Long Live Southbank
In 2013 a bunch of "scruffy skateboarders" challenged the might of the cultural elite of London. At first, few took much notice, but over the next 18 months, the skateboarders unleashed the power of local support with dramatic effect.
"Someone punched me in the face yesterday; that's why I have such a fat lip." That was the first thing Henry Edwards-Wood told me when we met outside London Bridge tube station on the banks of the River Thames. Henry was one of the best-known faces of the "Long Live Southbank" (LLSB) campaign of 2013/14 to save the skatepark at Southbank Centre, and I had arranged to speak with him about his experiences within the skateboarding community.
The LLSB movement was a grassroots organisation founded in response to plans by the Southbank Centre to develop the space below the centre for retail and other commercial purposes. For decades, the Southbank Centre had been seen as the cultural hub of London, with thousands of music, dance, and literary works performed every year. But throughout that time, skateboarders had used the open space below the centre as the unofficial headquarters of British skateboarding.
The announcement that the space was to be turned into retail units was met with fierce resistance by those who viewed it as their cultural home. "Skateboarding was an expression of the streets," Henry told me, "and this is where we all came to perform."
At first, very few paid attention to a group of skateboarders attempting to challenge such a significant building development. To the establishment of London, the skateboarders were little more than a nuisance, a blight on the sophistication of the famous Southbank Centre. And besides, this was a prime location on the banks of the River Thames with potentially huge commercial value. Who did these kids think they were to get in the way of such important plans?
But the skateboarders saw themselves as more than a bunch of kids with skateboards; they represented a subculture of London which had as much of a contribution to make to the creative fabric of the city as their more highbrow neighbours.
"We were fighting for our right to express ourselves in our own way, " said Henry as we walked along the pathway lining the river. "For us, it was about community; for them, it was about money. That was the difference."
Enlisting the power of social media, a medium the skateboarders were a lot more proficient with than their more establishment adversaries, LLSB began encouraging the local community to submit letters of objection to the development plans. It was a call to action which elicited responses from hundreds of thousands of local people, all keen to show their support for the skateboarding community.
Soon, organisations that had initially favoured the plans to commercialise the space began having second thoughts. Perhaps most significantly, the Mayor of London came out in support of the skateboarders. This intervention was critical, as the Mayor had the power to veto any planning applications in London. With momentum building and the public overwhelmingly backing the skateboarders, the Southbank Centre had no choice but withdraw its planning application and begin speaking with the community. Shortly after, the Southbank Centre and LLSB reached an agreement to guarantee the long-term future of the skatepark. That bunch of "scruffy skateboarders" had taken on the might of the establishment and won!
When asked about his role in the campaign, Henry explained that from the start, LLSB was an organic movement born out of a common goal: to save their skatepark. As an experienced filmmaker, both in front and behind the camera, he became the organisation's public face, but he was no more in charge than anyone else. LLSB was an autonomous movement led by principle rather than committee. For Henry, that was what made LLSB so special.
Today, the skatepark under the Southbank Centre has gained a cultural status in its own right. With its future secure, skaters from all over the UK and beyond gather each day to share their culture with one another and the public who pass by.
Over time, the Long Live Southbank movement has faded into obscurity. The website has disappeared, and the social media accounts haven't been active in years. And yet, the story of how it came to be has as much relevance as ever. It teaches that like-minded individuals can affect change, even when opposed by powerful authorities; we can each make a difference if we choose to stand up and voice an opinion. "I never doubted we would win," Henry told me as we arrived back at the tube station, ready to go our own way, "I'm just amazed at how long it took us."
And with that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd. I never did discover why he was punched in the face.
