Two large sheets of paper hang above the half-full conference room at Stratford Circus, On one of them is a list; on the other, a picture of a bee and a butterfly. Along one wall is a table laden with culinary delights. I check my invitation, wondering if I’ve come to the right place. ‘Discussion Forum’, it says, ‘Hopeful and Fearful: East London is changing fast. What part can we play in its future?’ Apparently in the right place, I breathe a sigh of relief and wait for the event to start. It turns out to be the kind of event that waits for someone like me to start it.
You see, I am at a new forum called Open Space, where everyone can participate in any discussion. It’s a new concept, but who is it for and who really benefits from this supposedly innovative approach? Is it a forum for local people designed to generate debate and instigate action, or as some have claimed, is it a glorified networking event for insiders whose line of work is ‘ourtreach’?
Open Space is the brainchild of organisational consultant Harrison Owen. He saw people interacting in coffee breaks during his seminars, and legitimised the free flowing conversation he observed by calling it Open Space. These events have no formal structure; there is no agenda and no keynote speaker. The sense that anything could happen is their greatest appeal.
Phelim McDermott is the host of this Open Space. He lays out four main principles (so there is a framework?): whoever comes is the right people; whatever happens is the only thing that could have; whenever it starts is the right time; when it’s over, it’s over. He goes on to suggest, ‘you should act like a bee cross-pollinating all the workshops and discussions today. And a butterfly, because feel free to create quiet centres of reflection and stillness.’ Ahaah!, so that’s where the animals come in.
With that message the forum begins. Participants gather themselves into groups and discuss various issues: the rising cost of living; racial integration; lack of visitor attractions for families; the need to inspire young people. At various workshops held throughout the day, everyone takes part.
There are dissenting voices, such as the local resident angered at the closure of key community services. ‘You can get to the Channel Tunnel and board the Eurostar to Paris,’ complains Sandra Panton, ‘but you can’t buy a stamp because the local Post Office has closed.’
Her comment raises an important question. What are the end results of this? What influence can this type of event provide? ‘You have to remember this is a catalyst for change,’ claims our host, Phelim McDermott.
Open Space has been organised by the London International Festival of Theatre (LIFT), whose director Angharad Wynne-Jones admits there are no special lines of communication into the International Olympic Committee, or even Newham Council. You get the impression that the forum has no more influence than you or I. Wynne-Jones tells me afterwards that there was someone there from the local council. I wonder why she wasn’t introduced to the participants. Surely that would have been more constructive, a two-way dialogue, instead of discussing issues with no apparent end-product.
Very noticeable was the lack of something else: local residents. There were maybe forty to fifty people at the forum, including theatre and arts directors, and community workers, But local residents, first-hand witnesses of regeneration programmes and service closures, were in short supply. A supply of three local residents, to be precise.
‘It would have been nice to have more residents,’ admits McDermott. ‘I would have liked to go into Stratford Shopping Centre and find out what local people think.’ Unwittingly, Wynne-Jones offers insight into why local people stayed away: ‘This is for people to feel connected,’ she says, ‘for them to have networking opportunities.’ But local people already network with each other: that’s just part of everyday life. They want action; they want their concerns dealt with; they want to know why there is nothing for youngsters to do, so that often they turn to crime through boredom. They long for community leaders to stop talking and get things done.
For them, the point of Open Space remains an open question.
Ian Simon is studying Journalism
Oh it really is a wery pretty garden
And Chingford to the eastward could be seen;
Wiv a ladder and some glasses,
You could see to 'Ackney Marshes,
If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.
.
It’s official: Hackney is the least desirable place to live in the whole of the UK, according to property pundits Phil Spencer and Sophie Allstropp. Aired on 26th October 2006, their Channel 4 show The Best and Worst Places 2006 raised a stink, and prompted a morale-boosting I Love Hackney campaign with the issue of 20,000 badges to this effect.
I’ve still got mine.
Whenever I tell anyone that I come from Hackney, they immediately adopt their ‘on guard’ face, as if I must always be looking over my shoulder to make sure that I don’t get mugged, raped, shot or stabbed. One new acquaintance joked that I was surely issued with a bullet-proof vest as soon as I was old enough to venture outside. After a while, this sort of joke can be annoying.
Phil and Sophie based their findings on five criteria: crime, environment, lifestyle, education and employment – these being the issues uppermost in the minds of property buyers. Since I don’t see myself buying a house for six years or so, I don’t place programmes like these in high regard. But when the area where I was born, raised and 23 years later still live in, comes number one in any list (good or bad), I want to know what’s being said.
It may not have been the intention of those who made it, but the programme had the effect of perpetuating the urban myths about Hackney: cultural desert, a gastronomic disaster, a crime den, a place that’s lost its local tradition, and whatever credibility it ever had.
Now for some myth-busting!
Cultural desert? For a corrective answer to this misplaced question, look no further than the Geffreye Museum on Kingsland Road which showcases domestic English interiors from the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. There is also a major art scene in Hackney, more so than anywhere else in London and perhaps the UK. Areas such as Shoreditch, Hoxton, Vyner Street and Hackney Wick have all at some time or another been a haven for burgeoning artists and galleries.
Banksy the famous guerrilla artist lived and worked in and around the Hackney Wick area. There is the White Cube in Hoxton Square which shows exhibitions of new and modern contemporary art. Notable White Cube exhibitors include Sam Taylor Wood, Tracy Emin and Gilbert and George. Vyner Street, just off Mare Street, apparently has the highest concentration of artists anywhere in Europe. Consequently Hackney has become well renowned for art, its reputation even reaching across the Atlantic to New York:
‘Hackney is where some 80 galleries have opened and many young artists now live. It is where European collectors and dealers now head to discover what's new. Unlikely as it sounds, Hackney is where it's happening.’ Alan Riding, New York Times, September 25th 2005
A gastronomic disaster? Wrong again. Just pop down to Stoke Newington Church Street and choose from many fine restruants that cater to all tastes: Thai, Indian, Spanish, you name it. There is the Pogo café on Clarence Road, specialising in a high standard of social and environmental awareness with local and fairtrade sourcing. It caters for vegetarians, vegans, people with food allergies, among others. There are numerous West Indian takeaways and a plethora of Vietnamesse restaurants such as Song que on Kingsland Road, Green Papaya on Mare Street, and Little Hanoi in Hoxton, which won an award for the best Vietnamese retaurant in 2006.
Hackney is no longer fashionable? You are gravely mistaken. Where else would current resident Pete Doherty buy his drugs? There is the Central, a bar and club at the junction between Mare Street and Amhurst Road; the Ocean also on Mare Street; Barden’s Boudoir in Stoke Newington; the 291 bar on Hackney Road; and the Dolphin club on Mare Street (according to the Evening Standard, a favourite of Rod Stewart’s daughter Kimberly). Not to mention the ethnic clubs to be found in Dalston and Stoke Newington, showcasing everything from African and West Indian to Turkish music and dance.
Hackney is so cool it even has its own my space page at which is arguably the best my space page on that social networking site. Finally there is my particular favourite, the Biddle Bros on Lower Clapton road, where they serve some of the cheapest drinks imaginable. It has a great atmosphere and they regularly hold open mike sessions for aspiring musicians. In the local dialect I would say that “I got bare love for the Biddle Bros!”
Lost its tradition? Wrong, wrong, wrong. The Hackney Empire is still going strong, having hosted Charlie Chaplin, Marie Lloyd, Stan Laurel and W.C. Fields (now that’s cockney!). And even when they tried to close down this traditional London establishment that has been running for 105 years, people such as Griff Rhys-Jones, Sir Alan Sugar and Harold Pinter, made sure that it stayed open.
There is the Ridley road market in Dalston, featuring market traders who inherited their stalls from their fathers before them. The Burberry factory on Morning Lane attracts many customers, eager for a bargain. Traditional East End values of warmth, friendliness, good humour and community spirit live on – just look how we rallied against Hackney’s detractors.
Hackney benefits from a genuine mix of cultures and ethnicity. Regardless of conflicts in the Middle East, our borough boasts Orthordox Jews and Islamic Pakistanis cheek-by-jowl with Bangladeshis and Turks. Venture down Kingsland, and you are in Little Jamaica; go a bit further down and you will come to Africa Town. Stoke Newington is Istanbul Central and Stamford Hill is kosher.
Hackney has ‘more green spaces than any other London Borough’, according to the Hackney Gazzette: Victoria Park, Clissold Park, Hackney Downs, London Fields, Springfield Park, Haggerston Park, and Hackney Marshes with the largest concentration of football pitches in the whole of Europe – the place where footballers such as Terry Venebles, Teddy Sheringham, and David Beckham honed their skills.
Little old Hackney council also went head to head with big ol’ American coperation Nike, when it tried to use the Hackney logo to sell its merchandise without the councils permission. Hackney came out trumps to the tune of £300, 000. It is officially the best borough in London for Cyclists (London Transport awards), and will play host to 30% of the 2012 Olympics. Admittedly there is no tube system yet, but the Silverlink overground railway connects well to Highbury and Islington, Stratford, and Richmond.
I think I have done my bit to promote Hackney. It is very much a part of me. I am a born and bred Hackney man, as people say, living in the borough for all of my 23 years, so you must take my comments sincerely. Hackney does have its problems, crime and deprivation going hand in hand. But Hackney is also the first point of call for immigrants (such as my parents) who are welcomed into the community and end up staying there and adding vibrancy to it. As far as crime goes the rule in Hackney is that if you are not involved in it or do not advertise your wealth, you are generally left in peace. Any crime that does happen in Hackney you are not likely to notice because it happens behind closed doors or in hotspots that any gringo should know enough not to pass through (the Pembury and Kingsmead estates come to mind, but I dare say there are good people living there too).
I have lived in Hackney all of my life, never been mugged, never been stabbed, never been raped, and I’m just a skinny black kid with no street credentials.
Hackney champion Marlon Christy Dolcy commutes to the Docklands Campus to study Journalism.
Cartoon by Julian Wood
In 1963 Erno Goldfinger marvelled at his newly constructed Balfron Tower, a state of the art, 27-storey concrete tower block. To this day it dominates part of the East London skyline, its brutalist form in stark contrast to the sleek silhouette of nearby Canary Wharf. Ten years later up went a sister building in Notting Hill, the 31-storey Trellick Tower. Almost identical in design, the Balfron and the Trellick were like bookends on either side of central London.
These buildings are a testament to the public sector building programme in post-war Britain, to construction in the face of poverty and deprivation. Unlike many of the surrounding structures, both Balfron and Trellick are architecturally outstanding. They were constructed with care, precision and thought, and in recent years both have been listed as Grade II buildings of architectural significance.
Why do these concrete sky kissers interest me? The intricate design? Their relevance to pop culture? You may not have heard that Bond villain Goldfinger was named after the Balfron builder. Maybe it’s because my mum lived on the 15th floor of Balfron tower as a student, or maybe because, by coincidence rather than inheritance, as a student I too am now living on the 15th floor of Balfron.
Cut to the West side: Trellick tower sits on Golborne Road in North Kensington. It is now a landmark in the re-invention of Notting Hill, home of ska, punk and Caribbean Carnival, from deprived but vibrant area to ‘so this is what it’s all about’ tourist attraction increasingly populated by Hugh Grant look-alikes in search of down-to-earth urban chic.
The Hill, a website promoting the area now invites surfers to ‘Shop with the locals! Spot the celebs! Do all of the above and leave before it becomes unfashionable!’
Accordingly, the Trellick has shaken off connotations of urban squalor (girls raped in lifts, children attacked by heroin addicts and assorted urban myths). Following privatisation, Grade II listing, and the installation of a concierge security system, the building has come up from ‘sink estate’ to stylistic icon. The asking price for a three-bedroom flat is now easily in excess of £300 000. It’s just the thing for Trustafrians.
Why isn’t Balfron tower receiving the same kind of treatment? Well, glamour isn’t the first thing that springs to mind at the mere mention of East London, is it?
After riding the dizzying lift up to my new pad I need to get my head straight. Anyone who lives in a high rise, I’m sure, must feel the gut wrenching effects of these super-charged elevators. Walking across from the lift shaft is the perfect remedy. Outside these grime stained windows is a sobering view: a manic, thousand mile an hour toy town, sunlight bouncing from car windshields, DLR trains trundling and ferrying suits to the latest Excel Exhibition. This is my view, my East London, vastly different to my mother’s memories.
The kettle is whistling, I make two teas and hand one to my mum. ‘It’s just bizarre being back up here,’ she says, waving in the direction of the Wharf. ‘The views, they are completely different. None of this was here, it was just wasteland.’
My new home was described as ‘cosy’ by the estate agent: three large bedrooms, a living room, a small bathroom and a small kitchen. The kitchen and bathroom are newly fitted and many of the original features have gone, but despite this the character of the flat is very much alive, along with Goldfinger’s quirky design.
With my mother in tow we head down to Chrisp Street, a slightly dilapidated but fully functional market square. ‘It looks exactly the same,’ she reports, ‘even some of the same shops, but….’, here she breathes a slow sigh of relief, ‘….the atmosphere is completely different. I would see men peeling off notes from huge wads off cash, real “East End” stuff.’
The only notes I can see are being shoved into market traders’ pockets: huge fruit and veg stalls brighten up the surrounding concrete, computer games bleep, music blares out. It doesn’t look like much but Chrisp Street is unique – independent trading in the heart of a community surrounded by corporate trade. I pick up some groceries, resist second hand computer games, and make my way onto the high street.
Turning onto the East India Dock Road, we are hit by deafening traffic noise. Through the cars mum points out the public baths, closed and decrepit: ‘that old thing was never open even when I lived here, I guess some things never change.’
Back in Balfron, whilst unloading my shopping, I ask my mum about living here in the seventies, if there was any trouble here? Were there any horror stories? ‘No, but piss in the lift and fires in the rubbish chute were a daily delight,’ she jokes. Fortunately for me the lift shaft is now urine free. Balfron has by no means had the overhaul that Trellick was subject to; it is still maintained by the council, and we are not graced with the presence of a concierge. But the building is, as it has been for many years, a safe and welcoming home for many people, myself included.
The asking price for my flat was £170,000, not cheap but a snip in comparison to the same square footage in the Trellick. Of course Trellick prices have been boosted by proximity to Notting Hill bohemia. But many of the sort who gave Notting Hill its artistic reputation have themselves been priced out of bohemia, so they are migrating East.
As was once the case in Notting Hill, the beauty of today’s East London is its juxtapositions. The poor have lived here for years, but they now live alongside the emerging Olympic Stadium in Stratford, and the financial sector in Docklands; meanwhile some of the UK’s finest artists, musicians and chefs are coming straight out of the East End, providing the East with a distinctive and increasingly fashionable identity. All of this bodes well for the future of Balfron tower; and, of course, my financial security.
As I look out at the bright lights illuminating the city I can’t begin to imagine the view in thirty years time. If I come back then, just like my mother’s experience today, I’m sure I’ll be staring out into something vastly different. Half of these buildings will be gone, replaced no doubt by glass-laden structures. Balfron Tower however will remain, since its Grade II heritage listing means that it is no longer state of the art but art of the state. Balfron is part of East London’s heritage, a past which I hope will not be swept under the carpet for the next wave of Hugh Grants.
Thomas Sadler’s flat is the perfect vantage point from which to study Journalism
Shopping is now defined as a leisure activity rather than a merely functional process. Fair enough, but pedestrian and traffic congestion, noise levels, fumes, litter and exposure to the elements, all contrive to make shopping in the West End far from leisurely.
I work in a department store on Oxford Street. I struggle to remember one day out of the five years of working there when I walked along Oxford Street in a straight line, without swerving to left and right to avoid bumping into other pedestrians. And while concentrating on getting along without collision, I have also to think about protecting my privacy and my belongings.
A study conducted in 2003 by Gehl architects for Transport for London found there were 156 pedestrians per minute in the Oxford Circus area – more than three times the comfortable level.
This level of overcrowding is certainly uncomfortable. It prevents people from having an enjoyable shopping experience. With such a level of pedestrian traffic, one finds it difficult to stop and look at window displays and to enter the stores. In addition, it is a safety hazard as people might be tempted to move out into the road.
Compare this with the much more leisurely experience of shopping at Jubilee Mall in Docklands, where you are exposed neither to the elements nor to such a high volume of people. Shoppers can enjoy open spaces away from traffic. Already it’s more than a functional, transactional process, with outdoor and indoor eateries, an impressive vista of high rise glass towers, and visitor attractions such as the Museum of Docklands, converted from a Georgian warehouse.
All this and improved public transport: who says ‘West is Best’?
Yvonne Brown is studying Journalism
Refugees fleeing persecution in their home country sometimes face a different kind of persecution here in East London. I spoke to someone hit by this double whammy.
‘My name is Halima. I am 29 years old. I was a secondary school teacher but I came from Iraq because my fate is to get married to a man who can’t stay in his home for political reasons and war circumstances. So, I followed my husband to live with him in London, leaving my family, my friends, my work and everything I had in my entire life.
‘A few months ago, I arrived in London hoping for a better life. The place in which my husband was living was very small: one room and a bathroom shared with other people. But in spite of that, we were much taken with it because there wouldn’t be any problem leading a quiet, normal life.
‘Our quiet continued till the arrival of our neighbours from hell. They showed their hatred for refugees through annoying us, producing loud sounds day and night, neglecting our existence and my request to be calm because my husband suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Everything had to be done as they wanted, even their friends who didn’t live there had more rights than us in using the bathroom and the washing machine.
‘They made fun of me saying “we are free to do what we want, why don’t you go back to where you came from?” Whenever my husband went out, they tried to attack me and kicked the door of our room asking me to leave the place and threatening me in different ways.
‘As a result, I was obliged to call the police. When they came, they realised we weren’t the troublemakers and advised us to contact the council. It took some time, during which we were in considerable distress, but the council did find us this new place. Thanks to council staff who did their best to make refugee people safe from racist people, now I can say that our life in peace has really started.’
Halima was talking to Journalism student Akram Fatah
© 2004·06
To go to other government departments, to go to other agencies, to assemble the resources and act as one government in terms of setting about central government’s part of this partnership, only part of this partnership, because it is the product of the work of the Thames Gateway strategic partnership as a whole, that has brought us to this moment, to this point of departure:
Welcome to this issue
Contents of this issue
Editor’s letter
Academic
Debate
Entertainment
Essays
Journalism
Feedback
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