Airports quiet as the Olympics keeps visitors away

200,000 fewer people flew into London in July than last year.

The thought of welcoming an influx of 300,000 or so visitors made even the least cynical Londoner wretch in anticipation. While optimists reveled in the thought of subletting their flats to American tourists, others slowly got used to the idea that tubes, trains, and pavements would be teeming with people who walk far too slowly.

And the London pace did slow. But not for the expected reasons. Statistics released by BAA (the company that owns most British airports) show that 4.1 per cent fewer passengers year-on-year made their way to Great Britain this July. Although Heathrow welcomed a record-breaking 236,955 passengers on the first day of the Games, there were roughly 200,000 less passengers in July 2012 relative to 2011. In particular, the airport noted a 6.6 per cent annual decrease in European traffic, even as North Atlantic traffic remained virtually unchanged. Stansted, Glasgow and Southampton experienced similar trends.

BAA’s statistics confirm anecdotal reports of London as a "ghost town". According to the Huffington Post, the city’s main attractions drew less crowds than before:

Bernard Donoghue, chief executive of the Association of Leading Visitor Attractions, which represents venues ranging from London Zoo to St Paul's Cathedral, said visitor numbers were down by between 30% and 35%.

Donoghue argues that the reason for the drop is two-fold. Firstly, Londoners – obeying Mayor Boris – avoided the prophesied anarchy that would clot circulation within the capital. Secondly, non-Olympic foreign visitors were likely put off by fears of hotel overcrowding and general pandemonium.

In short, not only were there less visitors, but those that braved London went to Wimbledon rather than Wicked.

However, reports of record-breaking public transportation use somewhat contradict the aforementioned claims. On the 3rd of August, the Mayor announced that a record 4.4 million passengers used the Underground in one day. TFL further refuted claims of empty theatres with the fact that the West End’s stations saw a passenger increase of 27 per cent relative to 2011 on the 3rd of August. Moreover, Boris hailed the short-term economic success of the Olympics by boasting that eight out of every ten hotel rooms were full – an occupancy rate that far exceeded that of Beijing or Sydney.

Jeremy Hunt added to this optimism by claiming that consumption has risen with the Games, quoting Visa statistics showing that:

London spend in restaurants is up nearly 20% on a year ago, nightclub spending is up 24%, and spending on theatre and other tickets has doubled.

While it is too early to gauge whether Boris and Hunt have cherry-picked statistics (anecdotes of small shop owners would certainly support this), it remains less clear whether the Olympics will “turbo-charge our tourism industry”. London is neither Beijing nor Syndey, and certainly doesn’t need expensive PR gimmicks. Or maybe that’s just the newly instilled pride talking.

Planes leave Heathrow, but fewer people were on them this summer. Photograph: Getty Images
ELLIE FOREMAN-PECK FOR NEW STATESMAN
Show Hide image

Notes from a crime scene: what Seymour Hersh knows

Xan Rice meets the tireless Seymour Hersh to talk My Lai, pricey coffee and Bin Laden.

It’s late on a lazy Wednesday afternoon when Seymour Hersh comes bounding down the stairs. “Let’s find somewhere to sit,” the American investigative journalist says, striding over to the café area of the hotel in Bloomsbury where we meet.

Not quiet enough, Hersh decides, and he marches into an adjoining branch of Steak & Lobster, past a startled waiter who tries to explain that the restaurant isn’t open yet. “He’ll have a coffee,” Hersh tells the man laying the tables, gesturing in my direction. When the drink arrives, he remarks that, at £4.39, it’s the most expensive coffee he has bought in some time.

“I’m older and crankier than [Bernie] Sanders,” the 79-year-old says with a smile, leaning back in his seat, his tie loose and his top button undone. Hersh’s many notable stories include the My Lai Massacre and cover-up in Vietnam, which he exposed in 1969, and the Abu Ghraib prison scandal during the Iraq War. He’s in good health, relishing his speaking tour of London to promote his new book, The Killing of Osama Bin Laden, and hearing “how wonderful I am”.

“I come home from a trip like this,” he says, “and my wife can’t stand me. She says, ‘Get away, I don’t want to talk to you because you want everybody to bow and scrape.’”

Hersh never planned to be a journalist. After he was thrown out of law school for poor grades in 1959, he heard about an opening for a police reporter at a small news agency in Chicago. “I was reasonably coherent and could walk in a straight line, so they hired me,” he explains. Hersh learned on the job, covering his beat with a zeal that did not always impress his editors, one of whom liked to address him, without fondness, as “my good, dear, energetic Mr Hersh”.

“He saw me as a bleeding heart,” Hersh says, “who cared about people ‘of the Negro persuasion’ dying.”

Half a century later, he cannot say exactly what drove him to become an investigative reporter. “What defect did I have in my life that made me want to make everyone else look bad?” he wonders. “I almost viewed myself like a public defender: my job was to be there on the scene of a crime and to write about it in such a way that the police could not have the only call.”

Later, as his range widened, Hersh came to see his role as keeping in check “the nincompoops and criminals and fools running the world”.

He had been a journalist for ten years when he received a tip-off about an army officer being court-martialled for killing civilians in Vietnam. After investigating, he broke the story of the massacre at My Lai, in which a group of US soldiers murdered at least 347 people. The work earned him a Pulitzer Prize and soon afterwards he wrote his first piece for the prestigious New Yorker magazine. After sending in a draft, he was told that it would be read by the editor, William Shawn, and that he would receive a proof copy in the mail.

“Seven days later, the envelope comes and I’m terrified,” he recalls. “It was a writer’s magazine and any change they wanted, they asked you about. On the third page, I had some cliché or figure of speech. It was circled and in
the margin Mr Shawn had written: ‘Mr Hersh. Pls use words.’ I had a one-year course, a Master’s degree in journalism, in one sentence!”

Hersh has written regularly for the New Yorker over the years, though the relationship has recently come under strain. After researching the death of Osama Bin Laden, he became convinced that the Obama administration’s account of what happened before, during and after the raid in which Bin Laden was killed was a lie. He argued that the al-Qaeda leader had been captured by Pakistani intelligence in 2006 and held in Abbottabad until the US navy Seals operation five years later, which, Hersh claimed, was conducted with Pakistan’s assistance – rather than being a daring mission into hostile territory.

The New Yorker declined to run the story, so Hersh wrote it for the London Review of Books, which published it last year. The piece was read widely but attracted criticism from some American journalists who argued that it relied too heavily on a single, unnamed source and veered dangerously in the direction of conspiracy theories. Hersh is convinced that his version is correct and makes no apologies.

“I remember saying to my wife, ‘Don’t [these journalists] have mothers that tell them what to do better?’ . . . They insisted what they knew, what they wrote, had to be the story.”

Hersh’s mistrust of the official line is undiminished. His new book also questions whether it really was the Assad regime that carried out the chemical attacks in Ghouta, Syria, in 2013. Even the culprits of the recent Paris and Brussels massacres are not beyond doubt. “I don’t think Isis had a goddam thing to do with these kids,” he says. “The truth is, I don’t have any idea. I’m just telling you, heuristically, it’s an idea I would pursue if I was still a reporter.”

There is more to tell but Hersh has another interview. “Talk to me tomorrow,” he says, running back upstairs to collect his coat. “I’ll be around. I still have a lot of energy.” 

Xan Rice is Features Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism