Oppose Magazine by London College of Communication

oppose.

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We don’t like developers. Or hipsters. We think urban renewal shouldn’t mean removing existing communities. Catering to middle-class tastes at the expense of what local, ethnic minorities need isn’t right. We’re against ethnic cleansing. We oppose gentrification. Feel the same? Join us. Oppose.

oppose. is a zine made by a bunch of students and journalists from all over who love our cities but not the way they’re being reshaped to disadvantage poorer communities. We put our heads together to create a publication that tackles these issues in serious and satirical ways. In our first issue we take a look at the impact of gentrification in cities around the world, from London to Singapore to South America. We cover hipster coffee shops, ‘gentrified’ food, and bag an interview with Instagram mememaker Poundland Bandit. Keep fighting back.

The

oppose team

When a bunch of white people move to the ghetto and open up a bunch of cupcake shops

Pret, stay right where you are, independent cafes piss off!

Power to the People

Fast fashion is changing Padua’s streets

What it’s like in Singapore’s hippest district

What does hipster taste like?

Protest posters

An interview with Poundland Bandit

La Floresta: the fight against gentrification

All White on the Peckham Front

Elephant never forgets

Dear Diary

In the heart of Brixton: a delicate balance of diversity

5 shows you need to watch to understand gentrification

Sugar, Spikes and Nothing Nice

Regeneration in Latin America

Café Society

Ugly AF?

Are you hipster enough?

10 Commandments

We asked. You answered. Read the responses throughout this zine.

Olami Akindele “These cups are the largest we’ve got, is that okay?” the girl behind the coffee shop counter asked as I complete my order. Looking at the minuscule paper cup I had just been handed, I scoffed internally. I asked for a large and the size shown to me was smaller than a standard Starbucks short. What could possibly be smaller than this “large”? I glanced at small – no bigger than an espresso cup. I have just walked into one of those indie cafés in the largely gentrified locale of Elephant & Castle that nobody asked for but, lo and behold, exists anyway… avocado toast offerings and all. I decided to bear the grunt of actually walking into this shop in search of a Turmeric Latte. Having the basic knowledge of an amateur nutritionist, this was specifically the thing I needed to soothe an inflamed throat. Pret A Manger, who also serve a Golden Turmeric Latte, is just a 5-minute walk away but on this occasion I had to see what the ‘cooler’ option could offer. An extremely cramped space with rotting wooden benches for seats, tiny paper cups for which you have to pick the lid out of a grimy wire basket yourself and dirty tables, it turns out. Being subjected to overhearing the owners arguing and gossiping with a depressing #ChillVibes Spotify playlist in the background irritated me to no end. 6

This café offered me the least fulfilling experience I could have imagined. It offered me nothing better than the Pret A Manger down the road. What do independent cafés like this one offer to the communities they continue to infiltrate and gentrify? At this point, I am certain that in future I would much rather visit a café chain than an indie one, not just for a better experience but for the guarantee that chains like Pret provide continued development for the communities they enter. Coffee shops and cafés are a community hub where people from all walks of life can commune, discuss ideas over a comforting coffee and just chill. In recent years, they have quickly become signals of an incoming wave of gentrification. Elephant & Castle is currently undergoing a massive regeneration, which includes plans to potentially knock down its relic shopping center to make way for private houses and expensive retail spaces (see pxx).

Since 1995, the foundation has worked to deliver meals to the homeless, support local homeless charities and help vulnerable people off the street. Ever since opening their first location in Victoria, London, they have given their unsold food to the homeless.

Cafés like the one I visited are usually among the first to enter working class communities and change the social character of the neighbourhood with their gluten free cupcakes and oat milk coffees. Except for offering the latest food trends, yuppie cafés fail to give back to poorer communities in ways that commercial chains do. They enter these communities with damaging entitlement and a poor attitude of doing things ‘differently’ for the sake of giving a ‘modern edge’ to urban areas. They insist their customers go back to the culture of ‘actually talking to each other’ as an excuse for being unable to offer free WiFi like their competitors do. Pret A Manger make their social aims clear – the Pret Foundation Trust was founded as part of the chain’s goal to alleviate poverty in the UK by helping to break the cycle of homelessness.

Pret A Manger have the resources and capital to give back – feeding the homeless is the least they could do, one might say. But we shouldn’t be so quick to downplay the humane efforts of an organisation that gives themselves the moral responsibility to give back to their surrounding communities. This is an ethos Pret A Manger have stuck to relentlessly, even taking the opportunity to promote their initiatives for the homeless instead of creating what could have been a sumptuous sales-focused Christmas advert. In November 2016, they released a Christmas advert highlighting their apprenticeship scheme, which involves training and offering jobs to homeless people. Next time you are faced with the choice of popping into your local Pret (which will be a stone’s throw away in any London district no doubt) or trying that new indie coffee spot you saw on Instagram, I’d urge you to consider carefully where your hardearned money and precious time are better spent. 7

Antigoni Pitta

The Southbank Centre looms over the River Thames in all its grey Brutalist glory, cutting odd shapes out of the sky. Tucked under the Queen Elizabeth Hall lies the vibrant, graffiticovered beating heart of London’s skateboarding scene, known as the Undercroft. When it came under threat in 2013, its community set out to save their space and won, proving that it’s not always impossible to stop gentrification in its tracks. I first came across the Southbank Undercroft in the winter of 2013 and I remember thinking how amazing it was that there was, albeit small, a pocket that seemed untouched by all the change evidently taking place in the area. Even thought it was never officially declared a skate park, its use as a skating spot dates back to the 1970s, with many hailing it as the birthplace of the UK’s skate scene. Initially it was nothing but architectural dead space but the skater community found its smooth planes and slopes, banks

and stairwells perfect for skating on and over. Today it’s a spot popular among skateboarders, BMXers, graffiti writers, photographers and filmmakers alike. When I next visited, I learned that this didn’t matter to Southbank Centre… Plans for the redevelopment of the Undercroft area were announced in the spring of 2013, essentially suggesting the uprooting of an entire community and scene. In a matter of weeks ‘Long Live Southbank’ was formed, a non-profit organisation with the sole purpose of saving the space and maintaining it for future generations. Volunteers canvassed daily, collecting signatures and even selling merchandise for well over a year, eventually taking the matter over to Lambeth Council. After a lot

of back and forth an agreement was reached between the campaigners and Southbank Centre, securing the future of the Undercroft as a space of free creative expression. Four years later, in 2017, LLSB volunteers Jeremy Jones and Lukas Kacevicius are manning a new campaign table. Launched in June in agreement with Southbank Centre, LLSB’s new campaign aims to raise funds to extend the skate area and restore it to its former glory, since the space used to be a lot bigger before it was cut off and repurposed. Jones explains: “There’s more people coming down here but it’s much smaller than it used to be, so we want to take back some of the original space.” Jones and Kacevicius, both skateboarders, have been coming to the Undercroft for years and love the space for the freedom it offers. “It’s mostly just a place to express yourself,” says Kacevicius, “You feel free here, because the city is very limiting and this is one of the last public spaces in London that anyone can come and use. As skateboarders we always get kicked out of places – everything is privately owned, so knowing you can come here makes you feel safe.”

What makes this place special is that there’s no such thing as ‘locals only’ – it’s for anyone to use and enjoy. “It’s a place where you can come and hang,” says Tom Simmons, who is in town for the day. “I live in Manchester but I always come here every time I’m in London. Even if you don’t know anyone, you can come down and start chatting to people, it’s that easy.” The Undercroft’s fame goes beyond the UK – over the years it has been visited by many legendary skateboarders, including American skateboarding pioneer Tony Alva. “I used to see it all the time on skate videos when I was thirteen,” says Eric LaFrance from Canada, who moved to London specifically for this spot. “I’m thirty now so I decided to do it! There’s just so much history here and it’s so accessible.” Long Live Southbank’s success is proof of how the tenacity and persistence of a community can have a positive influence. It’s almost too perfect that the neon sign hanging just above the Undercroft reads ‘POWER TO THE PEOPLE’, its bright green and red flashing letters like a mantra for the urban dweller. Here’s hoping that the sound of skateboard wheels on concrete never leaves the Southbank.

If you want to support Long Live Southbank visit http://www.llsb.com/

Beatrice Forzan

Via Roma is a very hip, popular place in Padua – a cobblestonepaved boulevard in the city centre, flanked by historical buildings and porches that shelter from the rain. But what really clashes with the picturesque surroundings in this small Italian city are the shops: Pull & Bear, Stradivarius, Tally Weijl, Jules, Yamamay, Sisley, etc. These franchise stores are the main attraction, but are also proof that here gentrification is not just about coffee shops. Twenty years ago, the look of the area was completely different – actually it wasn’t an area at all. The street used to be open to traffic and it only served

as a connection between two main hangouts: Prato della Valle and Piazza Cavour, where the bourgeois kids used to meet. It was a dead zone, a road with bus stops and some artisanal bottegas. The big change arrived in 1999, when the Town Council decided to close off the street to cars, turning it into the main

“What made the street Instagramworthy was the opening of fast fashion stores” 10

walk that passes by the city’s most famous landmarks: the 19th century Caffè Pedrocchi, the still-in-use Renaissance university seat Palazzo Bo and the City Hall building. But what made the street Instagramworthy was the opening of fast fashion stores. Since 2010, these commercial stores have been popping up and – needless to say – attracting young people thanks to cheap prices and trendy products that are close to high schools and the university. Once the shops brought customers, bars and cafés soon followed, spreading their tables onto the stone pavement of the road like a carpet. In a small city like Padua – where the attractions are limited and there’s not much to do – the gentrification of Via Roma was welcomed with opened arms: the Town Council praised its recently-found prestige, the citizens were thrilled by this cool ‘metropolis’ vibe, and basically there was a new destination for Saturday-afternoon

hangouts with mates. This area came to life. Everything was so good that no one cared for the consequences and the series of events that unfolded silently. Since 2008, 109 independent shops (i.e. not franchise stores) closed down after bankruptcy, according to last year’s research conducted by Confcommercio, the largest business association in Italy. How could a local shop owner compete with corporate brands? Their mass (and often unethical) production allows them to cut costs and offer very low prices to customers, who obviously spend. Multinational companies like H&M and Zara also lure in customers by offering a rapid refresh of their collections: every week there are brand new items, a restock of sold-out sizes and updated window displays. Meanwhile, independent shops only have the capacity to order their wares twice a year: a fall-winter and a springsummer collection.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Everything was so good that no one cared for the consequences and the series of events that unfolded silentlyâ&#x20AC;? Worsening this condition are the rent prices, of course. When an area gets popular, it also becomes expensive. Shops that had been open for decades and used to be renowned for their high quality suddenly cannot afford to stay where they have always been, thanks to gentrification raising the prices. Also, the transformation of the city reshaped how people shop. They now follow a long walkway that excludes parts of the town that once flourished, so the smaller, independent places get no visibility. They are as good as doomed. Yes, fast fashion stores employ a larger number of people, unlike a familyrun business, but those who work in franchises are usually the same as

the people who shop there: exploited students on a minimum wage that need a job to cover their expenses. On the contrary, independent shops are the only places to sustaining entire local families. Is it really beneficial? Galleria Borromeo was once a thriving zone. Surrounded by offices, in the 80s, during the lunch break or after the office hours, the yuppies used to populate the space, eating and drinking, buying their expensive suits in the many shops nearby, even doing luxury furniture shopping for their flats. Today, just a couple of shops remain, among the closed rusty shutter the only sound you can hear is the echo of your steps.

Jess Langton

Poundland Bandit, the anonymous London-based Instagram account, makes hilariously accurate memes of everyone you love to hate – with an anti-gentification slant. We chat with the man behind the account about stupid hipsters and stealing… Name: PoundlandBandit // Age: 24 // Occupation: Alcoholic

1) Why did you start the Poundland Bandit account? I originally started just to post photos of friends and graffiti and funny shit I saw whilst I was out in London, that was all it was meant to be really. 2) What made you want to start making memes? I follow loads of meme accounts ‘cos they make me laugh and I thought to myself it’s not that hard, fuck it, see if I can make people laugh too. 3) What inspired the theme of your account (starter packs of stereotypes)? I saw the whole starter pack thing on Instagram ages ago and some were really funny but not always dead on accurate, so I was like, I’ll choose

a few subcultures who I think are dicks and make a few memes out of them and see how it goes. 4) How long have you had this account for and what were you doing before? I dunno since 2015? Before all the starter packs it was just graffiti and music that I liked, stuff I saw in the street or in bars. 5) Your Instagram has nearly 80k followers and lots of people are starting to notice you, how are you finding it? It’s all a joke to me, I like making people laugh and I don’t take myself or the stuff I post seriously at all, I just have fun with it. 6) Where do you get your inspiration? Going out drinking or to an event and overhearing people’s conversations about art, music, fashion, plus previous experiences with girls and from the people I’ve met at parties.

7) What is the usual process of creating one of your memes? I see someone, I take the piss out of them in my head, I remember what they said or were wearing, then it goes on from there basically. 8) Apart from running this account, what do you get up to? Not too much, I go out a lot, do the occasional odd job for cash, DJ on occasion with my good friend UGETBOYED, mostly ‘80s new wave and Italo disco. 9) What kind of people do you enjoy making memes out of most? Posh kids whose lifestyles are funded by mum and dad but feel the need to use slang and dress like they’re from the roughest parts of London, that will never get old. 10) Do you get a lot of backlash, i.e. the people you take the piss out of getting annoyed at you in the comments? I get some crybabies who’ll say I’m not funny and try to take the piss out of me, but they’re fully entitled to their own opinion. I’m joking, I’m proper funny and they can go fuck themselves. 11) Where did the name ‘Poundland Bandit’ come from? It started from graffiti. I was paying for paint for me to then do something illegal with it, which kind of defeats the point. So I used to nick the car paint out of a certain Poundland in South London so I could write my name on other people’s property.

12) Quite a lot of the stuff you make focuses on gentrification, why is that? Because the only people who get any media coverage for talking about gentrification are the arseholes who are contributing to it in the first place. You don’t get to hear it from the side of the people being pushed out of their areas or forced to pay more to stay there. 13) You poke fun at gentrification a lot – what do you think about it? I could go on forever but I’ll say this: don’t purposefully move to a rough area because you think it’s cool to live there and then cry when you get mugged because you thought that it would never happen. 14) Do you think social media can be useful to highlight social issues? Definitely… raising awareness for good causes, outing people who do shitty things and continue to get away with it, educating people about matters they’d be otherwise ignorant to, yeah it’s a good thing. 15) What’s next for Poundland Bandit? Trying to not get assassinated by a pissed off hipster who can’t take a joke? I’m not sure, to be honest. It’d be nice to spread out into other things but I’m not sure how that would go. A bit of money would be nice as well as I’m fucking broke. 15

Johanna Pisco

In the early 1900s, La Floresta was known as ‘Little London’. Though it’s located more than 5,000 miles away in Quito, Ecuador, to residents, this neighbourhood resembles the British capital because of its architecture. “The ‘white blanket’ of fog that covered its streets and sidewalks when the cold air blew in from the south, mixed with the warm wind from the east reminded them of the European metropolis,” says César Aulestia, a resident since 1954. What’s different from London, though, is that La Floresta refuses to let gentrification sneak through its back door. It’s a place where neighbours still share a sense of similarity, especially those who have lived there for more than 50 years. Residents have managed to keep its traditional essence; it’s surrounded by countless shops, shoe stores, tailors, bakeries – you 16

name it – most of which have been there for decades. The City Council catalogued the neighbourhood as a residential area type 2, meaning that residences could be shared with local businesses. Due to the patrimonial characteristics of the area, in 2011 the Metropolitan Council approved the Special Plan for La Floresta, which seeks to rescue the heritage and historical aspect of the zone, as well as its tourist and residential potential.

The project contemplates several factors, including the valuation and protection of urban and architectural heritag, improvement of public spaces and the road system, integration of urban facilities and tree planting. Resident Cristian Medina, 30, was born and raised in La Floresta and for him this is the ideal place to live. “It has everything you need, from a bakery to cultural sites where nightlife can be enjoyed. It’s a small world where you can live in peace. In the mornings you can experience the neighbourhood atmosphere and at night, there’s music, dance or a good movie that always invite you to leave home”. 17

More than a decade ago, La Floresta slowly injected culture into its residential vibe. Walking through its main streets is enough to catch a glimpse of this change, simultaneously discovering or rediscovering sites that contain art, music, literature, national and international cuisine. Because of this, there is a harmonious coexistence between the new and old residents of the neighbourhood, which currently has about 34,000 inhabitants. However, despite the healthy integration of culture, traditional residents of the area weren’t pleased with the real-estate boom La Floresta went through, which changed the urban structure of the space and introduced high-rise buildings to the environment. According to La Floresta’s archive on its website, “the neighbourhood remained quiet and with its own customs of coexistence until the beginning of the year 2000, but its strategic location made real estate companies crave the place; 20% of the houses were overthrown and modern buildings were made instead. This put huge pressure for

its inhabitants and new dynamics began to emerge. “ “We want the image of the neighbourhood to remain and as neighbours we will fight and organize ourselves to protect our beloved home,” says Elena Falconí, Chairwoman of the neighbourhood. She is well-recognised because there is no resident who hasn’t required her services as a nurse. Falconí added that the locals do not oppose developments, but they want the regulations specifying that it is a type 2 residential neighbourhood be respected, which implies that the buildings should not exceed four floors. An example of the tenacity of the residents of La Floresta on this issue is the postponement of the construction of a building next to the churc, achieved in 2013. Falconí said: “This church is patrimonial and the neighbours built it. Part of the convent is the cemetery where our parents, grandparents and other loved ones rest. Now they intend to raise a building by its side, but we won’t allow it.”

Dalia Dawood

Take a walk through Peckham’s Rye Lane and you’ll encounter a hodgepodge of sensations from largely Afro-Caribbean businesses. Smells of raw meat and fish from market stalls, fumes puffing out from beauty salons, flashing signs from mobile phone repair shops and knick-knacks spilling out of discount stores such as Khan’s Bargains. All are freckled along the street’s commercial skin, and its complexion is proudly mixed. Yet bulging out from this high street — the neighbourhood’s primary shopping artery — like a varicose vein, are a clot of ‘trendy’ establishments run by young, predominantly white creatives. Arts and yoga studios, cafés, pop-up fashion outlets… Peckham’s trendy Copeland Park complex is, from the outset, an innocuous example of Peckham’s cultural mix: different communities enmeshed in one 20

area. Until they clash. It’s inevitable when you consider that some businesses aren’t merely setting up shop here, they’re suffusing their white values onto the majorityethnic community (aka ethnic cleansing). Yogarise is a fitting example. The Evening Standard ran an article about a young middle-class married couple who opened a yoga studio in Bussey Building, part of Copeland Park. They expressed (gasp!) disrespectful views about the existing African communities whose alleged ‘massive ghetto blasters and screaming’ at Sunday church services were an irksome distraction during their chaturangas. The piece was edited, at the couple’s request, because it ‘created animosity locally’ — a euphemism for racial tension born of bourgeois entitlement, if ever there was one.

Another example is Vegan Jesus, a plant-based café that sounds more like a messiah-cum-meme for millennials. While its owners haven’t overtly offended anyone (though their name could cause offense among religious residents), it’s more proof of ethnic cleansing in Peckham: shops selling overpriced coffees and yoga in working-class areas drain their sanguineous, multicultural spaces. These businesses tie a tourniquet of middle-class ideals around Peckham’s established ethnic community that raise the newcomer clique above everyone else. They do little to reflect or blend with local needs (considering the number of chicken shops and fast-food chains on Rye Lane alone, ‘vegan’ is probably a dirty word in Peckham). Instead they transfuse a set of seemingly ‘superior’ values that infect the cultural bloodstream. Just look at rising house prices as proof. Unsurprisingly, as they rise fewer people can afford to buy, leading to the pricing-out of a large percentage of ethnic-minority residents. As the new clique moves in, local businesses are pushed out and replaced by ‘trendier’ offers: a west African butcher is now a video-game bar; an African restaurant is now a branch of the Honest Burger chain, and many others expect the same fate. The hairdressers and nail salons opposite Peckham Rye station will soon be uprooted and moved to a less visible back road as they make way for Southwark Council’s plans to refurbish the station.

Of course, this isn’t to suggest that kale lattes and cat cows are synonymous with racial superiority. Undoubtedly, the arrival of the artsy set has injected a creative dynamism to the area, despite also contributing to its rapid cultural change. Peckham Levels is the latest example. Opened in late 2017, the underused multistorey car park on Rye Lane is a creative hub of workspaces for local artists and small businesses, sharing the space with arts organisation Bold Tendencies and rooftop hangout Frank’s Cafe. It’s the product of a petition launched by resident-led group Peckham Vision to save the site from Southwark Council’s redevelopment plans (they wanted to build a tower block with 83 new flats), after the group applied for the space to be recognised as an Asset of Community Value. While it still arguably smacks of a hipster haven, the project is evidence that all is not lost in the struggle for social cohesion in Peckham. It’s gone ahead without displacing, disrespecting or disadvantaging lowerincome, largely ethnic-minority communities, for whom home shouldn’t feel exclusionary, or their way of life inferior. Or their choice of hot beverage covered in ‘unicorn glitter’. Love thy neighbour, Jesus Christ famously told his followers. But if your new neighbours are Vegan Jesus and his oat latte-loving disciples, even devout churchgoers won’t need to book a yoga class to consider that a bit of a stretch. 21

Tay Soo Sien

In the roaring 20s, rich tycoons would keep their mistresses here, but it is less known for its colourful, clandestine past than it is now for being a food lover’s paradise and one of the ‘hippest’ districts in the city state. As the oldest public housing neighborhood in central Singapore, this cluster of rare, art-deco style apartment blocks, known as Tiong Bahru, is a curious mix of a famous ‘wet market’ – typically selling fresh meat and produce – back lane re-upholstering shops and Scandinavian style cafes. The enclave is a visual treat for the instagram-honed eye scouting for a past Singapore left behind too quickly. Here, you are just as likely to see wizened folks enjoying a savoury breakfast of dumpling noodles as you are to catch straw hat-toting tourists who flock to the market to try out the celebrated street food. At a glance, the past and the present, the old and the new, mingle as effortlessly as the expatriates and the locals. Or so it seems. On the surface, Tiong Bahru, which was built in the 1920s, appears to embrace change with little resistance. Alongside the 22

cacophony of a typical asian wet market offering rainbow sprays of orchids and exotic blooms near freshly-slaughtered chickens, you will discover pricey gourmet coffee, a secretive little French book store and yoga studios visited by Lululemon-clad lasses. Ex-resident and bank executive Rachel Ng, 35, witnessed rapid changes in this coveted neighbourhood. In late 2017, she sold her 950 sq ft apartment, commanding a hefty 15 to 20% financial gain in just five years. Why did she move out when Tiong Bahru is becoming a property boomtown offering so much to younger Singaporeans like her? “It’s cheaper to live elsewhere – food is cheaper the services are cheaper.”

for businesses, especially the food outlets, have been high. On average, they change every two to three years. Nearby, Poh Lin Chan, who has lived in the area for more than 30 years, describes the state of things. “ These ‘ang mohs’ [i.e. white people] – every weekend there are parties. They make a lot of noise until 11.30pm, my neighbour here especially.” She points to the apartment directly opposite hers and added: “Sometimes… close the windows la. I tell myself aiya, just close the window la. Last time I would have called the police.”

Rachel moved to Redhill, which is less than two miles away but has a more affordable wet market, an NTUC Supermarket (equivalent to Sainsbury’s) and even more importantly, a clinic. “I miss the neighborhood but I’m annoyed that there’s too much hipster stuff – I’m upset that so many Chinese local stores became cafes and I don’t even frequent all these cafes.” Many residents and pioneer business-owners of Tiong Bahru feel an acute sense of displacement and loss typical of gentrification in big cities. Mr Kee Yeo, the proud owner of Tiong Bahru Yong Tau Hu, a “kopi-tiam” or local coffee shop on Eng Hoon Street (opposite the unmissable Monkey God Temple) tells me that the turnover

Many of Chan’s neighbours have sold and moved out of their apartments to “capitalise” on the unexpected rise in property prices within the vicinity. How does she feel about it and why doesn’t she do the same? “Do we have a choice?” For her apartment, Chan paid S$131,000 (£73,000). That was 30 years ago. Her neighbours sold their flats for an average of just under S$900,000 (£500,000) each. She adds: “But now if I sell it and I want to buy another house, it also cost me S$900,000! So where do I make money? Everybody go, ‘Oh you have a house, you made money!’ Where do I make money?” Referring to her former neighbours, she gesticulates, “Here, my right and left… left! That’s why when it’s Chinese New Year, you don’t see people’s family visiting. They’re all gone.” Then Chan looks at me with pursed lips and with resignation, says: “The flavor is gone.” 23

Sofia Rubio

There are so many curious stories about some classic recipes, like the invention of the chocolate chip cookie. The creator allegedly was out of cocoa and relied on chunks of chocolate hoping that it would melt in the oven but it created a marvellous recipe that still warms the heart of millions of people. Perhaps this happy accident was in the mind of the person who decided to create Kale and Quinoa popcorn, obviously thinking that these ingredients would be better than butter or caramel.

It has been a few years since ‘trendy’ recipes, snacks and restaurants started popping up all over the world. In an effort to differentiate themselves from chain restaurants and massive food providers, hipsters have started a gentrification of food. Every day they come up with something new that no one asked for. Think about the last time you looked at a burger and wished it had avocado buns instead of bread. Maybe you thought your coffee was too black and decided it would look better with a selfie of you in it, made of foam… or if you added glitter to it. It might sound like a joke, but it turns out these are some menu specialties in so-called ‘trendy’ restaurants. Glitter is now part of recipe book as cupcakes, lattes, gravy and more are being sprinkled with it; it has become so popular that Starbucks created a Unicorn latte and Palm Trees Vault, a coffee shop in Hackney, now lets you glitter any hot beverage. Hipsters don’t limit themselves to only one ‘unique’ item, they have since created many eateries devoted to the most baffling creations. Take Avobar for example. This restaurant, soon to open in Covent Garden, has most of its dishes based on avocados. From avo hotcakes, avocado smoothie bowl, avocado gummies and even avocado chocolate twix bars. The excessive use of this fruit can only resemble the previous craze that

happened with kale, when this cabbage was used to make chips, noodles, cocktails, pizza dough and, maybe the worst combination of them all: soda. And it’s not just about rediscovering fruits and vegetables, hipsters have decided that plates are a bit too conventional and started storming up ideas of how to make dining experiences a challenge. Shoes, shovels, mason jars, cutting boards, trophies, mini fryers and toys, to name a few, have been used to replace dishes. The Internet took notice, and a Twitter campaign against serving food on gimmicky dishes called We Want Plates started gathering the most bizarre objects used to serve food. There’s a reason why ‘traditional’ table setting uses china for plates and not wood. Turns out all those chopping boards are prone to bacteria, which can cause stomach infections and food poisoning. Now, several bars are serving alcoholic drinks in copper mugs. It might look really cool in your Instagram pics but when copper comes in contact with acidic foods like lime or lemon in your cocktails, they react with the metal could give you copper poisoning.

As if it weren’t enough to put glitter where no one asked for it, make restaurants entirely based on a fruit and find new ways to give you food poisoning, hipsters are also changing venues. Copper mugs and wood chopping boards are not the most unsanitary ways for you to dine… you can also visit The Attendant in Fitzrovia, a coffee bar that functions in a 19th century Victorian Toilet. Perhaps you are more a “I need a cat roaming around my food” person and would enjoy Lady Dinah’s Cat Emporium. Why not have afternoon tea in a double-decker bus taking you on a tour of London? If you miss the days when you couldn’t have a nice meal in your flat because you had to beat rush hour on the Tube, relieve those days at Basement Gallery and have your meal in an old Underground train. The kitchen is a place where many happy accidents have revolutionised dishes. These foods, restaurants and venues are intentional cuisine murderers that, for me, leave a sour taste. Hipsters should stop doing what they do best: killing traditions. 25

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Dalia Dawood

“LCC, SHAME ON YOU!” Chants from the army of locals, students and activists outside London College of Communication a few weeks ago boomed across Elephant and Caastle roundabout. They came to protest plans to redevelop the Shopping Centre across the road. I am a student here; by default, I’m complicit in the potential ‘forcing out’ of many residents and businesses who depend on the shopping centre for their livelihoods. In its place, along with proposed new swanky housing by property developer Delancey will be a new, equally swanky, cuttingedge UAL building.

I feel guilty. You may think it’s not about me or the other 4,500 LCC students – but we are part of the change, and although I’m on the protesters’ side I’m conscious of being a member of an academic institution that is willing to impact the community it’s been part of for more than 50 years. Has London’s seemingly endless regeneration done enough damage when it’s followed a pattern of social cleansing? Too many times local people, many of whom are from workingclass and ethnic minority backgrounds, have been priced out of their homes when a new development has barged its way into their neighbourhood. Being a group of LCC students, it wasn’t lost on the Oppose team that gentrification

was happening on our doorstep; it’s one of the reasons why we set up this zine. As our name suggests, we’re against these changes – and many of those who stood chanting outside the uni agree. They shouted loud enough to win an important victory: Southwark Council’s planning committee deferred the planning application earlier this month. Central Saint Martins student Amber Gonebi was one of the protestors. Brandishing a sign that says, ‘UAL are complicit in this social cleansing and gentrification’, she told me why she opposes LCC’s plans: “We shouldn’t affect local communities in a negative way, especially as an arts university that prides itself on producing influential people. We need to own up to what we’re doing and to know what our university is representing.”

Amber isn’t the only UAL student contesting the development. Groups have camped in the college entrance, plastered up protest signs and joined marches. They want to know where LCC stands. I asked Natalie Brett, head of the college, for some answers. She said: “I’ve worked in Southwark for nearly a decade […] and I feel a strong personal connection to this area. LCC is an integral part of the Elephant and Castle community, providing benefits educationally, economically, culturally and socially. “We have educated generations of people from Southwark [and] we engage a high number of local people and communities through our diverse public programme. It’s for these reasons I want us to stay. “As a world-leader in creative communications education, we need to offer world-class facilities. The financial cost of running an old and inefficient site is an ineffective use of funds. Staying in our existing building in its current form isn’t an

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option. If the plans are rejected, we will be considering our options […] and we may be forced to leave Elephant & Castle.” Her points are valid, but surely there are better ways to achieve these plans without having such a detrimental impact on local people? The war rages on. While protesters have managed to pause the application, developer Delancey is putting up a fight. At the time of going to press, they had revised their offer to include ’74 Social Rent housing units’ and

converting ‘a further 42 housing units from London Living Rent to Social Rent’. It’s back to the waiting game to see whether the plans go ahead. In the meantime, I hope LCC doesn’t forget that what it claims to stand for is inclusive; art is for everyone and its pursuit shouldn’t marginalise or push anyone out. As the blurb on the college website reads: ‘We are for the curious, the brave and the committed: those who want to transform themselves and the world around them’.

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I slept quite well last night. My 100% cotton Urban Outfitters bed sheets seemed to have served me well. £120 well spent I’d say. I slept soundly throughout most of the night, except for when a stream of red and blue lights invaded my bedroom, waking me up to an orchestra of police sirens. I rose from my mattress and crossed my dark bedroom (only lit by battery powered fairy lights) to look down onto the gloomy streets of Peckham below me. Another police chase disturbing my sleep. I do wish the locals would try to keep good law and order . I (mum and dad) , pay enough rent for this one room flat above Sam’s Chicken shop for me to sleep soundly throughout the night . I mean, I had a busy day today. I rode my 1940s style vintage bicycle all the way down to Brick Lane to hand out flyers outside Blitz, and one must stay vigilant to avoid getting hit by a car. The drivers around here have no respect! I mean, if I want to swerve into the middle of the road without any warning then I have every right to, no? This bike was expensive and if I want to ride it like a selfish prick and piss off angry commuters then, by gosh, I’ll do it! I’m sorry diary. Reminiscing about my nights’ sleep seemed to have put me in a bad mood. But I’m at my favourite independent coffee shop. It’s a large shipping container plonked in the middle of Shoreditch High Street. The site used to house a green grocers run by a local family. Rumour has it, they lived here for four generations and the great-great grandad set it up when he migrated here from somewhere or another. Apparently, everyone loved the family and they were a huge part of the community here, but then rent prices went up and they inevitably couldn’t afford to live here anymore (especially when immigration found out and had a field day). I don’t know what happened to them. It’s quite sad when you think about it. Oh, what’s that? My soy avolatte is ready! It’s best not to reminisce too much about things you can’t change. I mean, everything happens for a reason. Now, I get to stand in a shipping container every morning and drink £13 lattes while listening to a bunch of white, 30-something-year-olds originally from Berkshire talk about how Jeremy Corbyn is the best thing to happen to them since the reintroduction of the typewriter. I do love this coffee shop. They play cool vinyls on their Crosley and some of their vinyls are even on sale for £30! I must admit though, I was rather sad when I purchased the vinyl of a 1980s synth band (whom I’d never heard of) and then saw that same vinyl on sale for 99p in a rundown charity shop located in a place my friends and I call, ‘the dark side’ of town. But as I said diary, it’s no good replaying things in your mind you can’t change. I’m sure mine is MUCH better quality anyway. Wow, this coffee is really waking me up. You see diary, I’m trying a new type of coffee today. I saw it on Instagram and thought, “I must try this so I can take a picture of it and show it to my 25 followers.” It’s called an avolatte. It’s a normal latter, with soy milk of course, but it’s served in an avocado skin. The bearded man at the counter told me the goodness from the avocado infuses into the coffee, making my hot drink healthier and it’s good for the environment too because it saves on plastic waste! Gosh, I love saving the planet! I mean everyone must do their bit, right? That’s why all my clothes are made of hemp, except for my real leather Dr Martens, but shoes don’t count.. I feel so much better wearing my eco-friendly clothes. £80 for a tote bag is definitely worth the price if it’s helping save the planet. The bag’s label says it’s mass produced in Indonesia, which is lovely. I’m sure all those Indonesians are really happy, helping to save the planet too ! Ah, diary. It’s been lovely talking to you. Sometimes, I feel you’re the only one who understands me. It must be your hemp writing32 paper. Anyway, I must dash! Speak to you tomorrow, Love from, your local hipster x

Antigoni Pitta Cafés are often one of the first things that come up in conversation as the harbingers of gentrification. The image of the ‘hipster café’ popping up where it doesn’t belong is now embedded in the narrative of living in a big city, but in smaller places like Nicosia, Cyprus, things are more complicated than that. Gentrification, both as a term and as a concept, does not really exist, or at least not in the same way it would in a metropolis like London. In a city so small and a country so tiny, trends spread like wildfire – and coffee shops are still in the discourse, only in a slightly different way. Simply put, going for a coffee in Cyprus goes way beyond simply grabbing a beverage. The island has a massive coffee culture, one many argue it owes to the influence of its various settlers over the centuries and particularly the Ottomans, who popularised the type of coffee consumed across the Mediterranean, but known in the country as kipriakos (‘Cypriot’). Since the turn of the century the kafenio, the coffee shop, was the beating heart of the community of every village, a place where men would congregate to catch up on the news, socialise, play cards and

tavli (backgammon) and even discuss politics. Nowadays, people still drink coffee – and lots of it. Cafés are everywhere, in every commercial pocket of Nicosia and especially the centre. Since the opening of the country’s first Starbucks in 2003, countless other chain coffee shops have popped up all over town – I counted seven in my neighbourhood alone – popularising espressobased drinks and encouraging the already laissez-faire attitudes of many Cypriots. This is probably the closest we’ve come to gentrification being relevant as a concept. The city of Nicosia, once confined within Venetianbuilt walls, has expanded dramatically over the last century, with the older parts of the city being left behind for other residential areas, especially after the Turkish invasion of 1974 that left the city divided in half. Sitting on what is known as the Green Line, on one of the checkpoints demarcating the UN-patrolled buffer zone that exists between occupied and unoccupied Nicosia is Haratsi, an establishment that has been serving coffee since 1933. Originally a traditional kafenio, it was passed down to current manager Stavros Lambrakis, who in turn made minimal

changes to the menu and the décor. In the summer, people gather under the old grapevine to drink traditional coffee and frappé (a type of ice coffee made with instant Nescafe, popular in Greece and Cyprus), and in the winter soup is warmed on the woodburning stove inside. The old regulars mix with the younger, artier crowd the place attracts, and Lambrakis, a poet, makes a point to talk to each of his customers, often seen switching from table to table to join people’s conversations. Haratsi belongs to a new creed of café that only started appearing in the city in the past decade or so to try to reclaim the idea of the social space within the context of the coffee shop. All over town, one can find spaces that merge the traditional kafenio philosophy with contemporary tastes, staying respectful towards tradition but giving it a modern update. These places are becoming more and more popular because they offer an experience far removed from the homogenised one offered

by coffee chains. Just a few streets from Haratsi is Apomero, a tiny café owned by Androula Tsianakka, who runs it with the help of her children and grandchildren. At 72, she still gets up at four every morning to bake the traditional pies and pastries available daily at the café, which attracts anyone from teenagers to octogenarians who have lived in the neighbourhood their whole lives. Tsianakka takes pride in the fact that her café forms a neutral ground for intergenerational exchange, bringing the old and the new together in more ways than one. In a sense, places like Haratsi or Apomero couldn’t really have existed anywhere else in the world. They are tailor-made for Nicosia, slowly reconciling young people with the traditional culture they have tended to push away for years. What this can teach us is that not all cafés are created equal; it’s useful to keep in mind that the definition of gentrification changes as we change locations. 35

Mohamed Alaradi

UGLY AF?

Aliaa El Sherbini

Sun, wind or rain: Brixton, home to a diverse community of South Londoners, will still be crowded to the brim. From the moment I stepped out of the Tube station, I felt the crowdedness. I made a right turn, crossing Atlantic Road under the railway bridge, where an aroma of freshly-cooked meat and spiced rice presided the entrance of Brixton Station Road, which was filled with African food stalls. The sound of what seemed to be Caribbean tunes started playing somewhere far from my vision further down the street. My senses were activated one after the other, wondering what else might pop-up from those upcoming blocks. What seemed like a wide road had little by little turned into smaller crossroad streets. The narrow streets lead to bigger ones again, some covered and some in open air, like a maze, except that you are not unhappy to be lost and you eventually find your way out. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Brixton Market. Established in the 1870s, the market has developed to include new covered arcades in the late 1920s to give more space to new traders.

Although the market is popular mostly with African-Caribbean communities to this day, over the years it has attracted a diverse community. Tina Cosinera, owner of Yum D, a Thai restaurant in the Brixton Market Row, was first to introduce Thai food to the 30 years ago. “I used to come to Brixton often as I lived nearby, and found a lot of food stalls but not any Thai so I decided to make a takeaway shop here,” Cosinera told me. Now her small shop has expanded to three different Thai restaurants around Brixton Market, plus two other restaurants in London. Brixton Market has not stayed in tact; its identity has undergone many regenerations to keep its status as a cultural hub to local diverse businesses. “It’s changed so much over the years,” according to Cosinera. “It used to be mostly only a market for groceries but now there are more vendors and different shops, and it became busier.” This change has come in many forms since the 1950s 39

with the wave of immigrants, and in 2007 when the land on which the market resides was sold to a property company that wanted to remove all the existing buildings and build a residential tower block. However, street traders and residents of the area fought for their place and won the battle of keeping the market. But for how long? Regeneration didn’t stop at the events of 2007… rents continue to increase for local vendors, making it harder for them to keep their place and inviting new, trendier vendors and businesses into the area. The streets are diverse in every sense: they’re filled with busy fruit stalls and butcher shops, fresh fish and seafood aisles, Caribbean and African food stalls and clothing stands – and much more. The cuisine runs to Jamaican,

Italian, Thai, Moroccan, Japanese, Latin American… they kept getting broader the longer I walked through the area. I noticed the more urban vibe, with walls of freshly-painted graffiti and neon-signed bars, small restaurants with matt colored exteriors and shiny polished floors next to graffiti that seemed to have been engraved in the walls since forever. I enjoy eating from stalls as I walk around and chatting to vendors while surrounded by Caribbean music just as much as I enjoy having a drink at a neon-signed trendy bar. It’s great to have both options close to each other. However, it is a delicate balance between what it once used to be and what it is becoming now. A delicate balance that must be sustained in the heart of vibrant Brixton, to keep its ambiance and existing residents.

Aliaa El Sherbini

When big changes happen to people, we want to see it on our screens. No, I do not mean on the news channels, but in sitcoms, dramas, web-series and movies. Yet another phenomenon, gentrification has taken over the plotlines of even our TV shows. Here are five that will help you better understand gentrification – and have a few laughs…

She’s Gotta Have It

A reboot of Spike Lee’s 1986 film of the same name, but set in ab energetic 2017 filled with art, sex, music, big green G’s on buildings, rebellious acts, town meetings against noise and graffiti, increasing high rental costs, and people struggling to keep their place in their neighborhoods. The Brooklyn-based show revolves around a young artist, free spirited polyamorous Nola Darling in the neighborhood of Fort Greene, and it’s added an extra cause to fight for this time around: gentrification. One episode is even straight up named “#ChangeGonCome (GENTRIFICATION)”.

Two Broke Girls

You might not see this right away, but main characters Max Black and Caroline Channing have been making fun of hipsters since the very first episode. As the arrows of the sitcom do not solely aim at the plot of gentrification, it does touch base with the changing dynamics of class and social tensions in the ‘trendy’ area of Williamsburgh. Max and Caroline are two struggling waitresses trying to make enough money to set-up their own cupcake business in a working class area – it can’t get more hipster-y than that.

Gente-fied

Web series’ seemed to be doing quite well in 2017. Gente-fied presents the realness of gentrification in a Latino community and its consequences, all while poking fun at the new trends and stereotypes. The show has a bilingual (English and Spanish), all Latino cast and is only seven episodes long and takes us into the settings of life in Boyle Heights, originally a haven for diverse communities like Eastern Europeans and Latinos who are now being surrounded by smoothie shops, expensive rents and people who want to eat their ‘authentic’ nachos.

Shameless

You can always count on the Gallagher family to make you laugh, all while presenting real life issues. The plot of this eight-seasonstrong show has been progressing with our current societal changes. Based in the south side of Chicago, Frank Gallagher and his six children are witnessing the transformation of their neighborhood from the ‘American dream’ suburb to one with Starbucks on every corner, smoothie shops, bars filled with people who want to feel the ‘hood’ vibe of the South side, and the biggest evil of all: very expensive rent. So, which side will each Gallagher choose on the gentrification spectrum now that they have become active members of society? Watch and find out!

The North Pole

This seven-episode web series tackles the issues of global warming and gentrification in a satirical way, presenting three best friends born and bred in North Oakland, California, trying to keep their place in their hometown. In true gentrified fashion, the mainly African and Latino community there has witnessed the appearance of hipsters, vegan farmers with superiority complex, yoga instructors and greedy landlords making their lives difficult to sustain. One of the characters asks what we all want to know: “The question with all of these newcomers is, are they a welcome addition to the local environment, or an invasive species?” 43

Georgia Panagi

So we all know the story of gentrification: Upper-middle class people move in, and everyone else moves out.

sitting on them, and usually cause harm to whatever animals land on them, leaving many hobbling woodland creatures with only one usable leg.

But to every realistic person out there against it, gentrification is more than a few fancy restaurants popping up and the rent being too damn high. Do you ever wonder what the next thing to become gentrified is? How about park benches, empty spaces on the sidewalk and even trees? Metal spikes have become just another way for the rich and privileged to scare away not only people, but birds. Neighborhoods all over England are planting spikes in particular places, in order to discourage anything that would ruin the image that upper-middle class gentrifiers want to uphold. A town in Bristol decided to cover all tree branches in the area with spikes, to prevent birds from sitting on them because residents were complaining about the amount of bird poop on their nice cars. These spikes are normally on the sides of buildings to prevent pigeons from 44

Fortunately, many residents in the spike-riddled towns have actually been fighting back, calling on their local council to help remove them. Recently in London, spikes have popped all over parks and common havens for the homeless citizens of London. Instead of finding a solution, or a safe spot for the thousands of people who sleep rough on the streets, councils in London would rather spend their budgets on installing ‘anti-homeless’ spikes under any type of shaded area, to discourage weary sleepers from setting up camp. This type of hostility is referred to as ‘defensive architecture’. Thankfully, many activists groups and concerned neighbours in towns that are littered with these metal nuisances have expressed their disapproval. Some protests have even gotten spikes removed. One group laid mattresses on the spikes, and even set up shelves filled with books about the housing crisis, inequality and gentrification.

Sofia Rubio

It’s the ‘midas touch’ that none of these places asked for. Hipsters have been causing economic havoc everywhere they go – Latin America included. Here’s a list of the most picturesque neighbourhoods across cities in South America ‘ruined’ by gentrification

Chapinero, Bogotá – Colombia What it was: Farmers started to move into this place as it was close enough to Bogotá, but they could still harvest and work in brick factories. Later on, it was inhabited by people who were running away from violent political movements. It was a very calm and green area that was soon noticed by others and wealthy families started to move in.

What happened: Chapinero rapidly became a popular area for nightlife since it was filled with dining and dancing spots. It was also the first LGBT+ community in Latin America, as most of its population is gay, which is really cool but it also took a toll on the prices in the area.

family, as it was close enough to the center of the city but not too far away to make it a long commute. What happened:

Miraflores, Lima – Perú What it was: A residential area that was filled with families after the place was devastated by the Chilean war. Several Peruvians took it as the perfect place to raise a 46

The arrival of upstate restaurants brought new buildings to the area, as well as middle-class social groups that made the place twice as expensive to live in. With those came high-concept art galleries, boutique offices and several other businesses that are eroding the traditional side of Miraflores.

Yungay, Santiago de Chile – Chile What it was: Mainly inhabited by people who wished to enlist their kids into the army. Once the military school was moved from Yungay, so were their residents. The 1985 earthquake that destroyed most of the buildings in the area and the low-maintenance in the zone might have had some impact in its population. Probably.

two big tower blocks that attracted a large population and saved it from becoming a ghost town. Then there was another earthquake in 2010 that made the inhabitants aware that they would never find another place to live, so local artists covered it in graffiti, made the place a national monument and called it a day.

What happened: In the 1990s, it turns out that the mayor of Chile, Jaime Ravinet, made

became obsolete. They later made Puerto Nuevo (new dock), and the government opted to turn Puerto Madero into a neighbourhood. What happened: The local government enlisted foreigner help in order to ‘save’ Puerto Madero. International investment turned the place into a very expensive area filled with houses, lofts, offices, private universities and luxurious hotels. By the end of the 1990s, the place was packed with young aspiring artists and old rich people. As of right now, it’s the most expensive place to live in Buenos Aires.

Puerto Madero, Buenos Aires – Argentina What it was: Literally the port where Argentinian ships would dock. It was all good until ships became to big to navigate through the river, so they stopped coming in and the dock

How do you like to drink your coffee?

Describe your sense of style? 1. “I wore it before it was cool” 2. “I don’t know what it is but I’m copying it”

1. Out of a rusty beaker 2. From a watering can 3. From a half-chopped avocado covered in unicorn glitter 4. From a poisonous copper mug

What is your favorite Whole Foods snack?

3. “It’s vintage! I bought it from Urban Outfitters” 4. “Instagram made it this way”

What’s a book that changed your life? 1. Milk + Honey by Rupi Kaur 2. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

1. £7 asparagus water

3. On The Road by Jack Kerouac

2. A whole ostrich egg

4. All books change my life. They make my coffee table more Insta-worthy.

3. A 30 pound durian fruit 4. A freshly potted succulent plant

Why are you doing this quiz in the first place? 1. I self-define as a hipster 2. I am definitely NOT a hipster 3. I self define as a hipster ironically 4. Everything in my life is ironic

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Just another set of laws telling you how to be hipster too

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10

Thou shalt buy all your homewares exclusively from Anthropologie and charity shops Thou shalt not eat an avocado before you Instagram it Thou shalt arrange your books in colour, because you will never read them anyway Thou shalt not shave your beard. Like, ever Thou shalt support small local businesses, but only if theyÂŠre owned by people who look like you Thou shalt not be tolerant to minorities even though you moved to their neighbourhood Thou shalt participate in vintage bicycle culture Thou shalt buy organic produce from Whole Foods Thou shalt avoid gluten even if you are not allergic Thou shalt never admit you are responsible for gentrification

Contributors Aliaa El Sherbini Antigoni Pitta Beatrice Forzan Georgia Panagi Jessica Heron-Langton Johanna Pisco Olamide Akindele Sofia Rubio Tay Soo Sien

Editorial and Design Dalia Dawood Alfieyah Abdullah @streets.of.strangers

Mohamed Alaradi @alaradiart

In collaboration with Nurhaziqah Ismail @ heyzeeqa

@oppose.magazine @_opposemagz