When does a town become a city? On Croydon, and the mysteries of official British city status

Croydon, city of dreams. Image: author provided.

When you think of the great cities of history what springs to mind? Alexandria? Benin? Rome? Croydon?

For over half a century now, Greater London’s ugly duckling, has been trying in vain to secure city status in an attempt to improve its decidedly negative reputation. Since 1951, Croydon’s applications for city status has been repeatedly overlooked by the Home Office. Most recently, the south London borough was knocked back in favour of St Asaph, a small Welsh community home to 3,355 residents – a figure that pales in comparison to Croydon’s 379, 759. All this raises the question, what makes a town a city?

This is a question the British government has grappled with for centuries. It has always been the prerogative of the monarch to bestow city status; in more recent times, this decision has been informed by reports from the Home Office. But, much to the distress of town councils across the country, the process has always seemed arcane and secretive.

For example: a rumour persisted well into the 20th century that the presence of a cathedral was required in order for a town to be considered for elevation. This association was established when Bristol, Chester, Gloucester, Oxford and Peterborough were all elevated to the status of a city, at the same time as they were chosen as the seats of new dioceses by Henry VIII.

But this practice came to an end in 1889 when Birmingham was a successful applicant for city status on account of its large population and history of good government.

With this precedent broken it was decided that a new criteria would have to be adopted and rigorously enforced and, in 1907, the Home Office and Edward VII came to a secret agreement on a policy which remains in place today. The policy dictated that for a town’s application for city status to be accepted it must fulfil three criteria:

  • A minimum population of 300,000;
  • A record of good local government;
  • A “local metropolitan character”.

So a town becomes a city when it fulfils these three criteria. Simple, right?

Except incredibly, not a single one of the 24 towns in the UK granted city status since the establishment of these criteria actually fulfill them. At the time of their elevation none of these cities claimed a minimum population of 300,000; the latest census figures show that, even now, only Leicester can boast such a claim. When a government department creates policy, only to never actually enforce it, it poses the question of quite what purpose it served in the first place.

To add insult to injury, it is these criteria that have been used to bat away the applications of towns such as Croydon time and time again – making these decisions seem at best arbitrary, at worst vindictive.


Croydon is the thirteenth largest district in England by population, ahead of the likes of Coventry, Leicester, and Newcastle. The sticking point has therefore always been those other two criteria. In 1951, its application was denied due to reports of poor government. More recently it has been down to Home Office officials considering Croydon “to have no particular identity of its own”, which seems a particularly aggressive tone for government employees to take when rejecting an application.

Admittedly, it is already somewhat confusing that metropolitan Greater London, not officially a city, should contain two such official cities within it (London and Westminster). Yet to claim that areas such as Croydon and Southwark – which has also previously applied for city status – lack an identity shows a lack of appreciation for local cultures and communities. Croydon has, after all, long languished in the shadow of London, too distant from the centre to truly reap the benefits of a connection to the capital but too far to claim independence.

Despite this Croydon shows all the hallmarks of a modern city. It is home to the only tram network in London, with passengers making 29.5m journeys in a year. Its cultural output makes it look like Renaissance Florence, in comparison to most of the country: Croydon is the home of Stormzy, Nadia Rose, the BRIT school, and the birthplace of Dubstep.

The arrival of Westfield and Boxpark even shows the town can gentrify with the best of them. If the rules can be broken for twenty-four other towns, why not Croydon?

To many this town’s seemingly futile attempts to be something more than it is may seem unimportant. But for Croydon it is a decades-long quest to be something other than the butt of a joke.

Benjamin Cook tweets as @bd_cook.

 
 
 
 

Self-driving cars may be safe – but they could still prevent walkable, liveable communities

A self-driving car, driving itself. Image: Grendelkhan/Flickr/creative commons.

Almost exactly a decade ago, I was cycling in a bike lane when a car hit me from behind. Luckily, I suffered only a couple bruised ribs and some road rash. But ever since, I have felt my pulse rise when I hear a car coming up behind my bike.

As self-driving cars roll out, they’re already being billed as making me – and millions of American cyclists, pedestrians and vehicle passengers – safer.

As a driver and a cyclist, I initially welcomed the idea of self-driving cars that could detect nearby people and be programmed not to hit them, making the streets safer for everyone. Autonomous vehicles also seemed to provide attractive ways to use roads more efficiently and reduce the need for parking in our communities. People are certainly talking about how self-driving cars could help build more sustainable, livable, walkable and bikable communities.

But as an urban planner and transportation scholar who, like most people in my field, has paid close attention to the discussion around driverless cars, I have come to understand that autonomous vehicles will not complement modern urban planning goals of building people-centered communities. In fact, I think they’re mutually exclusive: we can have a world of safe, efficient, driverless cars, or we can have a world where people can walk, bike and take transit in high-quality, human-scaled communities.

Changing humans’ behavior

These days, with human-driven cars all over the place, I choose my riding routes and behavior carefully: I much prefer to ride on low-speed traffic, low-traffic roads, buffered bike lanes or off-street bike paths whenever possible, even if it means going substantially out of my way. That’s because I’m scared of what a human driver – through error, ignorance, inattention or even malice – might do to me on tougher roads.

But in a hypothetical future in which all cars are autonomous, maybe I’ll make different choices? So long as I’m confident self-driving cars will at least try to avoid killing me on my bike, I’ll take the most direct route to my destination, on roads that I consider much too dangerous to ride on today. I won’t need to worry about drivers because the technology will protect me.

Driverless cars will level the playing field: I’ll finally be able to ride where I am comfortable in a lane, rather than in the gutter – and pedal at a comfortable speed for myself rather than racing to keep up with, or get out of the way of, other riders or vehicles. I can even see riding with my kids on roads, instead of driving somewhere safe to ride like a park. (Of course, this is all still assuming driverless cars will eventually figure out how to avoid killing cyclists.)

To bikers and people interested in vibrant communities, this sounds great. I’m sure I won’t be the only cyclist who makes these choices. But that actually becomes a problem.

The tragedy of the commons

In the midsize midwestern college town I call home, estimates suggest about 4,000 people commute by bike. That might not sound like many, but consider the traffic backups that would result if even just a few hundred cyclists went out at rush hour and rode at leisurely speeds on the half-dozen arterial roads in my city.

Technology optimists might suggest that driverless cars will be able to pass cyclists more safely and efficiently. They might also be directed to use other roads that are less clogged, though that carries its own risks.

But what happens if it’s a lovely spring afternoon and all those 4,000 bike commuters are riding, in addition to a few thousand kids and teenagers running, riding or skating down my local roads? Some might even try to disrupt the flow of traffic by walking back and forth in the road or even just standing and texting, confident the cars will not hit them. It’s easy to see how good driverless cars will enable people to enjoy those previously terrifying streets, but it also demonstrates that safety for people and efficiency for cars can’t happen at the same time.


People versus cars

It’s not hard to imagine a situation where driverless cars can’t get anywhere efficiently – except late at night or early in the morning. That’s the sort of problem policy scholars enjoy working on, trying to engineer ways for people and technology to get along better.


One proposed solution would put cars and bicycles on different areas of the streets, or transform certain streets into “autonomous only” thoroughfares. But I question the logic of undertaking massive road-building projects when many cities today struggle to afford basic maintenance of their existing streets.

An alternative could be to simply make new rules governing how people should behave around autonomous vehicles. Similar rules exist already: Bikes aren’t allowed on most freeways, and jaywalking is illegal across most of the U.S.

Regulating people instead of cars would be cheaper than designing and building new streets. It would also help work around some of the technical problems of teaching driverless cars to avoid every possible danger – or even just learning to recognize bicycles in the first place.

However, telling people what they can and can’t do in the streets raises a key problem. In vibrant communities, roads are public property, which everyone can use for transportation, of course – but also for commerce, civil discourse and even civil disobedience. Most of the U.S., however, appears to have implicitly decided that streets are primarily for moving cars quickly from one place to another.

There might be an argument for driverless cars in rural areas, or for intercity travel, but in cities, if driverless cars merely replace human-driven vehicles, then communities won’t change much, or they may become even more car-dependent. If people choose to prioritise road safety over all other factors, that will shift how people use roads, sidewalks and other public ways. But then autonomous vehicles will never be particularly efficient or convenient.

The Conversation

Daniel Piatkowski, Assistant Professor of Community and Regional Planning, University of Nebraska-Lincoln

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