Google announces 7" tablet for £159

The Nexus 7 will take Amazon head-on in the cheap tablet market

At their I/O event yesterday evening, Google announced the Nexus 7, a 7-inch Android tablet which will retail in the UK from July for £159. 

The specs for the device bode well. It will come with 8GB or 16GB of storage (there's a £40 premium for the bigger one),and have a 1280 x 800 IPS display; that's the same type of display as the new iPad, but with a little over half the resolution. It also has a 1.2-megapixel, front-facing camera, though nothing on the back, which is good because you look like an idiot if you take photos with a tablet.

As part of Google's Nexus range, the tablet will be made by a third-party – in this case, Asus – but with Google taking full control of the software. When it has attempted to do this with its Android phones, it has been a double-edged sword for the company. On the one hand, the devices, the latest of which is Samsung's Nexus Galaxy, are the undisputed reference devices for the operating system, and have unrivalled access to new versions of Android, something other companies are notoriously reticent to provide. On the other hand, the control Google exercises means that the network carriers are loath to promote them; the Nexus One, Google's first foray into the hardware market, could only be bought through its online store.

With the Nexus 7, that downside should matter less. The tablet doesn't have any mobile connectivity, so carriers don't get involved, and Google has confirmed that they may sell it through conventional retain channels, although those stores are unlikely to be able to match the near-wholesale price that is being offered on the company's online store.

Although the iPad is the undisputed market leader against which most comparisons will be made, the Nexus 7 is really a move against Amazon. The form factor and price pits it in direct competition with the Kindle Fire, Amazon's Android-based tablet launched in the US in the run-up to Christmas, although not yet available here. When it launched, the Fire was widely panned for substandard hardware and buggy software, and although the latter was belatedly fixed by updates, many believe that a desire to rush the Kindle out for a Christmas release date meant that it wasn't quite finished.

If the Nexus 7 can live up to its tech specs and deliver a polished experience, it will have a clear run at Amazon's market. And make no mistake, that is where it is heading. Google is selling the Nexus as a reading device, claiming it has "the world's largest ebook collection", while adding magazines to its app store, and by selling it at a deeply discounted price, it is clear its business model is far more Amazon than Apple: get the tablet into homes, and then profit on media sold for it. That also explains the Nexus Q, announced at the same event, which is a glowing little sphere which allows you to stream media from Android devices – and only Android devices – to TV screens.

Of course, the margins on media are razor thin. Apple runs its iTunes store at break-even, and makes the majority of its profit from hardware; Amazon rarely breaks down how well its digital divisions are doing, but they can't be that much stronger. But Google has another way to make money from the same business: data.

Unlike Apple and Amazon, it is primarily an advertising company; if it can work out how to make ads on tablets as valuable as print ads, through targeting and data-mining, it could change both industries for good.

The Nexus 7

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser