Whose Olympics are they, anyway?

Organisers aren't engaged with the needs of ordinary Londoners.

The Olympics are causing quite a stir, but not in the way you might think. The number of people expressing discontent with the rules and regulations surrounding the event is increasing - from the court case around missiles placed on residents' roofs, to a protest against the closure of a much-used towpath, to a group of activists gearing up for a march on how "big business stole the Olympics".

All this raises questions about the engagement of the Olympic organisers with the needs of ordinary Londoners. In fact, you'd be forgiven for wondering whether these really are the "people's games" after all.

As historian, archaeologist and activist Neil Faulkner recently pointed out, the taxpayer is thought to have forked out £12bn for the event. But it's hard to pin down a reliable figure, and an investigation by Sky News has suggested that the once all costs are taken into consideration the real figure could actually be closer to £24bn. Corporate sponsors have contributed £700m. So why has there been so little apparent consideration for what ordinary people want?

The activist group Counter Olympics Network (CON) accuses the games of being a "showcase of class privilege, corporate power and security wonkery", and this week confirmed a march on 28 July to highlight the issue. "The organisers are only interested in defending their corporate sponsors and their rights because that's what it is - a branding exercise," explains CON's Julian Cheyne.

A good example of the imbalance of interests is the revelation that 95 per cent of the 30 miles of road in central London exclusively reserved for use during the event by the "Games family" of athletes, officials and sponsors will be off-limits to cyclists, a move that's been described by the Environmental Transport Association as "baffling as it dangerous".

To compound the issue, a busy towpath running from Homerton to Bow was closed last Tuesday, sparking a campaign from angry cyclists and residents to get it reopened. The London Organising Committee of the Olympic and Paralympic Games (LOCOG) responded to questions from locals and The Guardian by saying it wanted to deliver a "safe and secure Games." The problem, though, is that the cyclists aren't feeling either of these things.

"Our complaint is that it's going to push people onto busy roads. Personally, my alternative commute involves me going along the A11, a dual carriageway, and over the Bow roundabout where two cyclists were killed last year," says Ruth-Anna Macqueen, co-organiser of Open Our Towpath. She adds that there was no consultation and little real publicity, and that many are confused about the move because there are still plenty of open roads leading up to the site.
"There's a total lack of understanding that some of us use it as others use roads. I don't think they've considered the effect it will have on people - although we don't know because we haven't had any conversation back from LOCOG apart from that statement."

Lack of consultation has also been a problem for the residents whose homes were chosen as the site for surface-to-air missiles. Taking their protest to the High Court, they argued that the move was a  "disproportionate interference" with their human rights. While their bid for either the missile or themselves to be relocated was rejected earlier this week, the fact remains that the sight of such a strong military presence on London homes will be an incongruous one for many.

Faulkner believes that there's been absolutely no engagement with ordinary people throughout the preparations, and that this is because those in charge only represent a small percentage of the population. "It's riddled with class privilege, draped with corporate logos, they're turning the east end into a militarised zone and it's all being run by an unelected quango," he says. "Last time I checked on its website, LOCOG consisted of 19 people - 17 of whom are white men and the only woman on the board is Princess Anne. Half of those white men are business men and the other half have major business interests, so essentially it's an appointed body of white male millionaires completely unaccountable to anyone except the Government."

Meanwhile, Baroness Dee Doocey has called for LOCOG to show greater transparency. She criticises the fact that it held back 14,000 tickets for government officials and its refusal to reveal the proportion of tickets for top events such as the 100m sold to the public when questioned by the London Assembly's economy, sport and culture committee, of which she is the former chair.

She says: "On the one hand LOCOG is doing a brilliant job and I have no doubt at all that they'll produce a brilliant games - and I'm not just saying that - but on the other hand they're hiding behind this private company every time it suits them. You can't take taxpayers' money and hide behind this idea that you're a private company. This is meant to be the people's games."

When asked, LOCOG declined to comment on this story.

The Olympic countdown clock in Trafalgar Square at 100 days to go. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.