Nothing's wrong with Peckham

I live in Forest Hill, South East London. I love to say that it is only 5 minutes from East Dulwich (as that is where I really want to live), but it is also only 15 minutes away from Peckham.


Black people do not like saying that they live in Peckham. We don’t get brownie points for being “brave” and can often not tag it as “up and coming”. All we know is that home insurance is higher than in SE23, Tesco and Waitrose may not deliver, and black cabs are loathe to say yes to the fare. Many try to euphemistically say Nunhead, Dulwich Borders, or even Camberwell as Camberwell is marginally a step up, but to say that one lives in Peckham is to admit, that according to the newspapers, one lives in one of the worst neighbourhoods in Britain, a neighbourhood that has defied regeneration efforts and continues to remain plagued by crime, violence and low expectations even in spite of a £290 million investment over time.

I must admit that I am not really familiar with this Peckham which makes the news. I visit Peckham quite regularly for reasons that shall not be disclosed for current purposes (okay lest I sound like a drug dealer it’s where I used to get my weave) but I have never been stabbed, injured, or assaulted. I have, however, been hit behind the neck by KFC chicken bones intended for the screen whilst watching a film at Peckham Multiplex for the princely sum of £2.99. Peckham is where my friend Eva works; she got married to an English man after he met her selling bread and egg in Ghana- her eyes are often bloodshot and red with worry over children she left at home- two with her niece and one with her cousin. I like her omo tuo and I like telling her it will be okay. Peckham is also home to known business man Asir, who sells refurbished, and second hand mobile phones (and maybe a few new ones of unknown provenance) who can always knock 15 quid off the sale price, unlike T Mobile and Carphone Warehouse. It is the home of 2wo, an Afro-Caribbean eatery whose jollof rice and chicken is lip licking good.

Despite the fact that only 19,500 people live in Peckham (that figure has to be corrected to say “documented”, not to seize on a stereotype, I am afraid) it is known for very high levels of gang violence. Peckham’s ethnic makeup is primarily of Black African origin (36%) although the figure seems to be a lot higher from a quick stroll through Peckham Rye. In fact, when I first came to the UK in 2001 and was taken to Peckham, I genuinely could not spot a single person who was not of colour for about half an hour. True, Peckham is not only Rye Lane and some parts (Peckham Rye) are suitably gentrified. However, these are not the areas which feature on Crimewatch and on BBC1 when spouting sorry figures. For all intents and purposes Peckham is a black epicentre. Some call it Little Africa.

After reading these mockumentaries and crime reports, one would think that Peckham’s blackness is the root of its evil. Landlords bemoan Club 56 - the loud hilife and Nigerian rnb that filer through its premises, they say that the rowdy patrons pee outside the club and occasionally shit outside of it too (after all, they argue, these people are not used to toilets). Some residents bemoan that nail shops and hair shops are de rigueur and that woman stand outside on the streets asking to “make your hair nice nice for small small” and that these small establishments are swollen and festering with Korean and African immigrants who work in insalubrious conditions. Some of this might be true but the problem with Peckham is its relative poverty, not its blackness. It is true that that there are a few decaying shop fronts full of brick a brac and rows of low income shops churning out the odour of shoey plastic and polyester tat, but in an age where the entire country is experiencing a recession, business and income seems always bustling and thriving, and in an environment where religious ardour is scarce, Peckham is also full of churches that are full of the always hopeful faithful.

Those who treasure gentrification wish for cute Neroised streets with identikit coffeeshops and tea houses, restaurants, pubs and a couple of bars. When Frank’s Campari Bar opened last year atop the car park, it was featured in most food review magazines and in TimeOut. Similarly, cosy cafes which bring a French or continental feel to the area are treasured as sign of up and coming-ness and estate agents emphasise the terraced houses and accompanying young professionals as a sign of progress.

However, I don’t need a six figure commission to explain why Southwark’s renewed efforts into Peckham don’t really work and will never work. It is because Peckham’s African-ness and blackness are not embraced, and are treated like a persistent rash or an unsightly mole. Instead of trying to superimpose aspects of SW into Peckham, equipping it with Norman Foster architecture and the like, how wonderful it would be if Peckham could be the literal Africatown of London, in a similar fashion to Chinatown. Fruits and vegetables and Afro Caribbean produce should be sold via open air street markets. Instead of a library that hardly any of the local youth visit, maybe it might be worthwhile having Peckham host a Museum of African and Caribbean Art. Shops should be encouraged to sell items from the continent- boutique outfits sourcing ethical bags and clothing from cooperatives from the continent should be given first dibs on retail space instead of Risky, New Look and Primark. The cinema could be encouraged to feature films from Africa and the Caribbean and restaurants featuring a wide range of food from the continent- Ethiopian, Moroccan, South African, Senegalese, Cameroonian, could be positively encouraged.

Sure, some of the yuppies might move out. But maybe some more black professionals would move in. And maybe the youth on the street with nothing else to do but loiter and who feel so marginalised and disenfranchised that they move in packs, might be motivated by seeing other young black people building successful lives for themselves. Maybe they can be mentored and taught and maybe, just maybe, by making the area a space in which they feel welcome and embraced, they will have something to be proud of. And maybe then SE15 would no longer be unfairly stigmatised.