Commentary: The quiet rewrite of America’s signature preservation law

Historic preservation is more than old mansions and dusty artifact displays.

It is a way of thinking about the places where we live and work every day. It is caring for community gathering places like post offices and churches. And it is seizing the opportunity we have to pass down pride for the places that define us as South Carolinians and Americans across generations.

At present, this reflection is more than an academic exercise.

The Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act, while well-meaning in name, contains the most significant change to federal preservation law in 60 years. The law has been introduced in the U.S. Senate and is slated for a vote soon after the midterm elections.

In 1966, Congress declared preservation a national policy.

The National Historic Preservation Act was devised in an age when downtowns were carelessly being severed by interstates.

Hulking modern towers suddenly appeared next to stately courthouses. Grand buildings were erased to make way for more efficient alternatives like which have not stood the test of time. Think: New York’s Penn Station.

Federal preservation law rests on a basic idea: Those who know their communities best have the right to be heard on how to reduce harm to historic sites as projects are planned.

The 1966 law is a case study for how principles of federalism are modeled in legislation.

When American history is on the line, hearing from the boots on the ground matter. The law also enshrines rights for tribes and indigenous communities to speak up for the protection of ancestral sites on federal lands.

The check in the preservation act to prevent federal overreach, known as Section 106, is now under attack. The required consultation process uniquely embraces in-person dialogue over written reports. Those with localized knowledge have a platform to share information with federal officials early in project planning when federal funds or permits are required.

This conversation reduces harm, helps avoid surprises, and generates buy-in to make projects more successful.

This consultation is now on the chopping block.

For the last several months, the threat was a proposed regulatory overhaul. But when broad opposition emerged, including nearly 1,000 community groups that joined the 106Strong Coalition, the sweeping overhaul was quietly stuffed into a permitting reform bill.

But to characterize the change as reform is misleading. It is hollowing out of accountability for federal action with profound potential consequences for our history.

Under the bill, local consultation all but goes away unless the federal agency elects to a dialogue on its initiative.

The substitute is a report — a new paperwork requirement for federal officials that simply outlines expected harms. Ultimately, the project could move forward for any plausible reason the agency decides.

The change would clear the way for some of the most contentious recent projects around the nation’s capital. But the impacts would be both far-reaching and close to home.

South Carolinians don’t have to go far to find Section 106 success stories: A scaled-back federal courthouse in downtown Charleston, a Confederate stockade in Florence where American prisoners are buried, and the discovery of a Revolutionary battlefield in Chester County all relied on local knowledge informing federal permitting agencies.

Here in the Lowcountry, citizen input from the Preservation Society of Charleston, in consultation with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, has been critical to develop a sensitive plan for a storm surge barrier called the Battery Extension project.

Working with the Corps and the city of Charleston, Section 106 amplifies local voices to make sure this major resilience project is more than a rudimentary concrete wall.

The proposed solution will be a multifunction amenity, integrating seamlessly with history and protecting Charleston’s architectural legacy — a key economic driver for the state.

The new law would clear the way for much less sensitive development by rewriting what harm to a historic place entails. Under the proposed process, the visual, atmospheric and auditory effects of a large industrial site would be irrelevant.

In other words, the hands of the permitting agency would be tied regardless of project’s proximity to a significant historic place.

Across the country, Section 106 has proved time and again that direct engagement produces win-win solutions.

Let’s defend this dialogue and ensure that the places that bind community life can survive short-term pressures to cut corners and hide behind another report.