The city is one of 10 English cities to decide in May if they want a directly elected mayor rather than traditional council services
Plenty of bigger towns and cities in Britain would love to have Bristol's problems. Medieval tax records suggest it was up there with Norwich and York as one of the richest places in the country outside London. Tobacco and the slave trade have since come and gone. But the ancient port still thrives, along with high-end engineering, aerospace, a strong financial services sector and creative industries whose global superstars, Wallace and Gromit, were named-checked in George Osborne's budget.
It's still rich – and looks good despite its relatively mild recession, beating Zurich and Antwerp to a "best small city of the future" prize only last week. So why do coalition ministers in Whitehall think that Bristolians will vote yes on 3 May to their proposal – here and in nine other English cities – that they should replace the traditional council structure with a directly elected executive mayor like Boris Johnson in London, Mike Bloomberg in New York or colourful Bernard Delanoë, creator of the "Paris beach"?
"Ah, yes, but … " reply campaigners for an elected mayor, who rattle off a familiar list of complaints: congested streets and a hated bus company, too many poor schools, a sense of lost opportunities compared with near-rival Cardiff. In the 70-strong, culturally conservative council, a former Labour hegemony has given way to a pattern of "no overall control". Currently run by the Liberal Democrat Barbara Janke, a third of council seats are up for election three years in four. It is a recipe for insecurity of tenure, petty feuds and caution. "Whichever way you vote, the council wins," say critics.
"There is a chance of a mayor being foisted on Bristol – even though almost no one actually wants one," complains the local Lib Dem website. It does not deter the yes camp, the "usual suspects" among political and community activists, academics and business types whose frustration with existing town hall leadership make them look admiringly at can-do city bosses driving Europe and the US's most dynamic cities – from Berlin to Bordeaux, Chicago (which Barack Obama's mentor, Rahm Emanuel, now governs) and beyond.
"Bristol's problem is complacency. It's always been a moderately wealthy, fairly successful city which has not fought for stuff. That's why we have no major concert hall or sports stadium. It tootles along a bit," explains Paul Smith, a former Labour councillor. "Why don't we punch above our weight?" asks Jaya Chakrabarti, a live-wire who runs a city centre digital agency as well as the yes campaign ("I said yes to the dare").
"Bristol is a brilliant, wonderful place, historically diverse, architecturally diverse, culturally diverse. But the city has a history of compromising horribly," argues George Ferguson, a Bristol architect and civic activist. Though 65 last week, he is clearly tempted to stand as an independent if the 3 May ballot says yes. "It's quite possible a party candidate might win, but I detect an appetite for a more independent approach. Bristol could spring a surprise."
The Tories are officially pro-mayor, but local MPs and councillors in all parties are split on the issue, and the council's e-leaflet was officially neutral. It did not emulate Nottingham council, which recently spent £875 on "Does Nottingham need an elected mayor?" posters. The Bristol Evening Post is trying to stimulate a proper debate ("We want people to think about it," explains its editor, Mike Norton), but in a world where social networks allow people to chatter across continents, what Bristol lacks – like many places – is a vibrant local forum. "If we could run this campaign on Twitter it would be a done deal," says Chakrabarti.
Neither side has any money, so the micro-no campaign is run ("someone had to do it") by Tim Kent, a councillor in the ruling Lib Dem group. He represents some of the big post-war estates, private and council-owned, that characterise suburban Bristol and accentuate sharp social divisions between tough Hartcliffe and posh Clifton, between inner-city St Paul's (scene of the 1980 riots) and the fashionably renovated dockside cafes, galleries and creative businesses around the old harbour, just a mile or so south.
Kent knows as well as anyone that an elected mayor must engage the estates as well as the dealmakers sipping lattes in the down-town Watershed media centre with its free Wi-Fi. Sitting outside the imposing Council House – as the city hall is known – he enthuses about the council's plans to run fast buses right across the city to help poorer south Bristolians get to skilled, well-paid jobs in the centre or north. The regeneration of the Temple Quarter enterprise zone around Temple Meads station should create 17,000 creative industry jobs. Even in tough times, a lot is going on.
Bold or barmy
"Many of us would like a mayor with regional powers over transport and the economy. That's what the yes camp wanted. But it's not on offer from Whitehall," he says. Bristol and its three neighbouring authorities – South Gloucestershire, North Somerset and Bath, all of which eat into the core city area – used to be part of Avon until John Major abolished such counties in 1996. Old tensions persist and sceptics doubt the latest Tory blueprint – so many in 50 years of ceaseless reform – will solve much.
Kent accepts that critics respect Janke and other civic leaders, but feel the structure holds them back, making officials too powerful. Council leaders are usually compromise figures; mayors with a direct mandate can be bolder, more charismatic, critics say. "But what if we end up with a mayor who is bad or mad," one with pie-in-the-sky ideas that only a two-thirds vote of the council can check, counters Tim Kent.
It's a good question, but no charismatic candidate, bold or barmy, is yet visible, no Lord Heseltine or even brainy Lord Adonis, the other main mayor-booster at Westminster. The Lib Dem MP Stephen Williams? Interested, but unlikely. Labour's Tony "Baldrick" Robinson? Probably not. The architect George Ferguson with his trademark red trousers? Too posh for the estates. Other notable independents rule themselves out.
As for the city's great and good, they stand accused of sitting on the fence for fear of offending the council with which so many do business. Financial adviser Peter Hargreaves, who turned Hargreaves Lansdown from a bed-sit outfit in Clifton into a FTSE 100 company, may rage against the "useless" council, but does not reach for his cheque book.
If Bristol does vote yes ("on a 15% to 20% turnout at best – there are no council elections here this year", sceptics note), chances are that one of the council's old guard will win in November: Labour's choice, on current form. Yet Kent – who ran Bristol's Yes to AV campaign, which lost by 56%:44% here – fears that a low turnout combined with a confusing supplementary vote system just might deliver David Cameron a rare Bristol win in the shape of wily Peter Abraham, seventy-something leader of the Tory group, which has only 14 council seats.
That could create a different kind of nightmare. "The council is so poorly run, we need someone who understands running a business," says Dave Jeal, a church chaplain and activist in deprived Lockleaze. Marti Burgess, a mover and shaker who runs the Lakota nightclub in bohemian South Crofts (where local boy Banksy's influence can be seen on graffitied walls), insists that her friends will grab the chance at change in a neighbourhood whose anti-Tesco protests made national news last year.
Few Bristolians are that focused. A few metres from Lakota, a busy shopkeeper says: "I always try to vote to honour the suffragettes and I've heard of the mayor vote from Twitter. I'll probably vote no, it sounds like the usual suspects spending money than could go on frontline services." At least she's heard of the idea. On the 902 bus to Portbury, as among researchers eating their lunch outside Bristol university, the answer is usually a wary shake of the head. Enjoying the spring sunshine on Broad Quay, one old Bristolian says: "Did you say an electric mayor for Bristol, a high-tech one?" He laughs. But it may be no joke.