Attachment to our home town runs deep—so what happens when it faces dramatic change?

When the news of the closure of the blast furnaces at the Port Talbot steelworks in south Wales was announced in autumn 2023, the headlines were full of emotion: “devastating”, “fear”, “end of an era”. For many city residents, it was not just the loss of 3,000 jobs, but also a loss of part of the city’s identity.

Such emotional reactions are not just nostalgia or sentimentality. They are a striking example of what researchers call “place attachment,” the deep, often unspoken connections we form with the places that shape our lives.

My own research has explored how Newport residents have formed emotional connections with the former Llanwern Steelworks since its construction in the 1960s.

We develop an attachment to the places where we grow up, live, work and socialize. It could be the street of your childhood, the corner store where you bought candy or the estate where you raised your children. These places hold memories, routines and milestones.

But our attachments are not just personal. As they age, they can become shared and tied to a city, town, or region. In South Wales, where industries like coal and steel once shaped generations, these attachments are often linked to pride, identity and social connection.

Sometimes they are hopeful, but other times they experience a sense of loss.

An uncertain future

In September 2024, the giant blast furnaces at Port Talbot were closed, marking the end of traditional steelmaking in the town. A new, more environmentally friendly arc furnace is being built in its place, but the transition has brought fear and uncertainty. Will the next generation have work here? Will the city still feel like the place people knew it to be?

Even before the closure, Cardiff University researchers described a “persistent sense of indignity and insecurity left by recent history” in the region. The emotional connections people have with Port Talbot are not just rooted in the past; they are tested by what the future promises – or fails to do.

To understand how people form and carry attachments over time, I conducted research in Newport in 2019, almost 50 miles east of Port Talbot. In 1962 a large steelworks opened at Llanwern, just outside the town. Thousands of people moved there to work and entire neighborhoods were built around the promise of a better life. The plant remained a major employer for almost 40 years, before closing most of it in 2001.

I wanted to understand how people who lived through that era remembered it and how their feelings about the area changed over time. Instead of conducting conventional interviews, I walked with residents in their neighborhoods. We revisited places from the 1960s and 1970s, bringing back memories.

To share the public’s feelings, I organized two events in the community that also included guided walking tours. An important element were the public performances that brought people’s stories to life, created by artist Marega Palser.

The walks and events revealed powerful stories.

One man remembers the feeling of something being taken away from him as habitats were destroyed to make way for homes. Another described the thrill of buying a first home near the steelworks, when “anything seemed possible.” A woman pointed out the exact spot where a car crashed in her backyard.

One participant recalled how, in the early 1970s, “people were almost realizing their dreams: to own a home… to have access to cars, to things like televisions.” Others remember the chaos caused by shale trucks passing through the nearby town of Caerleon in the 1960s, delivering materials for steelworks foundations.

For many, the steel industry not only shaped their city, it shaped the story of their lives. But these stories weren’t just about loss. It was also about pride, belonging and everyday joys.

Why these stories matter

Place attachment helps explain why people feel so strong when things change. This is why the closing of a factory, the demolition of a housing development or the decline of a main street can be so hard. It’s not just about jobs or buildings, but also about identity, memory and meaning.

In Port Talbot, those feelings are still raw. The city’s future is being redefined by government policy, business decisions and the global economy. But the emotional landscape should not be overlooked. Understanding what people think about a place can help us listen more carefully to issues when that place changes.

In Newport, where industrial decline occurred earlier, the picture is more mixed. The city’s population is growing and employment levels are above the national average. Today, people can connect through the independent music scene or events tied to the city’s radical history, like the Newport Rising festival.

These more recent stories are just as important. Without them, old identities may become frozen in time and communities may find it more difficult to imagine a different future.

Of course, our homes and neighborhoods will always matter. But we also carry deeper attachments to cities, to shared pasts and imagined futures. Understanding these attachments means looking beyond headlines about economic loss or regeneration. This means listening to what people remember, what they still cherish, and what they fear losing.

As Port Talbot’s steelworks are extensively remodeled and Newport continues to evolve, one thing is clear: we don’t just live in places. We feel them too.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.