Urban Re-Branding and Re-Naming: Stop It!
- Ashley Barwick
- Apr 20
- 7 min read
What does a newly-established Parkrun event have in common with one of the most significant events in recent social and political history?
As it happens, quite a lot.
Today, I'm discussing the trend of urban renaming and why I find it both frustrating and arguably, morally questionable.
The Frustration of Urban Renaming: When Places Get Rebranded to Hide Their Past
Last Saturday, a new Parkrun event commenced at 'Waverley Lakes', just on the Rotherham-Sheffield border. For those of you who don't know what Parkrun is you can read-up on it here.
I've been a parkrunner since 2012 and I've completed 459 at the time of writing, as well as volunteering on numerous occasions too. Although currently suffering with back issues, Parkrun enabled me to build my fitness so that I was eventually able to complete Iron-Man distance triathlons.
Waverley Lakes is now geographically my nearest parkrun event. But the name 'Waverley' is very much a misnomer.
Urban areas evolve, but in recent decades a particularly irritating trend has taken hold: the renaming of neighbourhoods to gloss over industrial histories, erase working‑class identities, or make districts more marketable to developers and incoming residents. This practice, deeply intertwined with gentrification, often feels like an attempt to rewrite local memory. As sociologist Ruth Glass first observed, gentrification reshapes working‑class neighbourhoods physically and culturally, displacing original communities and redefining space for more affluent users. Renaming is one of the subtler, but most symbolic, tools in this process.
Waverley/Orgreave: Rebranding Over a Troubled Past
Take the Waverley development. The area was once Orgreave, a name indelibly associated with the 1984–85 miners’ strike and the violent clashes between police and miners.
Today, glossy brochures and property listings overwhelmingly use 'Waverley' (a name mooted to have been taken either from the old Waverley Coal Company or perhaps the novel by Sir Walter Scott) to market new‑build estates, lakeside walks, and business parks. The rebranding feels deliberate: a way to detach the land from its industrial and political past and make it more palatable to middle‑class buyers seeking “up‑and‑coming” neighbourhoods. This aligns with what scholars describe as the “production of space for progressively more affluent users”.
The transformation of Orgreave into Waverley is one of the clearest examples in the UK of how renaming can be used to overwrite uncomfortable history.
For many people in South Yorkshire, Orgreave is not just a location - it’s a symbol. The 1984 “Battle of Orgreave” remains one of the most controversial episodes of the miners’ strike, with long‑standing allegations of police misconduct, fabricated evidence, and political interference. At long last, a public inquiry is happening - some 42 years later. The name carries emotional weight, especially for mining communities who still feel the consequences of deindustrialisation.
I have my own memories of the area - watching the flame that lit up the night sky at the coking plant being a favourite one.
I remember sustaining a not insignificant head injury as a child at Orgreave Hall. I was sticking my head out of one of the upper room windows and tried to dodge an oncoming snowball from my cousin. Unfortunately, I cracked my head on the window frame instead.
I also remember that in 1984, I was playing in a football tournament in West Germany. Whilst there, one of the other players who lived in Handsworth (where I live and what overlooks Orgreave, the former pit and coke works) buying some binoculars to watch the battles unfolding.
Yet when the former coking plant and surrounding land were redeveloped, the name Orgreave was quietly pushed aside. The new housing estate, business park, and “lakeside lifestyle” branding were packaged under the name 'Waverley' - soft-sounding, aspirational, with an almost suburban ring to it.
This renaming does two things:
It sanitises the past. The political and industrial history of Orgreave becomes harder to see, harder to talk about, and easier for newcomers to overlook. The landscape is transformed, and the name is transformed with it.
It makes the area more marketable. Developers know that “Waverley” sells better than “Orgreave,” especially to buyers unfamiliar with the region’s history. It’s a classic example of what urban scholars call place‑branding, where names are used to reshape perceptions and attract investment.
Residents and campaigners have long argued that this is a form of cultural erasure - a deliberate attempt to detach the land from its working‑class identity and the trauma associated with the strike. It’s not just a new name; it’s a new narrative.
However, still waters run deep. When the new Waverley signs went up, they would quietly disappear overnight or be 'amended' to re-read 'Orgreave'.
The houses have been thrown-up like Lego. Moreover, they are on top of a couple of 200 metres-deep mine shafts.
Unsurprisingly, subsidence is a problem there.
Kelham Island vs. Neepsend: Selective Reinvention
Sticking with my running out and abouts, I noticed that the Sheffield Business Runners advertise one of their run start points at Burton Road, Kelham. I pointed out that it is actually in an area called Neepsend. I should know - the noise from the steelwork hammers there used to keep me awake as child when I lived not too far away up the banks of the River Don.
If Orgreave/Waverley is an example of outright renaming, Neepsend/Kelham illustrates something subtler but equally frustrating: boundary creep.
Kelham Island has become one of Sheffield’s most celebrated regeneration success stories - craft breweries, street food markets, industrial‑chic apartments, and a steady stream of “coolest neighbourhood” accolades. It’s a brand as much as a place.
I can recommend a visit to the Kelham Island Museum though. You can learn all about Sheffield's industrial history there.
But Neepsend has a very different history: steelworks, foundries, power stations, and a long‑standing reputation as a gritty, working industrial zone.
As Kelham Island’s desirability has grown, estate agents and developers have begun stretching the Kelham label northwards, quietly absorbing parts of Neepsend into the more fashionable identity.
This is irritating for several reasons:
It dilutes Neepsend’s own history. Neepsend has a distinct industrial heritage - the power station, the gasworks, the factories that shaped the Don Valley. Rebranding it as “Kelham” flattens that identity.
It’s driven by marketing, not community. Residents don’t decide these boundaries; estate agents do. It’s a commercial decision masquerading as geography.
It accelerates gentrification. Once an area is labelled “Kelham,” rents rise, land values rise, and the original industrial uses become less viable. The name itself becomes a tool of displacement.
Urban geographers often describe this as symbolic gentrification - the process by which cultural and linguistic changes pave the way for physical and economic transformation. Neepsend is experiencing this in real time.
Kelham Island is now a 'trendy' (not what I would call it) hub of microbreweries, apartments, and artisan bakeries. Estate agents now stretch the Kelham brand boundary northwards, quietly absorbing parts of Neepsend, a historically industrial, less polished area, into the more desirable label. This is classic gentrification: the reshaping of neighbourhood identity to attract wealthier residents, often at the expense of long‑standing communities and their histories .
Why Renaming Feels So Annoying
Renaming is not just cosmetic. It signals who a place is for, and whose stories matter. When developers or city authorities rename areas without community involvement, it can feel like an erasure of local identity. Scholars studying street naming note that naming practices are deeply political, shaping narratives of citizenship, belonging, and memory. Renaming often reflects the interests of elites rather than residents, reinforcing power imbalances in urban space .
Other UK Examples: From “SoDa” to “Midtown”
This isn’t unique to Sheffield or Rotherham. Across the UK, rebranding has become a marketing tactic:
London’s “Midtown” - a term invented by business groups to rebrand Holborn and Bloomsbury- has been widely mocked for its artificiality.
Manchester’s “Northern Quarter” - now a cultural hotspot - was once simply part of Ancoats and the city centre, but the new name helped fuel its reinvention.
Liverpool’s “Baltic Triangle” - a former industrial zone - has been transformed into a creative district, with the new name smoothing over its gritty past.
In each case, renaming is part of a broader strategy to attract investment and new demographics, often accelerating displacement and cultural change.
Global Examples: A Universal Pattern
Internationally, the same dynamics appear. In New York, areas like SoHo, DUMBO, and Hudson Yards were branded to attract affluent residents and investors. In Istanbul, gentrification has reshaped entire districts, with new names and developments signalling a shift towards wealthier classes and away from traditional communities .
The Academic View: Renaming as Cultural Displacement
Urban scholars argue that renaming contributes to cultural displacement, where long‑term residents feel alienated even before they are physically priced out. Gentrification is not only about rising rents but also about the symbolic takeover of neighbourhood identity. As Britannica notes, cultural displacement occurs when newcomers replace original residents in shaping the character and narrative of a neighbourhood .
Conclusion - Why It Matters
Both Orgreave and Neepsend show how renaming is never neutral. It’s a political act that shapes:
how history is remembered
who feels welcome
how land is valued
which communities get to stay
Academic research backs this up. Scholars studying urban naming argue that names are “instruments of power” that influence belonging, identity, and memory. Renaming is often part of a broader strategy to attract wealthier residents and investors - a hallmark of gentrification.
Renaming neighbourhoods may seem harmless, but it often reflects deeper issues of power, identity, and erasure. When places like Orgreave become Waverley, or Neepsend is quietly absorbed into Kelham Island, it raises uncomfortable questions about whose histories are being preserved - and whose are being overwritten. Urban evolution is inevitable, but rewriting the past to make areas more “desirable” is a trend I see as worth challenging.
Thoughts?
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