In 2006, the owner sold the warehouse to Greenfire Development, a local real estate development company that was actively renovating buildings for sale and rent throughout the central city. Greenfire, however, failed to maintain the structure and in 2011, the roof collapsed during a rainstorm, forcing the relocation of the artists and other tenants. For the next three years Greenfire left the building to rot. The building had historic preservation status, which caused considerable issues for the developer. They petitioned the city to get the designation removed so that they could sell the building to another developer, East-West Partners. East-West was a regional development company known for building mixed-use condominium buildings, and they wished to mostly demolish the structure to make way for such a project. It quickly became apparent that the pro-development city council was going to vote to remove the listing. The mayor said: “We’ve waited for three years and nothing has happened. My rationale before and my rationale now is to get something done” (quoted in Mihaylova 2013). Preservation Durham, the local historic preservation group, supported the change and entered into a Memorandum of Understanding with the developers that allowed them to have input in the design process.
Many neighborhood residents attended city council meetings in protest, as they felt the project would be a threat to the neighborhood’s character. One resident said: “I moved here because I didn’t want to live in a place like Woodcroft.4 I love the Liberty Warehouse. I would probably give a finger to save it” (quoted in Ball 2014). Ball (2014) also cites the concerns of another resident, saying, “the developer’s proposed Rigsbee Street façade looks more like Raleigh’s ultra-commercial Glenwood South area than downtown Durham’s gritty northside.”5 These preservationists were defending a particular notion of the neighborhood. In their view, the neighborhood they were protecting was the gritty one they had helped to create by renovating homes and starting businesses for mostly white and affluent customers. They were not making reference to the community that preceded their entry. The preservationists never give a nod to their privilege to choose to live in a gritty neighborhood or the power they possess (in terms of economic and cultural capital) to transform a neighborhood into their visions.
The developer attempted to assuage fears that the development would be an architecturally stale luxury complex, saying: “It will not be luxury housing but workforce housing for people working in and around downtown. Rent won’t be extraordinarily high because the units will be small, local businesses would be tenants in the ground floor retail, and as much of the original structure as possible would be saved” (Ball 2014). Like many such developments, however, the resulting development deviated from the developer’s promises. It opened in phases in 2016 and 2017 and took precisely the form that many of its opponents feared. Very little of the original building was preserved (one brick façade wall and some signage) and it does look much like the glass and concrete condominium buildings that were denigrated by residents. The 246-unit apartment building, with 24,000 square feet of retail space and a 391-space parking deck at its center, rents (in 2018) from about $1300 for a 600-square foot studio apartment to $3125 for a 2-bedroom 2-bath apartment (Liberty Warehouse n.d.).6
Figure 2.1. The new Liberty Warehouse with the “Drive-In” sign, which is the only remaining feature of the original structure. Photo by author.
Much like Zukin’s study of New York City, many residents have framed Liberty Warehouse as a question of the city’s “soul.” A comprehensive documentary film tracing the history of the development, The Rise and Fall of Liberty, summarizes this view: “When developers in Durham, North Carolina, demolish an iconic tobacco auction house in the name of revitalization, they not only displace a community of artists, they also threaten the soul of the community” (Thomson 2017). The developers of Liberty Warehouse, however, represent themselves as embodying that same soul:
Liberty Warehouse is where Durham’s soulful history and cultural future converge. From the many craft breweries, farm-to-table eateries and a vibrant nightlife anchored by the electric art community, this is the place to feel engaged and connected with friends, both new and old. Liberty is situated in a prime location in downtown Durham. You’ll find restaurants, local shops, and even Dame’s Chicken & Waffles and your very own Coffee House right below your new home. Explore the area and see why so many are calling Liberty Warehouse their new home! (www.libertywarehouse.com)
Retail developments have been slow to move in, perhaps stemming from the stigma of the building. But, as the above quote says, the development features three local food businesses, a coffee shop, a restaurant, and a food hall with stalls from various chefs, giving it the feel of a gourmet market. Food halls are now a common part of many creative class cities (Arreortura and Gómez del Campo 2018). The expressed fears of corporate developers quashing local businesses then seems overblown. Rather, a new source of retail space is leading more local restaurants to expand. This may be a real advantage for food entrepreneurs: They can be in the business of serving food rather than being urban saviors. Further, a growing customer base of people living in the neighborhood could be a boon, as one local retailer noted: “These changes are happening, and we want to be here. It will infuse a whole new life here. More people isn’t going to affect us in a negative way. We just have to make the moves so we can afford higher rent” (quoted in Sorg 2015). And, as the quote highlights, affordability then becomes the key issue for businesses (always a contentious problem), rather than the concern around “soul.”
Figure 2.2. Local vendors will be featured at the new Durham Food Hall in Liberty Warehouse, though vacant retail space remains. Photo by author.
The initial wave of savior residential and commercial gentrification led to the displacement of lower-income people of color, though this displacement is rarely recognized. An article from IndyWeek described it this way: “For newcomers who see the vibrant neighborhood’s array of nightclubs, restaurants and distilleries, it may seem unthinkable, but not long ago, this neighborhood was a derelict, forgotten corner of downtown” (Sorg 2015). Forgotten by whom? The answer seems to be, the affluent of the city who now frequent it as part of their leisure consumption. Surely, it was not forgotten by the immigrants, people of color, and low-income populations who lived and worked there. The vocal defenders of Liberty Warehouse were extrapolating to a larger defense of Durham as “dirty,” artistic, and community-oriented. They were defending a community they had created whereby the “authentic” and gritty character of the neighborhood was what made it special. The real threat of Liberty Warehouse and similar developments, according to this group, lies in its threat to the ability of this community to continue to build Durham in its own image rather than the image of the developers.
Conclusion
Many savior entrepreneurs view their hard work as serving to rescue areas from neglect and create an affluent clientele that appreciate the creative and quirky nature of local businesses, though this paves the way for demon developers to profit. The savior entrepreneurs and preservationists in Central Park and similar neighborhoods are also profit-motivated, but their relationship to profit is more complicated. They have clearly benefited from the restaurant-oriented redevelopment of the city, but they espouse a community ethic that they present as oppositional to the profit motive. My findings are similar to Brown-Saracino’s (2009), who points out the different subjectivities of gentrifiers, in particular the “social preservationists” and “homesteaders” who recognize (to varying degrees) the downsides of gentrification. They see themselves as defenders of the values that make Durham special, and they see themselves as under threat from the development process they partially set in motion, yet they also recognize the negative effects of housing and retail gentrification on more marginalized populations. Nevertheless, because they “saved” the neighborhood from neglect, they rarely take personal responsibility for their role in gentrification. Rather, they attribute this negative role to demon developers. This energy was directed politically in the 2017 mayoral and city council elections. The six council seats and mayor