(S1E3) Preservation for the People: Friends of the Tanner House
How can preserving a historic home empower an entire community?
“The question we've asked through our community vision process as Friends of Tanner House is, what does it mean for love to thrive in our neighborhood? Which is a question of saying, what are the activities, the engagements, the gathering, the convenings that allow us to dream of a liberated future for ourselves?”
–Christopher R. Rogers, Co-Community Coordinator, Friends of the Tanner House
Reviving a Philadelphia Landmark
Christopher R. Rogers, Co-Community Coordinator, on the power of heritage preservation and focusing on people, rather than buildings and policy.
“Friends of the Tanner House exists now as a nonprofit entity to steward the National Historic Landmark,” explains Co-Community Coordinator Christopher R. Rogers. Yet he emphasizes, “that’s not where it began.” In late 2021, artists, historians, and longtime advocates connected by their love for Black heritage recognized the house’s perilous state and asked, “What can be done?”
They answered an urgent call: the childhood home of Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859-1937), one of the United States’ most celebrated painters, perhaps best known for his paintings The Banjo Lesson and The Thankful Poor, stood endangered at 2908 W. Diamond Street in North Philadelphia. What began as a small community group has grown into Friends of the Tanner House, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization taking a powerful approach to historic preservation.
Honoring a Family Legacy of Service
The Power in a Name: A Collective Prayer
At the heart of this vision lies Henry’s story and the family whose namesake carries a centuries-old prayer for freedom. Born on June 21, 1859—mere months before Harper’s Ferry in October 1859—his parents deliberately named him Ossawa after the August 30, 1856 Battle of Osawatomie in Kansas. There, John Brown personally led a small band of free-state defenders in a fierce stand against a pro-slavery militia. The name Ossawa was a choice reflecting “a dedication to organizing to end the period of enslavement in this country,” Chris observes.
That rowhouse did more than shelter Henry Ossawa Tanner—it anchored a family devoted to social progress. His father, Bishop Benjamin Tucker Tanner (1835-1923), edited the AME Church’s Christian Recorder and penned theological treatises debunking the myth of the “curse of Ham.” His sister, Dr. Halle Tanner Dillon Johnson (1864-1901), became one of America’s first Black women physicians and founded Tuskegee’s nursing school. Their niece, Sadie Tanner Mossell Alexander (1898-1989), shattered barriers as one of the first three Black woman in the United States to earn a Ph.D.
Henry Ossawa Tanner, c. 1905.
Such intersections of faith, art, and liberation inspired an art-centered space that refuses to reduce the Tanner legacy to a single painter’s biography. “You can’t just reduce it to any individual,” Chris insists. “You’ve got to talk about all of those who sent up those prayers…a collective movement.” That work takes shape in programming and reflection rooted in values and pursuits that defined the Tanner family legacy—faith, education, art, health, and civil rights. It’s not simply about preserving an 1850s rowhouse but about translating its inheritance into a living space where historic preservation and the values and pursuits of the Tanner family converge to spark fresh visions of justice and community for the present condition and the future moment.
Shifts in Black Heritage Preservation
Over the past decade, a quiet revolution has unfolded in how we steward and celebrate Black heritage sites. As Chris reflects, “we exist in a sort of generational shift that’s happening within Black heritage preservation.”
Chris observes that much of the preservation work in Black communities had been done by local advocates long before nonprofits and grant applications arrived. “A lot of our elder generation, and particularly Black women, have been the ones stewarding these historic Black sites… and have yet to fully get their due.”
Translating that deep, personal care into institutional support remains a towering challenge. “I’m an educator. What I recognize is the translation work of recognizing what this work means to a person, to that intimate community,” Chris explains. Too often, the nonprofit sector and its grant frameworks fail to honor those bonds. “Either you refuse,” he adds, “or…you don’t have access to the language that makes sense for these huge philanthropies. You’re stuck doing it on your own.”
This generational pivot calls on preservationists to bridge two worlds: the organic, grassroots guardianship of elders and institutional funders' strategic, resource-driven demands.
Community-Centered Preservation
“The challenge is that people don’t want the idea of Black abundance. They want rare. They want to know that this will never happen again. If we don’t save these people, these stories will be lost forever...And there was this question: would philanthropy be willing to invest in everyday ordinary Black folks? Can we just be average Black folk and get funded at six, seven figures? ”
Christopher R. Rogers, Co-Community Coordinator, on utilizing inherited legacies of struggle and accomplishment to address community needs and envision futures.
Asked how to shift historic preservation from merely safeguarding buildings to a movement centered on community and human connection, Chris relied on his organizer’s instincts, framing preservation as an extension of anti‐displacement and gentrification struggles.
He recalls conferences where professionals would “pull up a map, like a top-down map, and be like, ‘see this neighborhood and we need to protect this.’” That bird’s-eye view, he warns, risks creating preservation zones empty of the people who crafted their history there. “When you just do it from the top down like that, you end up with something like U Street in D.C.…but who’s there? Is it the same people? Is it the same sort of social fabric that made that place a vibrant place that I grew up learning about?” he asks.
For Chris, the real work must “stay with the people in place,” resisting the temptation to let zoning lines or policy briefs eclipse lived experience. Preservation becomes meaningful only when it answers the question: “What are the things that the people need? And what does it take for the people to preserve a place for themselves?” In his view, this approach embodies community self-determination, using the triumphs and trials of Black history as fuel for present-day liberation.
“When writing grants, I call it heritage preservation,” Chris says. By translating grassroots care into sustainable funding and centering long-time residents’ needs, preservation moves beyond static artifacts into a living practice where communities hold the reins of their narratives and every project is, first and foremost, preservation for the people.
When asked, “How do you balance those things? How do you, in historic preservation, leave room for the future or envision what the future might look like?” Rogers draws on radical organizing traditions that blend reflection with action.
Three Core Questions
Drawing on Fred Moten and Stefano Harney’s The Undercommons, Chris recalled the Freedom Summer curriculum’s three core questions: “What is it that they, me and those in power, have that we want? What is it that those in power have that we don’t want, that we must refuse? And what is it that we have that we must keep?” But rather than start by interrogating power, Chris urged community groups to begin with their inheritance:
“You have to start with what do we have…our inheritance as Black people, as pan-African people…that we want, that we must hold on to in order to create any thriving future for ourselves at all.”
Partnerships and Coalition: Autonomy, Trust and Values
In North Central Philadelphia, the Friends of the Tanner House have established a Community Partner Network to anchor their cultural organizing efforts within the neighborhoods surrounding the historic Henry Ossawa Tanner House. Focused on the 19121 and 19132 zip codes, the network brings together a diverse array of local partners, from long-standing institutions to emerging collectives, both formal and informal. Recognizing their role within a larger legacy of community-driven preservation in Philadelphia, Friends of the Tanner House intentionally built this network to include libraries, schools, faith groups, and arts organizations. They negotiated budgets, shared staffing resources, and co-hosted events, modeling how partnerships can work when built on mutual respect and values.
When grassroots groups partner with larger institutions, stakes can feel as high as the promise. Chris insists on autonomy, retaining creative control, and trust in identifying potential partners and collaborators. “I don’t trust the contract—I trust people,” he explains. Before signing any agreement, he asks: “Does this partner share our vision and values? Are they willing to invest in something larger than their own institutional interests?” In his view, a healthy partnership is a two-way street where both sides gain skills and resources they couldn’t build alone.
He also warns of interest convergence—when institutions adopt grassroots projects to advance their future, often at the community’s expense. “They might say they want to learn from us,” he notes, “but we might call that co-option.” To guard against that, Friends of the Tanner House insists on clear, mutual benefits: tangible resources and know-how to take “back home,” rather than creating perpetual dependence.
Finally, Chris stresses that partnerships must strengthen, not subsume, a broader network. By keeping one foot in the neighborhood and one in the meeting room, Friends of the Tanner House ensures that no single alliance replaces the collective power of communities working together.
Preservation as Community Self-Love
“How do you use historic preservation to also help the community love themselves?”
That question gets to the heart of Friends of the Tanner House’s work: not just saving a building but nurturing collective pride and care. For Chris, preservation begins with small, improvisational details that make people feel cherished. He recalls hosting writer Hanif Abdurraqib, whose tribute to Columbus, Ohio, celebrated the “king of one playground court”—a reminder that, even if the wider world ignores you, there’s a place where your name matters.
It’s about small joys and shared experiences. By weaving storytelling, grassroots gatherings, and mutual aid into every project, Friends of the Tanner House turns bricks and mortar into acts of care. In their hands, historic preservation becomes more than nostalgia—it's an invitation to rediscover what it means to be loved and to pass that gift on to every neighbor.
Chris laughs, “Like one of the things I’m most proud of at Tanner House? I got two tents, a couple of six-foot tables, a sound system. I’m working on a bouncy castle. Because that’s a walking block-party starter kit. That is the thing that pulls our people together. And then, out of those gatherings and convenings, so much becomes possible.”
