London Olympics: How have the last seven years treated Newham?

The borough of Newham has yet to see that many gains from hosting the Olympics.

The Olympics were sold, both in the bid to the IOC and in the promise to Britons and Londoners, as games of regeneration. This may have been over-ambitious from the start; Olympics which turn a profit are rare. For every Atlanta 1996 or LA 1984, games which turned a slim and not-so-slim profit, respectively, with the help of massive commercialisation, there are ones like the 1974 Montreal games, which left the city in debt to the tune of CA$1bn and took 20 years to pay off.

Nonetheless, in 2005, in that day of euphoria between winning the games on the sixth and the London bombs bringing the city crashing down to earth on the seventh, Jack Straw told the House of Commons that:

The games will transform one of the poorest and most deprived areas of London. They will create thousands of new jobs and homes. They will offer new opportunities for business in the immediate area and throughout London.

A new study, performed jointly between Elizabeth Finn Care and the LSE, aims to see whether the 2012 Games will live up to the lofty promises made about them. The research looks at the borough of Newham, within which much of the Olympic park, and the stadium itself, is situated, and although the full results won't be available until August 2013, preliminary results have been made available already.

Straw's focus on jobs and homes isn't reflected quite so well on the ground. Despite the megaproject being constructed on its doorstep, as well as the opening of Westfield Stratford City, the largest inner-city shopping centre in Western Europe, Newham was hit harder than the rest of London by the recession. Unemployment increased by 44 per cent in the borough, from an already-high base of 13.7 per cent; the city as a whole started from 8.8 per cent unemployment, which then increased by just over a fifth.

Employment may be down amongst residents, but employers are up; the borough saw an increase of 6 per cent in the number of enterprises over the period of 2008 to 2011, even while England was seeing a 4 per cent decrease.

When it comes to homes, there has been an ongoing decrease in council housing stock since 2005, from 22,992 down to 17,547 by 2012, and that offset by the increase in housing association stock, which rose by just over 2,200 to 13,065 homes. That situation at least is expected to improve markedly after the Olympics are through, when the Athlete's Village is converted 3,000 more local flats.

While more jobs and more homes are unabiguously good, there are other measures which resist an easy value judgement. Private rents in Newham remain much lower than the London average, and particularly low when compared to other Olympic boroughs. The mean monthly rent for a two bedroom property in the borough is £833, compared to £1196 in neighboring Tower Hamlets; but for the residents of Newham that news is obviously something to celebrate, even though it is assuredly an indicator of the borough's continuing poverty. Similarly, the increase in house prices in the borough has been a tenth of that London-wide; the average house is worth 3.5 per cent more than it was in 2005, but across the capital that figure is 32.5 per cent. Again, a mark of the continued problems the borough is having, but also a sign that, unlike many boroughs in the city, the children of Newham stand a chance of being able to live in the area they grew up in.

The lead researcher, LSE's Professor Anne Power CBE, agrees, saying:

We should be glad there are parts of London where prices are still modest... what we're trying to do [in improving the quality of life in Newham] is not displace people.

It is very easy to identify a borough with an geographical area – that is, after all, what they are – but improving Newham must mean more than just building homes for wealthier people to move into. The real test of the success of the Olympics will be if the people in Newham in 2005  are still there in 2013, and better off for it.

The Olympic stadium and the Orbit thing. Photograph: Getty Images

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

Photo: Getty
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The Tories play Game of Thrones while the White Walkers from Brussels advance

The whole premise of the show is a pretty good metaphor for the current state of British politics.

If you’re a fan of asking “who’s that, then?” and “is that the one who killed the other one’s brother?”, I bring great news. Game of Thrones is back for a seventh series. Its vast assortment of characters was hard enough to keep track of before half of them got makeovers. But now the new Queen Cersei has reacted to the arrival of the long winter by investing heavily in the kind of leather ball gowns sold by goth shops in Camden, and Euron Greyjoy, once a fairly bland sailor, has come back as a Halloween costume version of Pacey from Dawson’s Creek, all eyeliner and epaulettes.

The show’s reliance on British character actors is the only thing keeping me vaguely on top of the cast list: what’s Diana Rigg up to these days in Highgarden? And what about that guy who was in Downton Abbey that time, who now has the scaly arms? (Luckily, the next thing I watched after the Game of Thrones series premiere was the first two episodes of the revived Twin Peaks, which put my confusion into perspective. There, Agent Cooper spent most of his time talking to a pulsating bladder attached to one of those fake trees you get from Ikea when your landlord won’t let you have real plants.)

The day-to-day business of Game of Thrones has always been power – answering the question of who will sit on the Iron Throne, forged by Aegon the Conqueror from the swords of his defeated enemies. But its backdrop is a far bigger threat: the arrival of a winter that will last many years, and the invasion of an army of the undead.

That might seem like an unkind way to think about Michel Barnier and his fellow Brexit negotiators – inexorably marching towards us, briefing papers in hand, while Liam Fox frantically rings a bell at the entrance to the Channel Tunnel – but nonetheless, the whole premise of Game of Thrones is a pretty good metaphor for the current state of British politics.

The current internal Conservative struggle for power might be vicious but it is at least familiar to its contestants; they know which weapons to deploy, which alliances are vital, who owes them a favour. Meanwhile, the true challenge facing every one of them is too frightening to contemplate.

In 2013, this magazine celebrated the early success of the show with a cover depicting one of our terrifying painted mash-ups: “The Tory Game of Thrones.” Our casting has been strangely vindicated. George Osborne was our Jaime Lannister – once the kind of uncomplicated bastard who would push a child out of a window but now largely the purveyor of waspish remarks about other, worse characters. Our Cersei was Theresa May, who spent the early seasons of The Cameron Era in a highly visible but underwritten role. Now, she has just seized power, only to discover herself beset by enemies on all sides. (Plus, Jeremy Corbyn as the High Sparrow would quite like her to walk penitently through the streets while onlookers cry “shame!”)

Michael Gove was our Tyrion Lannister, the kind of man who would shoot his own father while the guy was on the loo (or run a rival’s leadership campaign only to detonate it at the last minute). Jeremy Hunt was Jon Snow, slain by the brotherhood of the Night Shift at A&E, only in this case still waiting for resurrection.

The comparison falls down a bit at Boris Johnson as Daenerys Targaryen, as the former London mayor has not, to my knowledge, ever married a horse lord or hired an army of eunuchs, but it feels like the kind of thing he might do.

We didn’t have David Davis on there – hated by the old king, David Camareon, he was at the time banished to the back benches. Let’s retrospectively appoint him Euron Greyjoy, making a suspiciously seductive offer to Queen Cersei. (Philip Hammond is Gendry, in that most of the country can’t remember who he is but feel he might turn out to be important later.)

That lengthy list shows how Conservative infighting suffers from the same problem that the Game of Thrones screenwriters wrestle with: there are so many characters, and moving the pieces round the board takes up so much time and energy, that we’re in danger of forgetting why it matters who wins. In the books, there is more space to expound on the politics. George R R Martin once said that he came away from The Lord of The Rings asking: “What was Aragorn’s tax policy?” (The author added: “And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles?”)

Martin’s fantasy vision also feels relevant to the Tories because its power struggles aren’t about an “endless series of dark lords and their evil minions who are all very ugly and wear black clothes”. Instead, everyone is flawed. In Westeros, as in the Conservative Party, it can be difficult to decide who you want to triumph. Sure, Daenerys might seem enlightened, but she watched her brother have molten gold poured down his throat; plucky Arya Stark might tip over from adorable assassin into full-blown psychopath. Similarly, it’s hard to get worked up about the accusation that Philip Hammond said that driving a train was so easy “even a woman” could do it, when David Davis marked his last leadership campaign by posing alongside women in tight T-shirts reading “It’s DD for me”.

The only big difference from the show is that in real life I have sympathy for Barnier and the White Walkers of Brussels. Still, maybe it will turn out that the undead of Game of Thrones are tired of the Seven Kingdoms throwing their weight around and are only marching south to demand money before negotiating a trade deal? That’s the kind of plot twist we’re all waiting for.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder