Local Identity, Pride and Branding in Place Transformation

1. Mapping a place’s identity

Abstract

This chapter highlights practical approaches governments can take to better understand and articulate a place’s identity. It provides sample questions and examples of methods for engaging diverse stakeholders to gain insights into how places are seen, experienced and talked about – within communities and by external audiences. This is complemented by examples of how places have drawn on traditional sources of economic and employment data to shed light on their identity.

Introduction

There is growing interest in the role that a place’s identity can play in its development trajectory. How people imagine, relate to and feel about a place – both from within and outside of it – can tangibly shape its development path (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]; Görmar, 2024[2]; McNulty, 2023[3]; Clark, 2020[4]). While data on traditional economic and structural challenges and opportunities remains critical to understanding the dynamics of transformation, places cannot solely be reduced to statistical indices – their trajectories are also bound up with the sentiments and aspirations of the people who live in, work in, invest in and visit them (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]; Roessler, 2024[5]). Yet, because these affective dimensions of place are not easy to measure and are not factored into traditional economic models used to explain a place’s development path, they tend to be overlooked in place-based policies and local development plans. There is thus value in better understanding how this “soft infrastructure” of place transformation can be better integrated into government diagnoses, policies and plans as a complement to traditional levers.

This chapter considers how policymakers, especially at the local level, can map a place’s identity. Visions of a place and its future do not emerge in a vacuum but are shaped by existing legacies, emotional attachments and symbols of pride and of decline, which are often rooted in its economic, industrial and cultural history. Indeed, some have argued that “visions, brands, images, narratives – all sorts of imaginaries … are among the most powerful providers of future directions for many actors, often implicitly” (Sotarauta, 2018[6]). Internally, they can shape how communities adapt to change, what people believe is possible or aspire to work towards, which opportunities are identified – or missed, and which development paths are seen as legitimate (Görmar, 2023[7]; Roessler, 2024[5]; Bole, Goluža and Kozina, 2024[8]). Externally, they can influence whether people invest their lives, enterprises, finances, time or activities in a place. As such, a place’s identity can potentially be harnessed for collective action towards transformation, but left unchecked, can also function as an obstacle to change. Recognising that these elements of identity are not static but evolve, especially in moments of flux or uncertainty, opens space for policy action.

Affective dimensions of place have received growing attention in response to the “geography of discontent” (OCDE, 2024[9]; Rodríguez-Pose, 2018[10]). This analysis describes sentiments of loss, despair and disillusion that can take root in a community in the face of economic decline, often following the winding down of a major employer or industry and a sense of mourning for a way of life that has in many ways become unravelled (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]; McKeever, Jack and Anderson, 2015[11]). Such sentiments of loss and nostalgia for the past can be further compounded as a place’s hopes for the future dim through the large-scale out-migration of its young people and a physical environment that embodies decline – from shuttered up high streets to the disappearance of other places where the community can meet and form connections (i.e. “social infrastructure”) (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]). Furthermore, this discontent can emerge from feelings among populations that they have been forgotten as “places that don’t matter,” left out of government policies and economic plans, and excluded from playing a part in writing their own futures, with significant social and political consequences (Rodríguez-Pose, 2018[10]; MacKinnon et al., 2021[12]; Piketty, 2025[13]). This discourse is underpinned by a growing body of research on how processes like globalisation, economic restructuring or technological change affect places unevenly, leading to widening geographic inequalities between so-called “left behind” places and “superstar” cities (Pike et al., 2023[14]; OECD, 2024[15]).

However, there is another side to the story of the geography of discontent – one characterised by enduring local pride and belonging. There are multiple examples of a variety of local actors who, perhaps more quietly, draw on a sense of place belonging, community attachments and local pride to invest in the future of a place and its community. This positive local affection can endure in the face of social and economic decline (ICON, 2025[16]; Department for Culture, Media and Sport, 2025[17]). Even if feelings of disaffection emerge, these tend to be directed towards external actors or wider economic processes, rather than the local community. For example, according to the Community Life Survey for 2024-25, the percentage of people who feel that they “belong” to their immediate neighbourhood in England’s North East – one of the country’s poorest regions – has increased from 55% in 2013/14 to 66% in 2024/25, above the national average of 62% (Department for Culture, Media and Sport, 2025[17]). This suggests that in many places, stories and strong attachments can be resources endogenous (bottom-up) development processes, that policymakers can learn to channel and support alongside efforts to rebuild trust.

Increasing attention is also being given to the way a place’s identity is perceived externally, and how this propels or hinders place transformation. Such external perceptions of a place can inform individual decisions about where to live and work; choices made by firms about where to operate and invest; trade opportunities; and tourist destinations (Anholt, 2010[18]; Kavaratzis and Ashworth, 2008[19]; Muñiz Martínez, 2016[20]; Clark, 2020[4]). As such, insights into a place’s local identity need to be complemented with an understanding of its external image and whether this is associated with decline or opportunity, or even visible at all.

Efforts to unearth and develop a narrative that resonates with both local communities and external audiences increasingly take place through place branding. In addition to shaping how outsiders perceive and engage with a place, efforts to unearth and communicate positive external narratives or brands can contribute to strengthening or restoring a sense of dignity and opportunity among the local population (IPBA, 2023[21]).

What is place identity and why does it matter for transformation?

A place’s identity can be understood as the shared images and meanings that a place holds for people, both within and outside it (Goluža and Bole, 2025[22]). Distinct from a place brand, it can be likened to a place’s “DNA” – “a unique, inherited collection of assets, history, traits and culture that distinguishes it internally and externally, and has the potential to unite people and place” (Clark, 2020[4]). More specifically, elements of a place’s identity can include various features of its heritage, such as:

• History, such as Oxford’s centuries-old university and intellectual heritage in the United Kingdom, or Kyoto’s past as Japan’s historical imperial capital and centre of traditional culture.

• Culture, such as Bilbao, Spain, which combines the contemporary architecture of the famous Guggenheim Museum with the Basque region’s traditional language and culture, or New Orleans in the United States, as the origin of jazz music.

• Industry or economy, such as Lille, France and its historical textile industry, Sheffield, United Kingdom and its renowned steel industry or, in a more contemporary example, Silicon Valley, United States, synonymous with technology and innovation.

• Physical characteristics, which can be natural landscapes, such as the Scottish Highlands in the United Kingdom or the vineyards of Tuscany, Italy, or a place’s-built environment, such as the medieval architecture of Prague, Czech Republic.

• Identifiable shared values, such as an emphasis on “common ground” in Luxembourg, marked by a rich diversity of cultures and languages and its role in the establishment of the European project; solidarity and community life, in rural Ireland; or an emphasis on a socially connected and meaningful life, as in Tasmania, Australia.

• What it produces, such as the specialty coffee of the Colombian Coffee Region, or luxury footwear in Riviera del Brenta, Italy.

In reality, a place’s identity is made up of a dynamic combination of such characteristics and cannot be reduced to any single one.

Numerous studies highlight that local identities shaped by a historical dominant industry that once employed much of the community can be particularly powerful and enduring. The idea of a “mining town”, “car town” or “textile town” likely brings certain specific places to mind. Within a place, these industries historically served not only as a core source of livelihoods but also of local pride, which can endure even long after the mines or factories have closed down (Bole et al., 2022[23]; Görmar, 2024[2]). Their close working quarters gave rise to strong social connections and a sense of camaraderie (Malmberg and van Veelen, 2025[24]). In addition, the geographic concentration of these industries leads to them becoming “entangled” with everyday community life, generating shared local values and a way of life (Bole et al., 2022[23]; Görmar, 2023[7]). Furthermore, workers can derive a sense of pride and social value from applying the finely-honed skills that such labour can entail, to contribute to something larger than themselves (Malmberg and van Veelen, 2025[24]). While a potential source of resilience, if not channelled constructively, such identities can also hamper necessary change (Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]).

A positive place identity can facilitate transformation. It can unite diverse stakeholders around a shared vision and co-ordinated action. It can strengthen local pride and attachments, which can improve well-being and motivate people to commit and invest their time, energy and resources in a place. It can also encourage current residents to stay, and new people to move to a place. Finally, a positive external identity can make a place more attractive to investors and contribute to tourism development.

At the same time, a negative identity can hinder transformative change. It can fuel backlash which, unaddressed, can leave a community vulnerable to political exploitation and polarising discourses. This can contribute to deepening divides and social polarisation – between different generations within places, and between local communities and wider societies. Practically, it can inhibit the development of a shared, forward-looking vision and collective action, which can exclude communities from meaningfully participating in and benefiting from a place’s development. Negative associations of a place can also encourage young people to out-migrate. Furthermore, it is bad for business – locals might avoid the town centre, would-be entrepreneurs may lack the confidence needed to set up a business and outside investors can be deterred.

How a place’s identity endures through narratives and the physical environment

Conceptions of a place’s identity are shaped by both local and external narratives. Local narratives are collective stories that a community in a place tells itself: what defines it, where it has come from, what it values and where it is going. These narratives are not merely descriptive – they select which parts of past experience to hold on to and what to leave behind, they lay out a future vision and frame which key issues matter (Görmar, 2023[7]; Safford, 2009[26]; Roessler, 2024[5]; Weller, 2018[27]). During times of economic and social transition, narratives can help people make sense of complexity and change (Görmar, 2023[7]; Goluža and Bole, 2025[22]). They are particularly powerful because they induce emotion and can be weighed down by history – both memories of better times as well as past trauma (Sotarauta, 2018[6]; Görmar, 2024[2]).

Locally, place narratives can influence individual and collective action, making some futures possible while closing off others (Görmar, 2023[7]; Roessler, 2024[5]). When people and institutions align around shared narratives, this can create more durable, united and confident action (Safford, 2009[26]). Insight into place narratives can complement quantitative data to provide leaders with a more holistic view of a place and its dynamics to inform a course of action.

Local and external narratives can influence one another. In some cases, negative external stigma can erode local place identity and pride in place, though this is not always the case. For example, following riots that took place in Blackburn with Darwen (United Kingdom), the town – which had formerly been a global textile powerhouse – struggled to escape the external narrative of “the most segregated town in Britain” (Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government, 2025[28]). However, internally, the community came together to challenge these perceptions and to forge their own narrative based on shared values of solidarity and creativity, and aspired to develop more opportunities around culture and the arts (Ibid).

Negative external narratives may, in some instances, be myths; they can also be sticky, persisting long after places have undergone positive transformation. Furthermore, it may be that narratives are not negative per se, but that they fail to adequately capture a place’s assets (Clark, 2020[4]). This all suggests a need to bring to the foreground the positive assets, culture and values of a place and its residents, to establish a unified and authentic place narrative and overcome stigmatising labels.

Place narratives can also influence who contributes to and benefits from economic development. Relevant considerations include who is reflected in – or excluded from – the story of what a place is and where it is going; which industries and which kinds of jobs are bolstered through the transformation path it envisions; whose voices are active or absent in shaping this; and how widely the economic and social benefits generated by a place identity and narrative are shared. This matters because it can help promote opportunities for all groups within a place to benefit from this new positioning. It also matters because ultimately, local actors can make or break a place narrative’s successful translation into a tangible economic development path, which hinges on local ownership and co-ordinated action (Braun, Kavaratzis and Zenker, 2013[29]).

Beyond narratives, a place’s identity can be etched into culture and embodied in its physical landscape. Cultural festivities, landmarks, pop culture and iconic artistic representations can shape popular imagination of a place – for better or worse. For instance, Bruce Springsteen contributed to defining the United States’ “rust belt” through his ode to Youngstown, penning the lyrics, Taconite coke and limestone, fed my children and made my pay, the smokestacks reaching like the arms of God, into a beautiful sky of soot and clay. In Cali (Colombia), salsa dance and music put down its roots and became part of the city’s cultural identity, motivating international visitors to come experience and learn the art, and eventually shaping the city’s brand and tourism strategy (Muñiz-Martínez, 2023[30]). In Lauchhammer (Germany), an annual “miner’s day” continues to celebrate the town’s lignite mining heritage, while in County Durham (United Kingdom), locals still gather in an annual Miner’s Gala to parade banners and sing mining songs, even many years after the mines have closed (Görmar, 2024[2]; Tomaney et al., 2023[1]; Tomaney, 2020[31]). Likewise, monuments to workers and heritage museums stand as material symbols of identity and can serve as landmarks of a place (Bole et al., 2022[23]).

Identity can be further reinforced through a place’s physical environment. In Rhineland (Germany), those who lived closer to opencast mines and experienced the sights and sounds of mining operations on a daily basis reported feeling a closer connection to the industry (Kiyar, 2024[32]). The natural landscape of the Colombian Coffee Region (Colombia) – named a UNESCO World Heritage Site – is as much a part of its local and international identity as the coffee beans and culture it produces (Muñiz Martínez, 2016[20]). The Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao (Spain) stands as an iconic symbol of the city’s cultural and creative renewal on the world stage.

Core social infrastructure can also symbolise a place’s identity, such as Michigan Central Station (United States). In Detroit, the run-down Michigan Central Station loomed over the city as a stark symbol of its decline, its decaying interior on full display as the backdrop to a famous music video by Detroit rapper Eminem (New York Times, 2024[33]). Once a major transportation terminal that, during its peak, serviced 4 000 passengers daily, the station was shuttered in 1988 and sat vacant for three decades (Michigan Central, 2024[34]). Its recent major revitalisation, undertaken by Ford Motor Company, has been seen to hail the city’s comeback, not just to locals but to outsiders too (Brachman, 2025[35]; Michigan Central, 2024[34]). The building has been restored to include a mobility innovation hub, a coworking space, retail, dining, and space for dedicated youth programming (Michigan Central, 2024[34]; New York Times, 2024[33]). In this way, core social infrastructure is being returned to the community. Special care was taken to preserve the building’s identity, which ranged from reopening a closed quarry to source its original limestone, to curating more recent graffiti for preservation (Michigan Central, 2024[34]).

In another example from County Durham (United Kingdom), during its mining heyday, the “Redhills” Durham Miners’ Association Hall stood as a strong symbol of local democracy to those from within the area. Its iconic Pittman’s Parliament brought together representatives of miners from across the county, to deliberate and make decisions to improve living and working conditions (Redhills, n.d.[36]). Decades later, after falling into disrepair, Redhills has been restored to pay tribute to the county’s “living heritage” and embody its collective values, while striving to open a new path for the area. Stewarded by a charity, Redhills draws on its historic motto, “The past we inherit, the future we build,” to serve as a contemporary community hub – including a commercial operation to host events (Ibid). There are also plans to bring together local entrepreneurs to strengthen an emerging entrepreneurial dynamic and contribute to endogenous renewal.

Building on an emerging evidence base

There is a recognised need to strengthen the quantitative evidence base on the relationship between place branding, identity and attachment with economic development (Pattaratanakun and Taecharungroj, 2024[37]). While place attractiveness is broadly recognised as a driver of investment and talent attraction (OECD, 2023[38]), the specific contributions of place branding to economic outcomes is less well-documented. While many studies imply a positive relationship between place branding and economic outcomes, few provide direct evidence of this link, and where evidence exists it remains difficult to generalise (Pattaratanakun and Taecharungroj, 2024[37]).

Existing research does show intermediate effects, suggesting plausible links. Studies have highlighted the importance of reputation (Bell, 2016[39]; Braun et al., 2018[40]; Kang and Yang, 2010[41]), investment attractiveness (Jacobsen, 2012[42]) and immigration attractiveness (Silvanto and Ryan, 2014[43]) for nation branding, and place brand adoption has been shown to positively affect a place's reputation (Braun et al., 2018[40]). Geographic clusters such as the Riviera del Brenta footwear district in Italy demonstrate how place-associated brand value can sustain competitiveness even in challenging market conditions (Stefani, 2019[44]). However, direct and more generalisable evidence of economic impact remains weak (Cleave et al., 2016[45]).

Some insights can also be drawn from the literature on national brands and perceptions. Research suggests that national economies with more globally recognised and valuable brands tend to outperform others (Ökten et al., 2019[46]). The way a nation's products and services are perceived internationally (referred to as country-of-origin effects) appears to be mutually reinforcing with economic size and performance, pointing to export reputation as a strategic policy lever for growth (Pattaratanakun and Taecharungroj, 2024[37]). There is thus a need for further investment in generating a stronger evidence base.

This gap at least partially reflects the methodological challenges of quantifying the economic impact of place brands. Efforts to correlate general perceptions of places with economic indicators – including tourism receipts, foreign direct investment inflows and talent migration – illustrate this challenge (Bloom Consulting, 2024[47]).

What policymakers can do: mapping place identity and narratives

Mapping a place’s identity and narratives implies considering a number of questions, using a diverse range of approaches (see Table 1.1 and Table 1.2). This type of analysis complements more traditional economic analyses to support the elaboration of development strategies and actions.

Table 1.1. Mapping a place’s identity

Questions to consider
What is the local narrative? Is the narrative characterised by loss and despair? What has happened in the past that shapes the present? What anxieties or opportunities are shaping the narrative? Is there a unified vision of the future for the place?
Who is shaping the narrative, through what means?
Is the local narrative shared or fragmented? Does it include newcomers? Do older and younger populations tell different stories?
Who are the characters of the story? Who – or what – does it vilify or victimise? Who is the hero of the story? Who in the community exemplifies the best aspects of the place?
Do residents feel pride and belonging in their place and invested in it? Do businesses feel invested in a place?
How is a place perceived externally? Is the identity known, and by whom? How well do external narratives capture a place’s identity and assets? What do they leave out? Do they perpetuate myths? Do they align with internal views?
What are the geographical boundaries of a place’s identity? Does it align with administrative boundaries?

Table 1.2. Methods and resources for mapping

How to answer them
Use qualitative research methods and community engagement to gather perspectives from residents, businesses and those outside the community
Undertake listening exercises, participatory processes and creative methods, including through “deep place” studies
Analyse economic data to identify local strengths and capabilities, even those that may be less well-known
Consult data on entrepreneurship, volunteering rates, club adhesions to understand existing levels of community engagement and participation
Analyse local and international media and social media

When leaders are attuned to local place identity and narratives, development strategies can be co-created to reflect community aspirations and visions for change in ways that leverage local assets, instil a sense of hope and possibility and foster local agency. Listening to people most impacted by economic and social shifts – like the workers whose jobs may be lost or transformed through the energy transition – can enable understanding of their legitimate concerns and anxieties for the future and their families, or the obstacles they need help to overcome, but also their aspirations, hopes, the possibilities they perceive, and the plans they might already have made. This can overcome perceptions of people as passive victims of change or as inherently resistant to it, and support them as active agents in paving the way forward in a place (Anger-Kraavi, 2023[48]). In the absence of this, leaders can struggle to engage local communities in efforts to define and implement local development plans, and to garner their support and trust (Roessler, 2024[5]; Görmar and Kinossian, 2022[49]).

To facilitate direct conversations with communities, governments can identify actors that are trusted. It is important that the process can give voice to diverse perspectives that are shared honestly. In some cases, this might mean hiring a local consultant from within the community, or it could mean engaging external consultants. However, governments may find that they are able to have these conversations directly. For example, the staff of Brand Tasmania (Australia), the government’s statutory place branding body, regularly undertakes interviews and conversations with the public as part of its ongoing focus on research and engagement (Box 1.2). This works for the Brand Tasmania team because of the trust and relationships that have been built over time and the recognition that residents are not only contributors to the brand but integral to its development. Trust can be further strengthened by being transparent about how insights gained through interviews will be used. In addition, it can be helpful to focus on strength-based questions, to encourage a community to identify its assets.

Furthermore, it is just as important to understand how those outside of a place perceive it. Is a place even known, and at what scale, and if so, what is it known for? How well (or poorly) does a place’s external image capture its identity? Are there myths to debunk, or are there central parts of the story that are simply left out? This can be gleaned, for instance, through analysis of economic and investment data, international media and online sources, or through conducting surveys. For example, while once accurate, Durham Region’s national reputation as a “car city” within Canada has evolved into a myth, since that industry has steadily declined since its peak (Severs, 2025[50]). Scotland (United Kingdom) has a largely positive external reputation with global reach, which people associate with strong cultural symbols like kilts, bagpipes and whiskey (City Nation Place, 2024[51]). However, comparatively few people are aware of its advanced space industry, despite Glasgow building more small satellites than any other place in Europe (City Nation Place, 2024[51]; Scottish Government, n.d.[52]). Answering such questions can provide insight into whether there is a need to reposition a place’s image on the global stage, and whether there are positive aspects of a place’s identity that can be further harnessed and translated into concrete plans and strategies to contribute to local economic and social development.

What is the local narrative?

A first step can be to determine if local narratives are backward-looking and characterised by loss and despair, or forward-looking and capable of fostering hope and agency. Unsuccessful transformation can leave enduring scars and attachments to past identities that give rise to narratives of loss and decline (MacKinnon et al., 2021[12]). When communities are hit with economic and social shocks, such as the closure of a major employer that shapes local identity as well as providing jobs, they may need to contend with and overcome feelings of loss and grief before being ready to take constructive action (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]; McKeever, Jack and Anderson, 2015[11]). In some instances, enduring loss can lead to a form of “cultural lock-in,” acting as a barrier to imagining and pursuing new development paths (Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]).

In post-industrial places, narratives of loss can be anchored in enduring attachments to past ways of life, reflecting the “half-life” of legacies that persist long after industrial decline (Clark, 2023[53]; Linkon, 2018[54]). Pessimistic narratives can have a strong hold on a population due to the painful emotions underlying them, that cannot be addressed through cosmetic regeneration alone (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]). For example, following the departure of a T-shirt factory that had been the dominant employer in Donegal (Ireland) and Derry (Northern Ireland, UK), it took the community time to accept that lost jobs were not coming back. Only after passing through stages of denial, anger, depression and bargaining as they struggled to find meaning could locals finally accept the new reality and begin to explore and action alternative possibilities (McKeever, Jack and Anderson, 2015[11]). Recognising these human repercussions can inform what kind of support is needed, which may include the provision of appropriate counselling services, as well as bringing the community together around meaningful actions of co-creation that can strengthen ties of mutual support, foster new economic opportunities and reinforce local pride.

This is particularly critical given growing evidence on higher rates of “deaths of despair” in post-industrial communities (Williams and Saville, 2026[55]; Clark, 2023[53]; Price et al., 2024[56]). For example, recent research undertaken in Wales and England (United Kingdom) found that rates of suicide, alcohol-related deaths and drug poisoning were consistently higher in communities whose economic vitality once relied on coal mining compared to places without a mining history (Williams and Saville, 2026[55]). The starkest gaps were found for alcohol-related deaths, which were 52%higher in the most extreme of cases (Ibid). These patterns could not be explained by poverty alone and held up even in places where coal mining ended more than fifty years ago (Ibid). Research in the United States and in Scotland (United Kingdom) reaches similar conclusions, with mapping of high rates of drug deaths in the latter context aligning with places most severely affected by manufacturing closures (Clark, 2023[53]). The “half-life” of deindustrialisation can thus include severe and persistent challenges to mental health and well-being, which researchers link to weakened social institutions, chronic uncertainty over future employment, a sense of hopelessness, and feelings of shame associated with unfulfilled social expectations (Price et al., 2024[56]; Clark, 2020[4]). These findings highlight that understanding local narratives and sentiments is a public health imperative, while emphasising how the need for economic development is interconnected with the need to support wider individual and community flourishing and well-being.

Narratives of decline are further reinforced by diminishing opportunities for young people and their subsequent out-migration. For example, the Italian Rione Sanità neighbourhood was physically and economically cut off from the rest of Naples after a major overpass was constructed, separating the district from the urban centre (La Paranza, 2025[57]). Prior to its construction, Rione Sanità had been well-connected to the city and even flourished, as illustrated by its historical palaces (Ibid). The overpass effectively transformed the district into an isolated area on the city’s outskirts. Following this, high unemployment rates and entrenched criminality came to define its social fabric and identity. This was compounded by high youth emigration and school dropout rates, creating a profound sense of loss in the district, with those young residents who stayed coming to see themselves, for a time, as the “discarded stones” of their society (Ibid).

Narratives of loss and discontent can further stem from decisions being made elsewhere about a place, and the sense that places have been neglected or left behind as a result (Rodríguez-Pose, 2018[10]). In part, these narratives symbolise a desire among populations to be the stewards of their own futures, but they can also signify a tethered relationship with broader society. Places can go from seeing themselves as part of a national community with a shared history and shared future, to feeling disconnected or redundant because they are not perceived to contribute significantly to national productivity (Anger-Kraavi, 2023[48]). The lived experience of such places can feel increasingly disconnected from the dynamic places where knowledge and innovation are seen to happen (MacKinnon et al., 2021[12]). Residents come to believe that regional or national leaders have abandoned these places during their hour of need, which is often at the heart of this sentiment of discontent. Much has been documented about ensuing political, social and economic consequences (Rodríguez-Pose, 2018[10]; Anger-Kraavi, 2023[48]).

Local narratives of loss and decline also stem from people being displaced from specialised occupations, which can be bound up with individual identity, self-esteem and personal dignity (Caldecott, 2017[58]). Anxiety about the loss of livelihood can be paired with a concern that the specialised skills people have carefully acquired and honed over time – which endow their work with meaning and pride – may not be transferable to new industries (Malmberg and van Veelen, 2025[24]). For example, in Oxelösund (Sweden), a small steel town with 12 000 inhabitants, the transition of the steel industry – which employs 2 500 people – towards fossil-free steel production entails the closure of two blast furnaces and multiple plants, with anticipated job losses and new technologies expected to transform the nature of work and skills in demand (Ibid). A study found that workers’ reservations about the transition were shaped by uncertainty about skill transferability to the renewable energy sector and potential repercussions for the meaning and status of their work, rather than opposition to the decarbonisation of the energy system. Being attuned to such concerns can help address them more effectively, and to support workers to explore and access opportunities that can valorise their skills and capacities.

The destruction of familiar landmarks and sites associated with local identity, heritage and memory, and the hollowing out and decay of buildings, can further contribute to narratives of loss (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]). This is particularly acute when core social infrastructure disappears, such as the local school, church, library or community centre, which function as the “scaffolding” of community life (Ibid). The demise of a cherished public theatre in Zeitz and of culture houses in Lauchhammer (Germany) alongside the towns’ mining industries contributed to a perception that local culture was being destroyed (Görmar, 2023[7]). The disappearance of social infrastructure can have consequences not only for community fabric, but also socio-economic development. For example, recent studies in the United Kingdom suggest a positive relationship between higher volumes of social infrastructure and employment and GVA, as well as health, well-being and civic participation (Frontier Economics, 2021[59]; Bennett Institute for Public Policy Cambridge, 2021[60]).

Policymakers should also be attuned to forward-looking narratives, which may be a sign that places are emerging from periods of decline. Just as narratives of loss can hinder transformation, positive narratives can facilitate transformation. Such narratives have the potential to build trust, foster a shared understanding of problems and their solution, and mobilise collective action among various stakeholders towards economic and social development. For example, following economic crisis in the late 1970s, US cities Allentown (Pennsylvania) and Youngstown (Ohio) appeared to have similar roadmaps for pivoting to a post-industrial economy. However, while in Allentown strong leadership and existing reserves of social capital enabled the town to more successfully bring diverse stakeholders together to forge a collective narrative that diversified and rebuilt its economy, in Youngstown, a unified story about its future never took hold (Safford, 2009[26]) (Box 1.1).

Box 1.1. Same crisis, different identities: Shaping new narratives and new industries in Allentown and Youngstown (US)

When crisis hit steel production in manufacturing cities Allentown (Pennsylvania) and Youngstown (Ohio) from the late 1970s, leaders in both cities had similar roadmaps towards a post-industrial economy. Yet, in the wake of the crisis, the two city narratives diverged considerably. Allentown was able to unearth a collective narrative of reinvention, while in Youngstown, a unified story about its future never emerged.

Though Allentown faced the significant loss of 7 000 jobs, strong local leadership, which had historically contributed to dense, pre-existing social networks, steered the community during its hour of crisis to come together in the city’s familiar, well-used social infrastructure. Throughout the crisis and recovery period, key business, educational, labour and religious leaders remained engaged, with the university even taking on a new leadership role. Working together, these institutions helped to create bridges between different communities. This enabled diverse actors, from former steel workers to the university, to develop a collective place narrative of reinvention, which connected the past and present to a future in which all could recognise themselves. Since the community owned and believed in the new narrative, it was able to bring it to life. For example, the university adapted into a post-industrial innovation hub. The shared, actionable narrative has been attributed as one of the factors that enabled Allentown to establish growing industries such as electronics and specialty chemicals, which provided local employment and increased local wages that surpassed the national average.

When Youngstown faced the same crisis, with similar levels of job loss, historical divisions in the city made it difficult for organisations and individuals to come together. Its steel industry had long served as the basis for a shared narrative among diverse groups, and once the mills closed, Youngstown’s identity was weakened along with its economic base. As its social capital had historically been less well developed, different actors were not able to engage in meaningful dialogue to rewrite the city’s story together, and divergent visions of the future of Youngstown emerged in isolation. Some actors sought to cling on to the city’s historical manufacturing identity; entrepreneurs distanced themselves from the city; and investors reinvested elsewhere. Without a cohesive narrative that diverse actors could get behind and mobilise, Youngstown continued to pursue its declining manufacturing industry, which provided significantly fewer jobs and led to local wages dropping below the national average.

This illustrates the role that strong local leadership can play to support diverse stakeholders in a place to unearth place narratives that authentically reflect diverse community aspirations and assets. By bringing diverse cross-sections of the community and core institutions together in meaningful dialogue, it was possible in Allentown to build trust, enable a shared understanding of problems and mobilise collective action towards economic and social development. It also shows the value of strong networks of social capital among diverse stakeholders, enabling more people to communicate with one another at a time when a longstanding economic narrative was no longer value-creating.

Source: (Safford, 2009[26])

There are multiple examples of narratives that draw on a place’s heritage of shared values or collective action, rather than seeking to revive a specific industry. Constructive collective values can often endure through decline – such as solidarity, cohesion, caring for others, voluntarism, reciprocity and resilience, and can serve as a foundation for a forward-looking narrative (Huggins et al., 2021[61]; Tomaney et al., 2023[1]; Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]). Recognising that what is missed is predominantly a way of life characterised by secure local employment, strong community bonds and local pride – rather than a specific industry itself which is not coming back – can help avoid a tendency to romanticise the past (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]). For example, in former mining-town Velenje (Slovenia), historical values of volunteering, solidarity and multiculturalism underpin a modernised energy sector, a burgeoning tourist industry and a strong volunteer culture in the present day, including among the town’s youth (Bole et al., 2022[23]) (Box 1.4).

When iconic industrial buildings function as positive symbols, this can indicate that a place’s heritage is being drawn on constructively (Bole et al., 2022[23]). One of the most well-known examples of a city’s urban regeneration embodying a positive place narrative is in Bilbao (Spain). Having been severely affected by industrial restructuring, culture was “one of the main characters in the story of Bilbao’s transformation” (Ortega Nuere and Bayón, 2015[62]). The façade of the cultural landscape across the city pays homage to its industrial history – such as the Performing Arts Centre auditorium designed to represent a ship emerging from the river promenade on the site of its former Shipyard docks (Ibid). These developments are seen to symbolise more than just the physical reinvention of the city, to extend to a reinvention of attitude, where former sentiments of failure and pessimism stemming from economic and political crisis have been transformed into a spirit of hope and optimism (Miles, 2005[63]). Similarly, the former shipyard halls in Nantes (France) were repurposed into its iconic mechanical animals, Les Machines de l'Île, which bring the city's maritime heritage to life as one of its most recognisable attractions. Beyond the intention to visually commemorate an industrial past, it is important to anticipate and evaluate how such regeneration projects impact those in the community who continue to experience long-term disadvantage following deindustrialisation. As explored further in Chapter 3, while such projects can add economic value to an area, this can lead to increased housing and commercial rents.

Wide stakeholder consultation may reveal that forward-looking narratives co-exist with narratives of loss or decline. This was the case, for example, in Tasmania’s (Australia) experience of mapping narratives through qualitative research, which included workers and residents as well as universities, civil society organisations and local businesses (Box 1.2).

Box 1.2. Qualitative research to understand perspectives on perceived local strengths and challenges in Tasmania, Australia

Tasmania has long contended with the challenges of peripherality: geographic isolation, a small and thinly diversified economy, and a national narrative that often casts it as quaint, natural and marginal rather than capable and contemporary. Historically, it was Australia’s poorest and most isolated state, an island and a land struggling to find its identity, suffering from low economic growth and population decline. Those reputational framings had internal effects. Confidence and belonging were uneven; many Tasmanians felt unseen in national conversations, while external messaging remained fragmented across tourism, trade, and investment promotion. As an effort to shift this narrative both internally and externally, in 2018, the Tasmanian Parliament established Brand Tasmania as a statutory authority. One of its first actions was to conduct extensive qualitative research – over 200 semi-structured interviews – to engage the community in the storytelling of Tasmania. The purpose of these conversations was to “unearth” an authentic identity and story. While this research revealed many examples of challenge and hardship, it also uncovered a story of strong local assets, constructive shared values and opportunity, which went on to form the foundations of its place brand narrative.

Care was taken to design the process to allow differences to be expressed and respected. For example, a market research firm was engaged to ensure a broad cross-section of the Tasmanian community was included. The one-hour long interviews were approached as a conversation, and questions focused on themes of belonging, uniqueness, opportunities, challenges and pride. To assist locals to identify Tasmania’s assets in their own words, strength-based questions were asked, such as: What would you miss most if you had to leave this place? What is an example of something that could only happen here? Brand Tasmania found some consistent patterns in the stories it heard. It highlighted common values and distilled this into a report including verbatim quotes. On the one hand, it heard, Tasmanians told a story of struggle, feeling underestimated and things feeling impossible. This included economic hardships as well as social challenges, such as low literacy and high school completion rates. People described how fewer large employers in Tasmania meant fewer traditional career paths. Young Tasmanians expressed that they felt invisible, irrelevant, mocked, ignored, misunderstood, and “not as good” as other Australians. However, a story of strong local assets and opportunities also emerged, where feeling “not good enough” inspired hard work, grit, determination and original ideas. Higher costs in Tasmania were seen to encourage exceptional quality of its products, services and experiences, as a means to earn a higher price premium. Isolation was associated with innovation; the meaning that came from making or building something was seen to matter more than financial gain, and there was a shared belief that “someone always helps,” highlighting the importance of community connections and a culture of mutual support. Conversations with new Tasmanians revealed that many had chosen to move there for quality-of-life, which they had struggled to attain in big cities.

These insights informed the development of a place brand that drew on Tasmania’s strengths and responded to perceived challenges, and was translated into social and economic policy. As detailed in the next chapters, the brand’s resonance internally as a source of local pride, and externally to attract new residents, visitors and investors, can be attributed to the government taking this time to hear local concerns and aspirations, and to address them. Responses include developing an early years initiative called Little Tasmanian, that seeks to foster local pride from a young age; an “Idea’s Lab” embedded into its high school curriculum to help youth see and believe they can be successful in Tasmania; and a Tasmanian Certification Mark that adds value to quality local products in national and international markets, as outlined further in Chapter three.

This research was repeated in 2023 to determine how the brand had evolved over time.

Source: (Brand Tasmania, 2025[64]; Brand Tasmania, 2023[65])

Narratives can also tell a story about a place’s economy. These too may be rooted in past industries that no longer offer the pathways to prosperity they once did, or they can be forward looking, highlight new opportunities for economic activity, investment and job creation. Mapping these narratives may be less about unearthing how people see and feel about a place, and more about discerning what economic data reveals about where a place is adding most value and driving new opportunities. These points are illustrated through the example of Durham Region (Canada), which drew on economic data to uncover less recognised parts of its identity (Box 1.3).

Box 1.3. Drawing on economic data to unearth a place’s identity: The case of Durham Region, Canada and its “clean energy”

Durham Region lies immediately east of Toronto in Ontario (Canada). Its regional government did not have to dig deep to identify the prevalent narrative of Durham from both within and outside the region: for decades, Oshawa, its best-known city, was known as a “car town” – part of a growing “Rust Belt” with the rhythms of work, politics and civic pride tied closely to vehicle assembly and a dependent supplier base.

This narrative had ripple effects for the reputation of surrounding communities that stuck around for decades. As that industry contracted after the late 1990s, the region faced a twofold challenge shared by many post‑industrial places: how to revive investment for future economic viability, and how to reset community confidence in the absence of a defining industrial story that had historically shaped both policy and local experience.

The first step the regional government took was to examine economic data to better understand the region’s contemporary identity. It had a simple question: if the automative industry was no longer Durham’s major employer – if it was no longer the “car town” of its enduring narrative – where were all its people working? Its research showed that, in terms of economic impact, the region’s largest employer is the clean energy sector. This research also confirmed that the Durham Region concentrates the largest cluster of clean energy businesses and supply chains in the country. This data gave the region a basis to make the claim – and to put forward a new place narrative – of Durham as the “clean energy capital of Canada,” which went on to inform a strategy to attract new investment and new residents.

Source: (Severs, 2025[50]; Severs, 2025[66])

Who is shaping the identity and narrative, through what means?

During times of restructuring or economic shocks, particular groups can advance their development agendas and narratives, which can propel transformative action or hinder change (Görmar, 2024[2]). Powerful coalitions can influence “which [and how] stories get told, get heard, carry weight” (Sandercock, 2004[67]). This is especially the case if the narratives being promoted resonate with how people are feeling in relation to a place, regardless of whether the information or assumptions they are based on are accurate (Görmar, 2024[2]; Roessler, 2024[5]). This can also lead to the narratives of more marginal groups being excluded (Görmar, 2024[2]; Roessler, 2024[5]).

Understanding which actors are shaping local narratives, in pursuit of what agendas, and the means through which they amplify their message, is thus important (Nacke, 2022[68]). This mapping should account for diverse actors and perspectives – including companies, workers, political parties, interest groups, researchers and higher education institutions, but also local families and communities (Nacke, 2022[68]; Kiyar, 2024[32]). It calls for a granular understanding of diverse narratives in a place. As research in Silesia (Poland) shows, in a moment of transition, multiple narratives may abound, yet those that are more forward-looking and optimistic may not be the loudest nor most visible, in part due to who is telling them (Kiyar, 2024[32]) (Box 1.4). Investing time in understanding these narratives and who is shaping them may help to identify tangible opportunities for new development paths, and networks of actors who can collaborate to constructively navigate this transition. It may also uncover legitimate fears and anxieties that, if unaddressed, can leave people vulnerable to negative or fear-inducing narratives.

Box 1.4. Mapping local narratives and their “narrators”: The case of Silesia, Poland

Further to the European Green Deal mandate to phase out solid fossil fuels, Poland’s national government and key trade unions agreed to phase out coal production by 2049. Silesia (Poland) is the largest remaining hard coal mining region in the European Union in terms of output and employment, with a workforce of approximately 70 000 miners. While the region’s economic and social structures and regional identity have long been shaped around mining, over the past four decades, Silesia has been undergoing economic transition due to the broader restructuring of the Polish economy. This has led to decreased employment in the mining industry, alongside robust growth in a new manufacturing base such as vehicles, reducing the region’s dependency on coal.

Research conducted as part of the CINTRAN project explicitly considered the impacts of the phasing out of fossil fuels on regional identity, alongside economic impacts. While among some, the phase-out remains contested, researchers’ mapping of diverse local narratives illustrated that there is a much more nuanced story, and more potential, than more prominent narratives suggest. There are also concerns and fears among diverse local actors which, if addressed, could help protect communities from polarising discourses.

How were local narratives mapped?

• Qualitative interviews with local experts, including semi-structured interviews with the local population and other core stakeholders

• Analysis of relevant policy and political documents, plans and discourses

• Screening of relevant communication channels (e.g. websites, social media, local newspapers)

 

Stock take of local narratives in Silesia	How each narrative connects the past, present and future of Silesia	Who is shaping the narrative
Narrative of resistance based on “clean coal” technology	The narrative frames domestic coal as the only viable solution for affordable energy supply and economic stability and advocates the technological potential of “clean coal” to improve environmental performance. The narrative appeals to nostalgia.	Coal companies, Trade Unions, Political parties
Anxious narrative of inevitable economic decline	The narrative is grounded in the belief that the region’s prosperity is dependent on coal and reflects a fear of economic decline and destabilisation of the entire regional economy.	Trade unions and associations, other industrial corporations
Hopeful narrative of transition as reinvention	Views a well-planned transition as a unique opportunity to reinvent the region and develop future-oriented businesses embedded within communities, without the cost of noise, health problems and pollution. Some workers are already proactively improving their skills. This narrative also sees potential for Silesia to become a “locomotive of growth” for Poland as a whole.	Workers and families, research organisations, environmental groups, local activists and development agencies

Interviews with the local population reveal a sense of pride in place, with descriptions of positive attachments. This is expressed, for example, in residents’ explanations of why they have chosen to stay while many friends and relatives have already moved away for work. These local attachments are attributed to the presence of extended family and the natural beauty of the place.

Source: (Anger-Kraavi, 2023[48]; Kiyar, 2024[32]; Hermwille et al., 2023[69])

Is the narrative shared or fragmented? Does it include newcomers? Do older and younger populations tell different stories?

Another question is whether there is a shared narrative that unites diverse stakeholders, or whether there are multiple narratives and how they interact with one another. Different narratives can be perpetuated, for example, by newcomers vis-à-vis longstanding residents, younger populations next to older ones, and local populations vis-à-vis officials. In some cases, these may complement one another.

A shared narrative can mobilise collective action towards common objectives to enable a place to steer itself out of crisis. This is illustrated through the example of Allentown (United States) (Box 1.1). Similarly, when government practitioners from the UK Ministry of Housing, Community and Local Government visited a number of towns across the nation to speak to locals, they noticed how in places that were generally on the upswing, there tended to be a common narrative of where people had come from and where they were going, that diverse local actors shared – ranging from the local businesses they spoke to, right down to school children (Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government, 2025[28]) (Box 1.5). In instances where the government was able to identify shared narratives, it was able to align its investments accordingly (Ibid).

Box 1.5. National governments engaging locally on place identity: The case of the United Kingdom

As part of the Community Regeneration Partnership, the UK Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government complemented quantitative data analysis of places receiving funding with qualitative research. This entailed 100 hours of in-person conversations held with local authorities, universities, colleges and schools, health services, business representatives, and culture, community and sports organisations. A team of central government officials relocated to these places for short periods, to get to know the places and actors with whom they were working firsthand.

Time spent in these places and conversations with a wide range of local actors enabled the government to better understand the role that place identity played in each place’s readiness for transformative change. For example, in places on the upswing, they noticed that they could speak to school children, business leaders and everyday residents, and a shared place identity tended to emerge. In other places, it was not necessarily the case.

Insight into local identity and narratives was able to inform the investments made in a given place. In one town, the government discovered a strong local identity based on solidarity, innovation and creativity. A local described the town as “a place where people have come together to live in solidarity…a community that has grown up from many, many generations of outsiders moving in.”

This shared identity has allowed the local community to get behind a forward-looking narrative that centres on sharing arts and culture, and as a place bursting with innovation and creativity. This was able to be harnessed through government investment in the development of a cultural quarter and in improving physical and social spaces. Similarly, there are steps to invest in the entrepreneurial spirit of its young demographic, which includes supporting a burgeoning creative industry across the broader region. This is one example of how local narratives can inform and legitimise local development plans, including when these are funded by central government.

Source: (Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government, 2025[28])

Multiple narratives need not contradict one another and in some cases they can be complementary. For example, in Velenje (Slovenia), a bottom-up narrative held by the local population centred on the town’s industrial heritage as a source of identity and pride, while a top-down narrative, promoted outwardly by local officials, focused on emerging cultural and high-tech sectors (Bole et al., 2022[23]) (Box 1.6). However, while both narratives differed, they co-existed, notably because policymakers took care to invest in, rather than sideline, development strategies rooted in local identity and values, alongside the outward-oriented narrative (Ibid).

Box 1.6. Multiple narratives: Merging local industrial narratives with outward narratives on culture and tech to propel economic transition in Velenje, Slovenia

Velenje is a medium-sized town in Slovenia, with 33 000 inhabitants. It has transitioned from its mining roots to developing energy and environmental engineering sectors that build directly on the town’s longstanding industrial knowledge. On the physical development front, creative reuse of formerly abandoned industrial buildings for art and culture commemorate positive dimensions of its industrial heritage. This includes, for example, a large mural depicting one of its artists as a proud coal miner.

A study conducted in 2022 found that for the local population, a socialist-industrial heritage remained a source of pride and gave shape to the narrative they held of their town. This local narrative differed from the way officials described Velenje in outward-oriented communications, which associated the town with a high quality of life owing to its leisure and cultural activities and high-tech services. However, the study concludes that the two narratives were not in conflict with one another. Policymakers continued to invest resources to preserve the town’s industrial landscape and, essentially, local narratives and related practices and activities.

The town’s tourism strategy can be seen as one way these two narratives were constructively brought together. At one level, the strategy was based on the town’s industrial and social heritage, including former miner routes, industrial museums and socialist souvenirs. This approach drew on symbols of Velenje’s socialist-industrial past, while serving as a source of pride and economic gain for local residents. However, the strategy also promoted more service-oriented activities, such as business and high-tech tourism.

Beyond the economy, Velenje’s local narrative fostered a rich civic life and culture of volunteering. This included the largest local branch of the Scout association in Slovenia and an active local brass brand. Participants attributed their high levels of civic engagement to the values embedded in their industrial and socialist identity – such as solidarity, multiculturalism, comradery and equality – to which they expressed a sense of belonging.

This suggests that new narratives intending to usher a place into diversified economic sectors need not displace existing narratives rooted in historical identities. Rather, in this example, by investing in both narratives, policymakers were able to ensure that both could be a source of local livelihoods and coherent economic development.

Source: (Bole et al., 2022[23])

However, different place narratives may not always line up and can even contradict one another, for instance across elderly and younger generations (Görmar and Kinossian, 2022[49]; Kiyar, 2024[32]). Narratives steeped in loss of the past can represent a specific point of view in a place – that of long-standing residents and, oftentimes, older generations (Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]). While it is important to understand and engage with these narratives and the sentiments that underly them, younger generations, who often do not have a direct connection to past industries, may tell alternative stories (Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]; Görmar and Kinossian, 2022[49]). For example, in one study in the South Wales Valley (Wales, United Kingdom), which has a long coal mining history, a local official is quoted as saying: “When I’ve asked young people to collate images that they feel best reflect where they come from, very few choose to include images of collieries” (coal mines and connected buildings) (Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]). In Trbovlje (Slovenia), three narratives emerge around the town’s industrial heritage – one of societal breakdown, one of pollution and contested legacy, and – in recent years, one of cultural and entrepreneurial revival of a town in transition (Goluža and Bole, 2025[22]). Younger generations largely share the third, future-oriented narrative, which has been translated on the ground into a local cultural centre, an entrepreneurial accelerator and innovative local companies (Ibid).

At the same time, young people may indeed connect with a place’s history when it provides a foundation for a place’s identity that is forward-looking and creates new sources of livelihoods. This is exemplified in Rione Sanità, a district of Naples (Italy). Its young residents see their role as preserving the district’s historical cultural identity through the restoration of its ancient Catacombs and Baroque churches, to share with international visitors and restore local pride (La Paranza, 2025[57]). Many of them have been trained and work in various roles created through the district’s growing tourism sector.

It is equally important to ascertain the narratives of newcomers and returnee residents, who can bring fresh and hopeful perspectives and a will to turn things around (Redhead and Bika, 2022[70]; McKeever, Jack and Anderson, 2015[11]). These narratives need not be approached as being in opposition to local narratives – they can be brought together in dialogue, so that existing sources of pride, community and culture are not swept aside.

Local identities defined expansively can encompass newcomers. For example, while locals growing up in Rione Sanità enjoy a strong, place-based identity rooted in the place’s cultural heritage, this is not reserved for those born there (La Paranza, 2025[57]). The local co-operative La Paranza, which has been at the helm of efforts to restore the district’s rich cultural heritage and kickstart its economy, promotes a notion of “home” not as the place where one is born, but where one feels at home (Ibid). Young people who have recently migrated to Rione Sanità from other parts of Italy, or from other countries within and beyond Europe, have described how they identify with and belong to the neighbourhood and its community (Ibid).

However, the large-scale arrival of comparatively well-off newcomers to a place that has experienced economic downturn can create tensions around a place’s identity. This can happen, for example, when there is an influx of in-migrant residents from urban to rural areas, which can pivot the receiving places towards amenity-based development (Sherman, 2017[71]). While this can contribute positively by creating new jobs, increasing local spending capacity and broadening the tax base, it may also introduce new challenges, such as reduced housing affordability for lower-income longstanding residents (Ibid). Beyond these potential new material divisions, in the absence of deliberate efforts to strengthen social cohesion, economic inequality between new and longstanding residents can also deepen social divides (Ibid). Finally, shifts away from traditional sectors may be perceived by locals as coming into conflict with their stories of their place (Ibid).

Who are the characters in the story? Who – or what – does it vilify or victimise? Who is the hero of the story?

Like all stories, place narratives have characters, and part of what makes them powerful in shaping the way different actors respond to change is who – or what – they portray as villains, victims or heroes. Because narratives simplify reality, one of their potential pitfalls is that they can reduce complex, divisive issues into conflicts between “heroes” and “villains”, deepening polarisation and inhibiting constructive action (Görmar and Kinossian, 2022[49]; Sandercock, 2004[67]). If local leaders take steps to identify who or what is being vilified or idolised in local narratives, and what implications this has for place transformation, this can inform efforts to communicate and work constructively with local residents and to potentially unearth a more constructive narrative.

In place narratives, it is often processes, forces or places that are villainised, rather than specific individuals (Sandercock, 2004[67]; Görmar, 2024[2]). For example, national environmental policies mandating the phase-out of polluting industries may be cast by some local actors as the villain in their narratives, even as those same industries – and those employed in them – are portrayed as the villains in other people’s stories at the local, national or global scale (Caldecott, 2017[58]; Görmar and Kinossian, 2022[49]; Anger-Kraavi, 2023[48]). In some cases, the figure of the miner has transformed from a hero that brought economic prosperity to entire regions and nations, into a villain that contributes to pollution and environmental degradation (Anger-Kraavi, 2023[48]). This us-versus-them dynamic not only hinders possibilities to identify and pursue new opportunities, but it risks alienating and stigmatising workers and deepening societal polarisation. Finding paths forward that commemorate the mining legacy in positive ways and engaging people as actors in this process has potential to help prevent such conceptions. For example, in County Durham, England (United Kingdom) and Herleen (the Netherlands), engineering innovations are using heated mine water – a remnant of the former mines – as renewable geothermal energy for heating, responding to legacy, environmental and also affordability challenges (Redhills, n.d.[36]).

Narratives can also victimise workers whose livelihoods are most affected by energy transitions. When researchers took the time to hear from these workers, as was the case in Silesia (Poland) and Ida-Virumaa (Estonia), they found that far from being the passive victims of transformation, people tended to have their own “plan B” for alternative occupations and lifestyles. These plans were based on an analysis of their current skillset, previous work experience, or their talents and hobbies (Kiyar, 2024[32]).

An us-and-them dynamic can also emerge between inhabitants of a place that has suffered decline and those who are perceived as “elites” from capital cities (Kiyar, 2024[32]; Nacke, 2022[68]). Such narratives can make places especially vulnerable to polarising discourses and positions (Ibid). They can also deepen mistrust towards external actors and interventions and lead to a reluctance to engage with formal institutions (Halford, Huggins and Gale, 2025[25]). While such sentiments may reflect legitimate concerns arising from historical harms, they can impede new opportunities for constructive collaboration, through which improved policies might be developed, tested and refined, and relationships between formal institutions and communities renewed. Rebuilding this trust is a long-term process that requires new and more meaningful ways of engaging with communities. As explored in the next chapter, unearthing a value-based narrative that focuses on what unifies people in a place can help break down barriers between different groups.

However, narratives can also galvanise collective vision and action through inspirational heroes or role models that communities can come together and rally around (Görmar and Kinossian, 2022[49]; Sandercock, 2004[67]). For example, in Lauchhammer, (Germany) a place narrative centred on the town’s historic iron art foundry intentionally portrays the baroness who initiated iron production as a pioneer of innovation and creativity, with the aim of inspiring local entrepreneurship (Görmar, 2023[7]; Görmar, 2024[2]) (Box 1.7).

Box 1.7. The hero of the Lauchhammer (Germany) story: An industrial entrepreneur

Lauchhammer is a small industrial town in Eastern Germany, with a historic economic base in lignite mining. Following the German Federal Government’s decision to phase out coal-based energy production, several narratives abound in the town.

While the town’s historic mining identity is very much alive for some residents, a coalition of local leaders have come together to forge a new, forward-looking narrative based on the town’s historical art foundry. The coalition comprises the mayor, city council, members of the town’s art foundry museum, local entrepreneurs, and civil society actors.

Founded in the early eighteenth century, the art foundry is internationally recognised as one of the oldest in Europe. Since its creation, it has worked with visual artists to produce art and architecture-related art cast creations, such as sculptures and fountains. The Foundry produced the world’s first bell, and throughout the 19^th century, created world-famous bronze sculptures. After it had opened, the town acquired the reputation of a "place of artistic pilgrimage." Though today, the Foundry only employs 21 people, it is considered an important symbol of the town’s industrial heritage, broadening its industry beyond coal.

Centred on the town’s story on the cultural art iron foundry aims to depict Lauchhammer as a liveable place, shifting away from a sense of loss stemming from economic decline and population shrinkage. It has been formalised through a change in the town’s official designation, from Lauchhammer – town of coal, to Lauchhammer – town of the art iron foundry (Kunstguss-Stad). The new narrative is directed at both local and external audiences.

The narrative celebrates the baroness who initiated iron production in the town as a hero and as an entrepreneurial pioneer of innovation and creativity. Her figure is intended to stimulate a culture of entrepreneurship, which is felt to be lacking in the town given its low prevalence of small and medium-sized local businesses.

Beyond seeking to valorise an industrial legacy and restore local pride, the positive art foundry narrative and its heroine can be understood as part of a place brand, which is intended to attract tourists, residents and businesses. In this way, culture is being drawn on as a lever for development and aligns with regional strategy. For example, there are plans for the identity and narrative to be translated into a new cultural development project. This would include an education and events centre, with locations at the art foundry museum as well as the town’s iconic biotowers, a prominent mining symbol.

This culture-led narrative symbolised by the art foundry and its founder, and proposed by a group of local leaders, was not uncontested. The town’s miner’s association, made up of elderly residents, were concerned that Lauchhammer’s mining heritage, which was for a long time the town’s source of prosperity, would be devalued. The municipality addressed this fear by integrating both aspects of the town’s heritage into the planned flagship project.

In this way, the heroes of a narrative can shape what kind of development is seen as desirable and can be drawn on to carry an identity forward within a population and beyond.

Source: (Görmar, 2023[7]; Görmar, 2024[2]; Kunstguss Lauchhammer, 2026[72])

Do residents feel pride and belonging in their place and invested in it? Do businesses feel invested in the place?

Another question that is valuable for local leaders to understand is whether local pride is prevalent in a place, or whether economic decline has diminished it. This matters when pride is conceived as a resource that can be harnessed for community-led action – such as regeneration, entrepreneurship and social action – as well as towards more collaborative, constructive relationships between communities and government actors. When pride does exist, possibilities for how policymakers can tap into it and support its translation into civic action and entrepreneurship becomes a central question, that is tackled in more depth in chapter 4.

Pride in place can be ascertained from the way people talk about the place they live and work, but also by looking for actions being taken towards its betterment. For example, in Sacriston, a former mining village in County Durham (United Kingdom), recent investments from the local community have drawn on stocks of hope and resilience to rebuild local social infrastructure, from a woodshop workshop designed as a social hub to support and train young men, to a youth club and live well centre (Tomaney et al., 2023[1]).

Local businesses can also demonstrate investment in a place and can be driven by a mission to contribute to local development. For example, in Derry, Northern Ireland (United Kingdom), successful business leaders and entrepreneurs approached the construction industry as a means to invest in young people’s untapped potential through training (McKeever, Jack and Anderson, 2015[11]). A large property portfolio was acquired via a community trust to develop skills in youth. Youth were able to become trained craftsmen, gaining expertise in stone masonry and stained glass, which was then drawn on to meet demand beyond the local area (Ibid). Local entrepreneurs also informally mentored youth, many of whom went on to become successful entrepreneurs themselves, opening local businesses as far ranging as transport and wedding video production (Ibid). In another example from East Frisia and Emsland (Germany), an existing network of invested SMEs coalesced around a positive, internal narrative focused on green energy (Roessler et al., 2025[73]). This enabled the collective of firms to mobilise regional funding, bring other regional firms on board and contribute to the region’s economic development (Ibid).

How is a place perceived externally? How well do external narratives capture a place’s identity and assets? Do they align with internal views?

External narratives influence how those outside a place relate to it, and gain strength when they build on internal views. A single narrative – or brand – can function as an internal story and an external place brand (Görmar, 2024[2]), but when locals do not recognise themselves in what is being projected outward, this can create a disconnect. For instance, government agencies promoting the narrative risk being seen as out of touch or indifferent to local challenges, and narratives can lose their credibility (VanHoose, Hoekstra and Bontje, 2021[74]). Bradford (United Kingdom) offers a telling case regarding the role of local ownership. Its designation as the 2025 City of Culture and community-led efforts helped reverse decades of negative external perceptions (Box 1.8). At a finer scale, the Elmwood Village neighbourhood in Buffalo, New York (United States) illustrates how this process can unfold from the bottom up: facing commercial decline, crime and suburban outmigration in the 2000s, local grassroots organisations developed an organic "village" identity that institutionalised a strong sense of place and helped reverse decline (Willer, 2022[75]). However, tensions remain around whether such rebranding adequately acknowledges the history of discrimination in surrounding areas and the affordability pressures it has generated (Ibid).

Box 1.8. From "grim up North" to City of Culture: Bradford's narrative turnaround

Bradford is a city in West Yorkshire, England (United Kingdom), with a historical economic base in the textile industry. Following the collapse of textile manufacturing in the latter half of the 20th century, Bradford struggled with a broadly negative external image as a post-industrial city. Two of its neighbourhoods were identified among the most "left-behind" constituencies in England, and its public profile was frequently shaped by pessimistic headlines on deprivation, safety and decline.

Early research on Bradford's city brand perception revealed fractures between internal and external perceptions. While outer districts and rural surroundings were well-regarded by residents for their natural environment, and the city's central location and architectural heritage were also locally valued, negative perceptions of cleanliness, safety and transport infrastructure prevailed in how the city as a whole was seen. A strong sense of pride existed at the neighbourhood level, but this had yet to coalesce into a coherent city-wide identity.

The 2025 UK City of Culture designation marked a turning point. Rather than imposing a top-down rebranding effort, Bradford's programming was largely community-led, with over 1 000 initiatives celebrating the city's status as one of the most diverse and youngest cities in the UK. Residents from all walks of life were engaged as active participants rather than passive audiences, helping to forge a renewed sense of collective pride. A household survey conducted as part of the programme found that 80% of residents polled felt proud of where they lived.

The external impact was equally significant. The events drew over 1.1 million visitors to the city, and GBP 3.5 million (approximately EUR 4 million) in legacy funding was secured – a result attributed to the local buy‑in generated through the programme. Bradford's experience suggests that a sustained and authentic shift in an external narrative is most achievable when it is grounded in, and driven by, the communities it seeks to represent.

Source: (Trueman, Klemm and Giroud, 2004[76]; Trueman, Cornelius and Killingbeck-Widdup, 2007[77]; Miller, 2025[78]; Bradford Culture Company, 2024[79]; Luckhurst, 2026[80])

Positive external perceptions often reflect a place's most distinctive and recognisable assets. Silicon Valley (United States), for instance, has become globally synonymous with technology and innovation, while the Scottish Highlands (United Kingdom) evoke a particular natural landscape, and the Colombian Coffee Region is closely associated with the quality of what it produces. These are cases where external perception aligns with and amplifies a specific local strength.

Persistently negative external perceptions can take the form of "territorial stigma" (Wacquant, 2007[81]), which carries tangible consequences for local development. Spatial stigmatisation can lead those who provide services to make discriminatory assumptions about people living in stigmatised places, limit educational and employment opportunities, and impact investment and disinvestment in communities. A negative place narrative is therefore not merely a reputational concern, but a material one with consequences for a place’s ability to attract investment, visitors and talent (Melic, Huovinen and Rubin, 2026[82]; OECD, 2023[38]). This dynamic is compounded when negative external narratives diverge from how residents experience their place from within, as explored above: post-industrial towns and cities facing discourses of decline risk entering a cycle in which stigmatising narratives become self-reinforcing, making the task of repositioning the external brand all the more difficult (Pattison, 2023[83]; VanHoose, Hoekstra and Bontje, 2021[74]). For example, following the decline of its foundational textile industry, Paisley, Scotland (United Kingdom) was held up as the “poster child” for high street decline (ThreeSixty Architecture, 2019[84]). This contributed to an entrenched negative mindset of the place internally – locals avoided the town centre and spent their time elsewhere.

Negative narratives of a place can be sticky, persisting even long after places have undergone transformation. For example, it took the city of Medellin (Colombia) many years to shed a negative external perception of violent criminal activity, which persisted even when this no longer reflected the reality of the city (Muñiz Martínez, 2019[85]). In Lodzkie (Poland), the “unattractive image” of the region was among the more prevalent reasons university students cited as influencing their decision to leave upon completion of their tertiary studies, even though the region had undergone positive development (European Commission, 2025[86]). It is thus beneficial for leaders to take the pulse of external perceptions and not assume that positive change internally automatically translates into a rehabilitated image externally.

Some existing data-driven frameworks can support this. For example, the OECD Regional Attractiveness Compass, which pairs externally oriented indicators with resident well-being measures, can be used to identify potential misalignment between how a place is perceived from the outside and how it is experienced (Jossec and Bandeira Morais, 2026[87]; OECD, 2023[38]). Another example is the VISTA tool developed by Eutopia, which benchmarks place attractiveness across investment, living, visiting and studying dimensions and includes media sources as a proxy for perceptions of place (Eutopia, 2026[88]). However, these frameworks provide only a partial picture, and further methodological development is needed to capture more subtle dimensions of local pride and place perception.

What are the geographical boundaries of a place’s identity? Does this align with administrative boundaries?

A place’s identity is imagined within a geographic boundary that may – or may not – align with its formal administrative boundaries. In cases where such boundaries do not align, it can be more challenging to forge a cohesive identity. For example, in one community in England (United Kingdom), there has been a struggle to establish a strong place identity, partly due to a misalignment between its administrative boundaries and the distinct histories of the six former towns it comprises (Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government, 2025[28]). Efforts to forge a connection between the different communities have been challenging and relied on looking backwards and leaning on the area’s historical manufacturing identity. This has impeded the development of a creative, ambitious narrative for where the town is going and how it will get there.

Conclusion

Unpacking a place’s identity and narrative can provide governments with valuable insights to complement more traditional analysis. It can reveal brewing tensions, deep seated grief and despair, and vulnerabilities to polarising discourses – but it can also reveal sources of hope and pride, local changemakers who can be supported, and innovative, unifying visions for where a place can go next. A deeper understanding of this identity can point to the next step to take, whether it be unearthing a unifying place brand narrative; using the place narrative for broadly shared transformative change; or tapping into existing community pride in place and strong attachments.

Several cross-cutting insights emerge from the examples gathered in this chapter. First, place identity is rarely monolithic. It is shaped by history, culture, industry, physical landscape and shared values. Within any given place, different communities, generations and workers can hold different, sometimes conflicting, stories about where a place has come from and where it is going. Younger generations may relate differently to a place's industrial heritage than those whose working lives were defined by it. Newcomers and returnees can bring fresh and forward-looking perspectives that may need to be harmonised with longer-standing local attachments. Mapping a place's identity therefore requires engaging with this diversity, rather than assuming a single story can be found or imposed. At the same time, where shared narratives and unified visions do exist, this can be approached as a signal that a place is on the upswing and can be harnessed as a powerful force for mobilising collective action.

Second, in places that have faced prolonged, steady decline, local narratives among some residents can be deeply rooted in despairing emotions. Mapping here can potentially reveal continued struggle, in some places even well after the “half-life” of deindustrialisation has passed (Clark, 2023[53]; Linkon, 2018[54]). Efforts to move a community forward – to overcome an affective and structural lock-in – can be enhanced through meaningful community engagement, that brings people together to confront and address these challenges, and to unearth a renewed, shared vision for change that can inform government investment decisions.

Third, narratives have characters and paying attention to who or what they cast as heroes, villains and victims can be as revealing as the content of the narrative itself. When decline is blamed on forces perceived as remote and indifferent – whether globalisation, national policy, or distant elites – this can deepen an us-and-them mindset that undermines the trust and collaborative action needed for transformation. Recognising the legitimate anxieties and grievances that fuel such storylines, and acknowledging them honestly, is a precondition for shifting them in constructive ways.

Finally, internal and external narratives are deeply intertwined. A negative external perception, left unaddressed, can erode community pride from within, just as a strong internal identity, authentically communicated, can shift how a place is seen from the outside. Robust efforts to map these narratives can contribute to building alignment.

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