Chapter 10 relates a particularly compelling episode of how the idea of integrating culture at Ground Zero exposed the tension inherent in accommodating the dual mandate to remember and rebuild.Many months of public dialogue on rebuilding and editorial commentary affirmed the cultural objective, and the final master plan allocated five hundred thousand square feet of space across two proposed buildings: a Performing Arts Center and a Memorial Museum and Cultural Complex.Bringing arts and culture to Ground Zero as part of the rebuilding agenda to help infuse the redevelopment with energy and life appeared to be an idea on which a consensus would readily emerge. But nothing was that clear-cut at Ground Zero. As soon as some of the families of the victims most actively engaged in the memorialization process saw the prosed design of the Cultural Center, the cultural program came under attack and erupted into a fierce political controversy.Culture threatened to take away “their property.” The arts spaces were competition—for public attention, donations, size and pride of place at Ground Zero. And so these families sought to disrupt the planned selection of cultural groups and successfully petitioned to reduce the scale of the cultural buildings; in turn, the 9/11 Memorial Museum grew in size.Once the issue of culture became politicized, getting the cultural program back on track became impossible. Orphaned by the episode, culture at Ground Zero still remains a hoped-for element.The high-profile controversy over culture and the politics of the activist families had a lasting impact on rebuilding. It elevated the political symbolism of the rebuilding effort. As long as decisions were being made about the memorial complex, no politician could take a stand against the emotional claims of the victims’ families.The families were a political constituency with singular standing whenever they put forth deeply felt desires for specific plans for Ground Zero. However, once most issues relating to remembrance were settled, the focus shifted to commercial arrangements, and the power of the activist families dissipated.Nevertheless, the reverberations were many. The cultural conflict and its aggressive press coverage infected the public tenor of the entire rebuilding project. It handicapped fundraising for the Memorial, which needed at least $350 million in private contributions. When Governor George E. Pataki stepped into the conflict and banished one of the designated cultural institutions from the Trade Center site, he marginalized his own institutional creation, the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation, set up to do the planning for rebuilding. And given New York City’s civic reputation, the episode stands as an affront to its tradition of tolerance.The decision-making arena at Ground Zero was filled with many contending voices: elected officials, government decision makers, private real estate interests, the families of 9/11 victims, civic leaders, preservationists, and the editorial boards of the city’s daily newspapers. There was no powerful rebuilding czar, a modern-day Robert Moses, who could overcome the conflict’s imperatives and incessant pressures to “get things done.” The idea of a master builder was out of fashion.The fragmented ownership of Ground Zero raised thorny issues of control. Yet, most noteworthy, there was no overriding governance structure to set priorities among competing building goals, clarify the inevitable trade-offs, and resolve the inevitable disputes in this most sensitive of public-private projects. And that repeatedly gave rise to the question, “Who’s in control?”Any force of leadership had to fight against the politics of the complicated structure and its central stakeholders—the Port Authority, the Silverstein Investor Partnership, the 9/11 families, the State of New York, and the City of New York—all of whom by dint of their position became adversaries as they pushed their individual ambitions for rebuilding Ground Zero.When government entities are not united, as was the case at Ground Zero, developers are able to exploit the fissures among government agencies to their advantage. This is what Silverstein was able to do in 2009-2010 when he did not have sufficient funds to fulfill his rebuilding obligations and tapped public treasuries.Rebuilding Ground Zero lacked a protocol. It was being figured out on the fly, and that proved to be not just imperfect, but inadequate. It was the structural flaw in the elaborate rebuilding effort. Public-private real estate ventures need to incorporate a protocol for the contingency of catastrophe, for determining who will be in charge and how major decisions will be made, including exiting the partnership. They need more than ideals, more than plans, and more than deals. That is one of the lasting lessons of the landscape of power at Ground Zero.To a considerable degree, the experience at Ground Zero presents elected officials and policymakers with a question they are likely to confront in future urban situations: What kind of governance structure is best suited for resolving conflicts across fragmented property rights and fragmented government power? Protocols are essential to fair and effective policy governance in situations of extreme civic distress, especially those that execute rebuilding through a formal public-private arrangement. Without a governance protocol, the ability to set priorities is absent. Strong positive leadership matched to a clear protocol for decision-making would have gone a long way to ironing out much angst and confusion, especially in a political context as fragmented as that at Ground Zero.