Green Lanes 2002

Here's a brief story about the event and tales of some locals from the area from The Guardian, Friday January 21 2005.

'Two years ago, we were more isolated. Everyone was scared' - Turks in Green Lanes

The 29 bus route tells the story of Turkish London. From Trafalgar Square, it rolls up past grimy Camden, where the first Turkish Cypriots opened small businesses in the 1950s. On through Islington to the Seven Sisters Road, clipping Stoke Newington, where the prosperous Turkish families were quick to set up shop.

Then into Haringey, swinging hard left on to the middle section of Green Lanes. Few parts of the city have been so absolutely colonised as Green Lanes, one of the longest roads in London. At its centre is the confusingly named Harringay district, where the Grand Parade section of the street has been revivified by its settlers. Officially, out of 200,000-250,000 in London, there are 30,000-40,000 Turkish-speaking people in Haringey. All but a few shops are conspicuously Turkish, and all bar none are doing brisk business on a wet Saturday afternoon.

This street is often mentioned as a symbol of how warring communities - originally Turkish and Greek Cypriots - can forget their grievances and relearn to be neighbours. The symbol remains, but since most of the Greeks moved up the road to Palmers Green, the antagonists have been recast as Turks and Kurds. There are now about 30,000 Kurds in London, and most businesses on this stretch are in fact Kurdish-owned. Today, despite the rain, the mood is cheerful; everyone says that relations are good between the communities. But then they lower their eyes to admit that, "two years ago", things weren't so good.

Shortly after 4pm on November 9 2002, something like a war broke out on this stretch of road. After an altercation in a social club, more than 40 Turkish and Kurdish men fought a running battle with sticks, knives and guns. Alisan Dogan, an innocent 43-year-old cleaner, was killed. It was not the first horror to be perpetrated by Harringay's heroin gangs - part of a vast international business reputedly connected to Kurdish separatists in southeastern Turkey - but it shook the community. A friendly and thriving neighbourhood became infamous in an afternoon.

"Everyone was scared," says Nilgun Canver, a local councillor and chair of the Green Lanes Strategy Group. She sips at her coffee in a gleaming cafe just yards from where Dogan was killed. "They did not know what was going on. They didn't know what these people were about, and because it involved one or two shop-owners as well, people began to think, 'Oh, are we surrounded by criminals here?'"

Canver is Turkish - neither Cypriot nor Kurdish. She arrived as a student in the 1970s, and has the unmistakable bustle of a woman who gets things done. Her first response, two years ago, was to keep Turks and Kurds talking to each other, "so they could understand they were not all criminals". The effect, ironically, seems to have been positive. "Two years on, we are at a different point, definitely. Two years ago, we were more isolated." This morning, Canver hosted the first combined event for Haringey's three Turkish-speaking groups. It seemed to go well.

A little north of our cafe, on the other side of the road, is a Green Lanes institution, Yasar Halim - a Turkish grocers and bakers known all over the city. It was opened in 1981 by Mr Halim, a Turkish Cypriot, who felt that no one was selling decent food like he used to get back home. It is very busy, and all the staff - Turks and Greeks - seem to be having a great time.

The manager is a Turkish woman, Birsen Tuna. Within a minute of sitting down in her office, she is talking about "that day". Her tone is one of relief. "Now they have cleared it up," she says, producing an invitation to one of Canver's meetings. "It really affected our business, last year especially. But everything's safe now." The proof is clamouring for pide (Turkish pizza) and baklava outside.

Tuna is toying with the idea of going to live in Cyprus one day, but this is not Mr Halim's plan. "I've never said I'll go back to live in Cyprus in my life. I never think about that," he says, passionately. Why did he come to London? "One day my father was upset, we fought and I left," he says. It sounds like a very bare synopsis. And does he like it here? "Yes." His voice softens in an instant. "I like it here."

Last stop on the No 29 is Wood Green - a shopping centre where nothing is green or wooden. But it is home to the Kurdishowned Wood Green Kebab Centre. Idyllic rural scenes cover the walls, evidence of an idealistic streak among the stateless Kurds. The boss, Bayram Al, says he gave up politics when he left Turkey, although he still marches in London for Kurdish rights. A waiter, Irfan Tek, is more laid-back about his people's cause. He has other problems.

Tek arrived in London alone, and a week later his daughter, Ozlem, was born. She is now 12 and lives with his parents in Turkey, but Tek has never met her. He works up to 11 hours a day, six days a week, and sends most of his money home. He phones Ozlem every week. For now, he has to make do with pictures. "People tell me, 'Your daughter is so gorgeous, so beautiful.' She has my picture, she'll recognise me. I'll hug her, I'll kiss her - how many times, I don't know. I'm going to feel like Superman."