The first march is the deepest

 

On Saturday January 31, I did something I have never done before: I went on a march. I joined thousands of other Londoners well versed in the art of organised protest, politely agitating for the retention of social housing.

 

The route began in Elephant and Castle and, oddly, went down numerous back streets, ending up at City Hall, Boris’s manor, where marchers were to be joined by their counterparts from East London.

 

A banner declaring that ‘Nelly the Elephant had packed her trunk and said goodbye to the Castle’ gave me an insight into what was at stake for thousands of Londoners, and to the dark humour the Brits are so good at displaying.

 

In truth, I consider myself a reserved individual not prone to public displays. So why did I go on the march? Well, in a rare admission, I grew up on a housing estate in north west London.

 

My (fond) memories of it are still very strong, and even though I left the West Hendon estate over 35 years ago, I still pass through it on occasion, looking wistfully at the connecting walkways along which I used to dash up and down, each one witness to a thousand tales of a happy childhood. Powerful memories these, and they constantly serve to remind me, as I sit in my Victorian flat, of where I came from.

 

Of course I mention my current abode – which I don’t own – because I am lucky, lucky to be able to just about afford the rent. But don’t get me wrong, we struggle.

 

In a less direct way, we are also suffering from gentrification’s voracious appetite, which is gobbling up close-knit estates across London and spitting out gleaming new housing that is anything but affordable.

 

This also raises the market value of rents in the process, just for good measure. To the working and non-working Londoners facing displacement from supportive communities, this is plainly unacceptable.

 

It’s a disgrace to me, too. I therefore wanted to march against the havoc Boris and his network of property developing, dispassionate pals are wreaking across London.

 

Many of those living in estates like West Hendon, or Cressingham Gardens in Tulse Hill and the New Era in Hoxton, face an uncertain future. They stand no chance of being able to afford to rent, let alone buy, property in the areas they may have known all their lives.

 

The result? Many will likely be forced further out of London in a kind of social cleansing exercise. Unite community organisers displayed banners with the stark message ‘Social housing, not social cleansing’ to make the point in plain sight.

 

They understand, through their ongoing support of residents’ groups, that the poor are making way for the wealthier elite, who are willingly seduced into buying flats in developments with aspirational names. How would ‘Hendon by the Harp’, ‘Tulse Hill Heights’ or ‘Upper Hackney Villas’ sound to you? Exactly.

 

 

However, witnessing the strength of feeling displayed by marchers in every shade of left, on a cold, wet day in January, impressed me. I wouldn’t say I have become radicalised, but I will undoubtedly go on another march again. In a heartbeat.

 

• Chiedo Nkwocha is a Unite Community member. Pictured are campaigners from Hoxton’s New Era estate in December 2014