When Conservation Ignores Community: Rethinking Heritage Ethics

Heritage conservation across the world is frequently framed as a technical and aesthetic exercise; one that stabilizes structures, restores façades, and protects architectural fabric from decay. While these efforts are undeniably important, my experience as a UNESCO World Heritage Volunteer in Ahmedabad revealed the ethical limitations of a monument-centric approach that prioritizes visual preservation over lived realities. Nowhere was this tension more apparent than in the historic pols of Ahmedabad—dense residential neighborhoods celebrated globally for their architectural ingenuity and communal resilience.

Walking through these pols, one encounters homes of remarkable beauty: intricately carved wooden façades, climate-responsive courtyards, and spatial systems designed for collective living and mutual protection. Residents were proud of their houses and welcomed us warmly, often ushering us inside to show architectural details passed down through generations. These homes are not merely heritage structures; they are repositories of memory, labour, and survival, built at a time when communities could not rely on external systems for safety.

Yet, beneath this pride lay a recurring sense of quiet distress. Conversations with residents repeatedly returned to the same issues: the absence of adequate parking, severe water supply problems, narrow lanes unsuitable for emergency services, and legal restrictions on renovation because many houses are designated as heritage structures. What is preserved as architectural legacy is, for many residents, increasingly hazardous to inhabit. The very status meant to protect these homes has also constrained residents’ ability to adapt them to contemporary needs.

This paradox highlights a fundamental ethical question: who is heritage conserved for? If preservation renders everyday life unsafe, inconvenient, or economically unviable, then heritage risks becoming extractive, valued by institutions and visitors while alienating those who live within it. Several residents noted with sadness that long-time families have sold their ancestral homes and moved away, leaving behind houses now occupied by migrants who cannot yet afford alternative housing. What remains is a fragile reminder of a community’s resilience, slowly emptied of the people who once gave it meaning.

The issue is not neglect, but rigidity. Heritage policies often assume that conservation and development are opposing forces, rather than processes that must be negotiated together. Declaring a structure “protected” without enabling sensitive renovation freezes it in time, ignoring the fact that homes must evolve to remain livable. Heritage, when detached from habitability, risks becoming an aesthetic shell.

I was fortunate to have a particularly illuminating conversation with a senior heritage consultant who has advised multiple state governments. When asked about solutions, he did not propose radical overhauls or quick fixes. Instead, he argued that meaningful change can only emerge from within the administrative system itself, through policymakers and practitioners who are both technically trained and socially sensitive. Conservation, in this view, is not merely about enforcing regulations but about cultivating empathy and practical understanding within governance structures.

What struck me most was the residents’ ambivalence: deep love for their homes paired with an equally deep awareness that these spaces may not support future generations. Parents spoke of encouraging their children to leave, not because they lacked attachment, but because basic amenities, education, and economic mobility felt increasingly distant. This is not heritage loss through decay or demolition; it is heritage erosion through displacement.

The pols of Ahmedabad challenge us to rethink conservation ethics beyond architectural integrity. They demand a framework that considers habitability as a core heritage value, not a p

eripheral concern. If conservation does not allow people to live with dignity, then preservation becomes an act of exclusion rather than care.

Rather than framing heritage as something to be protected from people, these experiences suggest the need to protect heritage with people. Administrative sensitivity, flexible policy interpretation, and genuine community participation are not optional ideals—they are ethical imperatives. Only when heritage governance becomes responsive to lived realities can conservation truly serve both past and present.