Notting Hill is not just for the weekend

Looking at the run-up to the Notting Hill Carnival this week, you could be forgiven for thinking that nothing very much has changed. Factions within the organising committee are at war - as usual; the police expect a massive operation - as usual; and a record crowd is expected to jam the district - as usual.

But the Carnival's coups, defections and battles reflect far more fundamental changes in the area, the black community and the political management of London.

The Carnival began as a small, informal festival, inspired and driven by events in Notting Hill and Notting Dale, which was still a notably deprived and anarchic slum area. The first scattered processions took place in the early Sixties, in the years following the Notting Hill riots and the racially motivated murder of a West Indian resident, Kelso Cochrane. Throughout the decade the Carnival became part of a culture of protest and agitation, reinforced by a coalition of organisations gathered in the district, around issues like housing and discrimination.

Equally important was the fact that the dominant migrants in Notting Hill were Trinidadians, and to the Trinidadians creating a carnival was as natural as breathing. By the late Sixties, the festival played a central part in the life of the black community in London.

At the time I lived in a black commune in Ledbury Road, set up to accommodate homeless young people, one of the network of places that black people from all over London and other parts of the country would visit during the weekend including the Mangrove restaurant, Backayard and the Metro. This Carnival tour was obligatory for anyone who wanted to test the pulse of the Afro-Caribbean community, and it was the one time you could be sure of meeting up with almost any prominent West Indian - actors such as Rudolph Walker and Norman Beaton, or politicians such as Lord Pitt, the most noted black political figure of the period.

For most of us who lived and worked in the area, this interaction was the heart of the festival. Notting Hill was the crucible within which the Carnival simmered and whatever happened during the year became part of the weekend. Drug busts, racial attacks, cuts in council spending - you name it and somebody would be using the Carnival as an arena of protest.

But the changes driven by the protests of the Caribbean migrants soon made Notting Hill a very different place. The Notting Hill housing association set out to change the area. They succeeded rather better than they intended. Between the midpoint of the Seventies and the present day, the area became gentrified and exclusive. The restaurants, clubs and houses where I hung out with my friends are now the haunts of movie stars and politicians. The festival no longer belongs to a specific community. Part of me feels nostalgic about what we've lost, part of me knows that the Carnival, like London and the rest of our lives, moves on.

IN recent years, however, the very success of the Carnival has decisively altered priorities. Its sheer size drags in the local authorities, just as its political significance and national clout compels the Mayor's office. So like it or not, the struggle for cultural ownership of the event is now driven by the self-interest of larger political forces, on whose agenda the Carnival is the electorally acceptable face of multi-culturalism, part of a network of showcases, demonstrating their sincerity and commitment to the ethnic minorities. Everyone knows that politicians have so far failed in solving the knottier problems faced by ethnic minorities - law and order, housing, discrimination in employment and public institutions.

But official patronage of the Carnival gives the public authorities a sympathetic profile, a justification for their existence and the foundation for political support in London. So this week the media quotes on Carnival probably won't come from the traditional club of Trinidadian or Notting Hill diehards. Instead, we'll be hearing from the Mayor's right-hand man and politically ambitious mouthpiece on race matters, Lee Jasper.

The instinct of the politicians is to exert rigid control. The problem is that the history and identity of the Carnival is about disorder and independence. This isn't an argument for let-it-all-hangout anarchy. It's more about accepting the structure and difference of Carnival days from everyday experience - that is, after all, what they're all about. The grass roots organisation is self supporting, fiercely independent and it won't conform to regulations simply because the Mayor or the local council makes an order.

In fact, the Carnival that we'll see this weekend is already a reflection of how much things have changed in the past two decades. The most obvious change is the fact that the group of Afro-Caribbean migrants and their descendants have outgrown the festival. The days when the Carnival was a meeting place which gathered up and expressed the deepest feelings and instincts of the black British community are long gone. We no longer need it as we did 30 years ago. It no longer represents our deepest instincts.

THE Carnival no longer represents Notting Hill either - just take a look at the movie. Ironically, all the elements for which it is famed are now history. The identity of the Carnival is changing, and its recruitment as a major element in Britain's tourist calendar offers a clue about its future standing. But it can still make a fool of the foolish. William Hague got it badly wrong when he turned up at the Carnival a few years ago for a photo opportunity, and in much the same way the present political feeding frenzy misses the point.

The challenge of the Carnival in 2002 is about something more than signing up as a patron of Caribbean tradition. It's about London government and its relationship with our social life and about the capital's capacity to manage the diversity of London's population.

The Carnival can look after itself, adapting and changing as it has over the past 40 years. As for the broader message it carries of cheerful diversity and mutual understanding: that's not about one bank holiday weekend. It's a matter for all of us, every day of the year.