearby tracts outside the historic district. Overall, the population living in census tracts with historic districts became more economically advantaged over time. Across the board, we see no evidence that these changes were more pronounced in initially low-income tracts. In fact, for some of the characteristics in our analysis—namely, the percentage of college graduates and, to a lesser degree, the median income and the homeownership rate—the postdesignation changes were more muted.

Thus, although these findings confirm that designated neighborhoods grew more advantaged following the designation of a historic district, they allay concerns that the impacts were more pronounced in neighborhoods that were initially low-income. Together, these findings begin to chart a path forward that considers issues of equity, diversity, and inclusion. Going forward, planners and preservationists should focus on ensuring that the preservation process captures diverse neighborhood histories. Many New York City neighborhoods are home to rich histories corresponding with different eras, or the changing populations that lived there, and an inclusive preservation process could ensure that these histories are better commemorated and conveyed.

Few studies consider how residents, advocates, and preservationists make decisions about where or when to pursue historic designations. Although the historic character of a neighborhood drives designation decisions, characteristics of the local population can also be influential. Gentrification, for example, may expedite the process if newcomers advocate more forcefully for historic preservation. In New York City, we know that many neighborhoods—including many neighborhoods that eventually received designation status—appear on the docket of the Landmarks Preservation Commission and in the sights of preservation advocates years or decades before they formally receive designation.

Future research should more fully examine how and when the designation process unfolds. Concerns about the timing of historic designation are important for understanding issues of equity and inclusivity, but they have so far received little attention. Additionally, the gain in socioeconomic status that occurs in historic neighborhoods following designation raises new questions about the effects of preservation. While our findings should ease some concerns about disproportionate impact on low-income communities, they also indicate that neighborhoods across the board tend to see gains in socioeconomic status after designation. Further, we have not fully addressed questions about who benefits from the observed changes in historic neighborhoods.

Even within neighborhoods, preservation may differentially affect subgroups of residents. For example, since historic preservation appears to accelerate changes that may benefit local homeowners, including rising property values and guarantees against future development, these homeowners may be the primary beneficiaries of the economic impacts of preservation. As property values increase in historic neighborhoods, low-income renters may be effectively shut out of communities by rising rents. In light of the growing inequality in American cities, our analysis of New York City points to the importance of recognizing the unintended consequences of land-use policies like historic preservation.

In our previous research on gentrification and historic preservation, we called for planners and policy-makers to explicitly take stock of the ways that historic preservation limits the production of affordable housing. A broader call for inclusivity should reach beyond the production of affordable housing to consider other community-level changes that result from historic preservation, such as changes in the types of businesses and commercial establishments that serve neighborhoods before and after designation.

While our analysis describes important issues related to social inclusivity, it also raises important issues that we cannot answer here. First, while advantaged neighborhoods are more likely to undergo designation, this provides only a partial answer to understanding which neighborhoods are designated, why those communities receive historic status, and when that process happens. As we noted above, the historic designation process in New York City often takes multiple years, and neighborhoods are often discussed—either publicly or in preservation circles—for many years prior. Evaluating the timing of this process could help to explain the trajectories of different neighborhoods and the ways that historic and cultural amenities are evaluated.

Additionally, analyses of the designation process should account for the different expectations of residents and preservation advocates and detractors in pushing for historic status. As they approach the designation process, neighborhood residents may have different ideas about the importance of historic designation or the reasons to push for this distinction. Finally, while we evaluate changes in the racial composition and socioeconomic status of neighborhoods, further research should investigate other changes that result from preservation. From this analysis, we may expect that changes in the composition of neighborhood residents result in changes in commercial establishments, the availability of affordable housing, or the culture of the neighborhood.

These community changes may be more pronounced in disadvantaged neighborhoods, even when historic designation results in similar demographic changes. In New York City, efforts to preserve historic buildings and neighborhoods have successfully ensured that the rich cultural and architectural heritage of the city is protected for generations to come. Although more than one hundred neighborhoods are now regulated through the Landmarks Preservation Commission, we have done little to align the conversation about historic preservation with growing concerns about inequality and social inclusion in the city.

By asking which neighborhoods are designated as historic and how that designation affects those neighborhoods especially low-income neighborhoods , we hope to broaden the agenda of the preservation community. In order to preserve the diverse history of places like New York City and to ensure that the rich community landscapes reflecting this diverse history are preserved, historic preservation policies should pay explicit attention to whose neighborhoods are designated and who bears the benefits and burdens of those designations. This ability of places to insist on their relevance is particularly important in facilitating social inclusion and avoiding social exclusion.

Periods of social change can be marked both by the emergence of new dimensions of exclusion and by the persistence of its more durable manifestations, which means they also are times when important histories can be lost. For much of the twentieth century, race and social class merged to produce a binary view of social exclusion. Because African Americans were treated as a subordinate caste—by Jim Crow laws in the South and routine but de facto practices in the rest of the country—they suffered multiple forms of exclusion occupational restrictions, segregated housing, discrimination in public accommodations and schooling and were subjected to organized extralegal violence.

Indeed, a review of mid-twentieth-century literature on social problems would lead one to conclude that to be black was to be poor and to be poor was to be black. Yet even after the civil rights movement and after the expansion of immigration jolted the system in the s, the binary view of social exclusion persisted. Wilson, among others—and research in support of welfare reform during the early s reinforced the focus on Black exclusion, adding the concept of social isolation to the discussion of racial inequality. By the turn of the twenty-first century, however, the binary imagery began to give way. One dimension of this shift—where historic preservation work was most prominent—was the demand by other social groups for recognition.

Other racial and ethnic groups had followed African Americans in staking a claim to their role in American history, and social movements after the s involved women, LGBT allies and advocates, and groups representing people with disabilities. The debate over inclusion began to shift from a binary to an intersectional perspective, focused on overlapping or crosscutting forms of exclusion. At the same time, underlying social realities added a new level of complexity. The structural connection of race to social class and economic inequality began to loosen. Douglas Massey and his colleagues—who, a decade earlier, had studied the persistence of American apartheid—discovered that by , racial segregation had declined somewhat while segregation by social class, educational attainment, and ideological stance that is, liberal versus conservative had increased.

Intersectionality became the key term as the overlap of race, class, sexual orientation, and gender formed an increasingly complex web of social exclusion. However, the appeal to intersectionality can hide as much as it illuminates. In particular, efforts to highlight the many dimensions of oppression have often left the issue of economic opportunities and their connection to social class understated. Yet it was precisely class oppression—and its ability to cut across other social identities—that was one of the strongest social forces in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

Intersectionality describes just one of several ways in which the concepts of inclusion and exclusion have become more complex and ideological. In Europe, for example, inclusion has often been used in political debates as synonymous with moving people from welfare into the labor force. Given the increasing complexity of social exclusion, we need to take a step back and examine these issues through the lens of social justice.

The capabilities literature has elaborated this concept with a discussion of adaptive preferences to point out that marginal and excluded groups often view the idea of justice through their current situation. In addition, Sen argues that true freedom is the ability to choose the type of life one lives. He uses capabilities to describe the choices people have and functionings to signify which of these they actually choose. Please refer to the Advance HE update on widening eligibility for further details.

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Advance HE has appointed 14 members, including a Chair, to the Fellowship and Accreditation Expert Advisory Group made up of UK and international Advance HE member institutions with high level understanding of higher education in a wide variety of contexts. Company limited by guarantee registered in England and Wales no. Fellowship Fellowship demonstrates a personal and institutional commitment to professionalism in learning and teaching in higher education. Across four categories, from Associate to Principal, Fellowship provides individuals with recognition of their practice, impact and leadership of teaching and learning. The UKPSF is made up of four descriptors UKPSF , pages , which set out specific criteria, and three Dimensions: - Areas of Activity which describes what a teaching and learning professional does; - Core Knowledge outlines what they need to know; - Professional Values outlines the manner in which they should carry out their activity.

Fellow FHEA. If you are able to provide evidence of broadly based effectiveness in more substantive teaching and supporting learning roles and can demonstrate a broad understanding of effective approaches to learning and teaching support as a key contribution to high quality student learning. If you can demonstrate a thorough understanding of effective approaches to teaching and learning support as a key contribution to high quality student learning.

If you can demonstrate a sustained record of effective strategic leadership in academic practice and development and you are highly experienced with wide-ranging strategic leadership responsibilities in connection with key aspects of teaching and supporting learning. Why consider Fellowship? Fellowship brings you a range of benefits: Consolidates personal development and evidence of professional practice in your higher education career; Provides a valuable measure of success and is increasingly recognised by international institutions; Demonstrates commitment to teaching, learning and the student experience, through engagement in a practical process that encourages research, reflection and development; Fellowship is increasingly sought by employers across the education sector as a condition of appointment and promotion; For individuals, to identify their expertise with the entitlement to use post-nominal letters AFHEA, FHEA, SFHEA, PFHEA ; Provides assurance that your institution is fully aligned with UKPSF practice and a badge of assured quality.

Fellowship Category Tool. There are two different routes to becoming a Fellow: Individual direct application to Advance HE - for those wishing to apply through submission of an evidence based account of practice supported by referees or advocates and which is peer reviewed.

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