The high cost of sporting glory

Events such as the World Cup and the Olympics are not the economic juggernauts that their promoters

There is no doubt that the World Cup has been a joyous party for those lucky enough to attend. There is also no doubt that it has been a bon­anza for Fifa, football's governing body. The commercial income accruing to Fifa will come to about £2.2bn for TV rights, sponsorship and merchandising, while an estimated £800m has been spent on organising the tournament and £700m on local development projects.

Fifa, therefore, generates a tidy profit of £700m, which it either retains to promote its own pet projects or disburses to national football associations: a significant bargaining chip in the hands of its 24-man executive committee. In 2004, the projected cost to the South African taxpayer for hosting the finals was R2.3bn, or £200m (the bid book was lost for years until the Mail and Guardian posted it online in June); the current figure is said to be R33bn (£3bn). Fifa does not pay for the stadiums, but gets to put its brand all over development projects in the host country. And what does South Africa get in return for its investment?

The organisers claim that the event will produce an economic stimulus of R55bn (£4.8bn), generating in excess of 300,000 additional foreign tourists and promoting growth across the economy. Similar claims have been made for previous World Cups and other major sporting events, especially the summer Olympic Games. Politicians seem especially fond of claiming that major events bring significant economic benefits. This case rests on two foundations: first, that the building of stadiums and related infrastructure will boost the construction industry, with knock-on effects into the wider economy; second, that there will be a large influx of foreign visitors.

Eye candy

The problem with the first claim is that it is predicated on the assumption that the resources required for construction are lying around idle, waiting for something to do. In reality, modern infrastructure construction requires skilled labour and expensive resources. The question is not whether construction generates income; it is whether this particular form of construction puts resources to best use. It is not difficult to see that the needs of a developing country such as South Africa would be better met by building roads, houses and related infrastructure in the townships rather than building big stadiums. As with the Olympics, facilities for the World Cup are likely to be little used after the event. It's like building a bridge that is going to be used only once.

Take the development of Green Point in Cape Town at a cost of R4.5bn (£400m): the stadium will have hosted just eight games by the end of the tournament. It does offer spectacular views of Table Mountain, but remember just how much this eye candy cost. The original plan was to upgrade the existing stadium in Athlone, at an estimated cost about R1.7bn (£150m). The Athlone redevelopment was attractive because the facility is located in the poor Cape Flats and could have triggered public-sector spending in an underdeveloped area while providing a long-term facility for football fans.

Green Point, by contrast, is located in an affluent area and the mostly white sports fans there are already well provided for in the sports that interest them: rugby and cricket. The local authority had developed the Athlone plan with the South African government. It came into question when Fifa's president, Sepp Blatter, visited the Cape, after an advance delegation realised what a superb TV image a stadium at Green Point would provide. A dubious case was made that Athlone would not provide enough seats, and the semi-final promise was dangled in front of the organising committee. The result: £400m for a few TV shots.

It is questionable whether developing stadiums is a good use of South African government revenue, but the absurdity of the Green Point white elephant seems beyond doubt. Similar questions were raised about the Moses Mabhida Stadium in Durban, which cost R3.1bn (£270m). Local housing activists have bemoaned the waste of resources when so many ordinary people remain without basic facilities. The question of visitor numbers is similarly problematic. It sounds as if the event ought to bring a tourist bonanza, but the records from previous tournaments provide little evidence of any. Take Germany, for example. In June 2006, hotel bookings for overnight stays increased by 1.4 million compared to the previous June - which sounds impressive, until you realise that stays were significantly down on the previous year in May and August 2006, and that 2005 overall was a bad year. The entire 2006 overnight stay figure was only slightly higher than that recorded in 2001. Thus, the World Cup did little to boost German tourism that had stagnated after the 11 September 2001 attacks.

The decision to attend a World Cup hinges on complex factors. Many people who would have visited a location anyway choose to reschedule their trip to coincide with the event. Worse still, others will avoid visiting the country while the event is on. In 2003, there were 14 million visitors to Greece, but in 2004, when it hosted the Olympics, only 13 million. A better comparison with South Africa is the Japan-South Korea World Cup, which was some distance from the main sources of affluent, travelling fans. Japan had an increase in visitor arrivals in June 2002 of 37,646 over the previous year. South Korea suffered a decline of 56,864. South Africa expected a tourist uplift from Europe and the US; experience suggests disappointment.

In 2004, when South Africa was awarded the World Cup, there was talk of visitor numbers as high as 600,000 from people connected to the bid. By last year, Grant Thornton, as consultant to the organising committee, was still anticipating 483,000 visitors, but down­graded its forecast to 373,000 in the spring. Even this number sounds optimistic; hotels in Durban, Cape Town and elsewhere have been reporting occupancy rates in the region of 10-30 per cent, rather than the expected 65-75 per cent. Journalists have been talking about how quiet it is outside the stadiums. Demand for tickets within South Africa and from the rest of Africa has been particularly disappointing and some of the group matches were played in half-full stadiums, as if to emphasise what a waste of money much of the investment has been.

To put it in perspective, visitor numbers from outside Africa totalled 331,000 in June and July last year, while visitors from other African nations exceeded 1.2 million. So it looks as if numbers of tourists to South Africa will be little different from previous years. This is a financial nightmare for South African commerce, including large numbers of small businesses that invested in facilities to meet a much higher level of demand.Yet none of this should come as much of a surprise: if the South Africans had asked for an objective view backed up by data five years ago, they could easily have got it.

So, why are such inflated and misleading claims presented by governments and organisers? The answer is that Fifa and the International Olympic Committee (IOC) are monopolists selling the rights to the most attractive sports events on the planet and, like any good monopolist, they are not prepared to give their property away cheaply. That is why they organise bidding contests among potential host nations. Setting political rhetoric aside, what wins you the bid is the promise to lay on lavish games to the greater glory of Fifa and the IOC, largely at the public expense. These events could be self-funding, but then they would not be so lavish. Fifa and the IOC demand a government guarantee to underwrite the staggering cost. To justify this extravagance, politicians cover themselves by claiming that there is an economic benefit - a quite breathtaking refusal to face the facts.

Voodoo economics

In many cases, one might say that this does not really matter. There is good evidence that the public at large derives a significant feel-good factor from hosting major events and so is quite willing to subsidise them. Wealthy nations such as Germany and the UK can afford (more or less) to cover the cost if that is what people want. And, in the light of the banking bailouts, the subsidies no longer look so huge. Moreover, there is reason to believe that the public is not fooled by the organisers' voodoo economics. When it was announced in 2007 that the cost of the 2012 Olympic Games in London would be closer to £9bn than the original estimate of £2.4bn, few batted an eyelid.

But with South Africa, the issue is more serious. The UK government spends about £80bn annually on education, whereas South Africa spends about £12bn. The UK is spending a sum equal to just over 10 per cent of its annual education budget on London 2012, South Africa about 25 per cent to host the 2010 World Cup. Scarce resources are being diverted from activities that have much greater value added.

This is just not good enough. Historically, most major sports events have been awarded to wealthy nations that can afford to pay for them. Awarding the World Cup to a developing nation is an important step forward, but this achievement should not be bought by using essential resources to provide VIPs with freebies. There is no doubt that these events could be less lavish and remain equally entertaining. Most of us watch the World Cup on TV - we will be watching what is happening on the grass, and not from the blimp, or even the terraces.

There are many ways in which a more equitable World Cup could be organised, but most reforms require a more open and democratised governance at the top. Both Fifa and the IOC could choose to award their prestigious prizes not on the basis of extravagant public spending, but on sporting merit. For example, the nation that did the most to promote participation in sport could be awarded the right to host these events. Nor need they discriminate against the poor, as the key measure would be growth, not the base level at which countries start. However, such reforms require a commitment to pursuing purely sporting objectives, rather than the current system of rampant commercialism for the good of organisations such as Fifa. Football is meant to be the beautiful game, not the bankrupt game.

Stefan Szymanski is professor of economics at Cass Business School and co-author of “Why England Lose" (HarperSport, £7.99)

This article first appeared in the 05 July 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The cult of the generals

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Inside the minds of the Isis murderers

As pressure on the terror group who claimed responsiblity for the Manchester attack intensifies, the threat to Britain will only become more acute.

The police and security services had consistently warned that a significant terrorist attack in Britain was inevitable. Yet no warning could have prepared us for the horror of the suicide attack on the Manchester Arena on Monday night. Twenty-two people were killed and at least 60 were wounded as they were leaving a concert by Ariana Grande in what was the most deadly attack in Britain since the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which 56 people died.

Like the London bombers, the Manchester suicide attacker, Salman Ramadan Abedi, was British. He was 22, lived in Manchester and studied business management at Salford University before dropping out. He worshipped at Didsbury Mosque. The son of Libyans, Abedi is said to have returned recently from a visit to the North African country, where Islamic State has a foothold.

Ariana Grande is a former children’s TV star who made her name on channels such as Nickelodeon. Her fan base is overwhelmingly young and female, and many of those killed or wounded were children, including Saffie Rose Roussos, an eight-year-old girl from Leyland, Lancashire.

Islamic State inevitably claimed responsibility for the massacre, dismissing the victims as “crusaders”, “polytheists” and “worshippers of the cross”. This is not the first time Islamist terrorists have targeted children.

A Chechen jihadist group calling itself ­Riyad-us Saliheen (meaning “Gardens of the Righteous”) took more than 1,100 hostages, including 777 children, in a school siege in Beslan, Russia, in September 2004. In the event, more than 330 were massacred, including 186 children. Gunmen from the Pakistani Taliban also stormed a school in 2014, killing 148.

For terrorist actors, these are neither whimsical nor irrational acts. Contemporary jihadist movements have curated a broad and expansive intellectual ecosystem that rationalises and directs their actions. What they want is to create an asymmetry of fear by employing indiscriminate barbarism to intimidate and subdue their opponents into submission.

We have grown accustomed to a wave of terrorist attacks being carried out in the name of the self-styled Islamic State ever since the group’s official spokesman Abu Muhammad al-Adnani began prioritising them in 2014. (He was killed in an American air strike on Aleppo province in Syria in August last year.)

The US-led coalition against Islamic State has weakened the terror group in its former strongholds of Mosul in Iraq and Raqqa in Syria. In response, IS has been forced to concentrate more on what it calls “external operations” – by which it means inspiring its sympathisers and operatives to carry out attacks on Western countries. Indeed, al-Adnani encouraged the group’s supporters not to migrate towards IS-held territory but rather to focus their efforts on attacks in their home countries.

“The tiniest action you do in the heart of their [Western] land is dearer to us than the biggest action by us,” he said in an audio statement released last year. “There are no innocents in the heart of the lands of the crusaders.”

Islamic State refers to its strategy as “just terror”. Its framing places culpability for attacks on Western states on these nations themselves by claiming that IS actions are a response to aggression or assault. That much has been outlined in the group’s literature. “When will the crusaders end their hostilities towards Islam and the Muslims? . . . When will they recognise that the solution to their pathetic turmoil is right before their blinded eyes?” the militants ask in the IS magazine Dabiq. “Until then, the just terror will continue to strike them to the core of their deadened hearts.”

IS offered a rationale of this sort as justification for its bombing of a Russian commercial aircraft – Metrojet Flight 9268, travelling from Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt to St Petersburg. That attack in October 2015 killed 224. Similar reasoning was offered for the attacks in Paris the following month in which 137 people were killed, in a series of co-ordinated, commando-style gun and bomb outrages across the city.

“Revenge was exacted upon those who felt safe,” IS declared in Dabiq. “Let the world know that we are living today in a new era. Whoever was heedless must now be alert. Whoever was sleeping must now awaken . . . The [caliphate] will take revenge for any aggression against its religion and people, sooner rather than later. Let the ­arrogant know that the skies and the lands are Allah’s.”

***

Through my academic research at King’s College London, I have ­interviewed scores of Westerners who became foreign fighters in Syria and Iraq to quiz them about their motives. Last year, one man from High Wycombe who had joined IS told me that it wanted to attack British targets in response to the vote in the House of Commons to extend British air strikes against IS targets to include sites in Syria (the British had only been targeting the group in Iraq until that point). “Do they [the British government] expect us to sit back and do nothing? ­Idiots,” he said.

In this respect, IS frames its attacks as acts of “revenge” and predicates its response on the Islamic principle of qisas, which is comparable to lex talionis or the doctrine of “an eye for an eye”. Qisas was always intended to be a tool of private redress for an individual or his/her family to seek justice in matters relating to bodily harm. Typically, it relates to cases of murder and manslaughter, or acts involving physical mutilation (say, leading to loss of limbs). The principle creates a framework for retributive justice.

The contemporary Salafi-jihadi movement has adopted a particularly innovative approach to the concept of qisas in two ways. First, groups such as IS have taken the idea and construed it in a way that justifies indiscriminate terrorism, such as the attack in Manchester. They argue that qisas has a political dimension and that it can be applied to international affairs in a way that holds civilians responsible for the perceived crimes of their governments.

Second, qisas is normally applied only in cases where the aggressor is known. IS, by contrast, holds every citizen-stranger of an enemy state responsible for the actions of his or her government. Thus, when it released its statement claiming responsibility for the Manchester attack, it said that it had struck against a “gathering of the crusaders . . . in response to their transgressions against the lands of the Muslims”.

It is this militaristic construction of qisas that allows IS to rationalise the bombing of a venue where large numbers of young girls had gathered to watch a pop concert, dismissing them as “crusaders”.

This is not new. In 1997, Osama Bin Laden told CBS News that “all Americans are our enemies, not just the ones who fight us directly, but also the ones who pay their ­taxes”. His rationale was that all Americans, by virtue of citizenship alone, are vicariously liable for the actions of their government.

Just a few years later, Bin Laden used the same idea to justify the 11 September 2001 attacks and also invoked it in reference to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. “The blood pouring out of Palestine must be equally revenged,” he wrote. “You must know that the Palestinians do not cry alone; their women are not widowed alone; their sons are not orphaned alone.”

IS used the concept most dramatically in January 2015, when it burned alive a Royal Jordanian Air Force pilot, Muath al-Kasasbeh, whose plane had crashed in its territory. A video of the killing was circulated on the internet and social media. The group claimed his bombing raids had killed civilians and that it wanted to punish him with “equal retaliation”, in keeping with qisas.

What is well known about al-Kasasbeh’s murder is that he was burned alive inside a cage – but that is not the whole story. To understand how IS tethered this to the principle of qisas, it is the end of the gruesome video that is invested with most significance. After al-Kasasbeh has died, a truck emerges and dumps rubble over the cage. It was claimed this was debris from a site he had bombed, thus completing the “equal retaliation” of returning like for like. The idea was that IS had retaliated using the two principal forms in which a missile attack kills – by fire or debris.

***

The Manchester attack came on the fourth anniversary of the brutal murder of Fusilier Lee Rigby in Woolwich, south London. Rigby was killed by Michael Adebolajo and Michael Adebowale in the middle of the afternoon on a street outside a military barracks. That attack was in keeping with a pattern we have become increasingly accustomed to in Europe: an unsophisticated plot that employs ordinary, everyday items – a car, say, or a knife.

The consequences of such attacks have been seen across Europe, most notably in Nice on 14 July 2016, when 86 people were killed during Bastille Day celebrations after a jihadist drove a truck into crowds on the promenade. Similar attacks followed in Berlin, Westminster and Stockholm.

The security services find that these murderous attacks are extremely hard to disrupt because they typically involve lone actors who can mobilise quickly and with discretion. The Manchester attack was different. Explosives were used, which means the plot was inherently more sophisticated, requiring careful planning and preparation.

We know that two of the 7/7 bombers had previously trained in Pakistan’s lawless tribal regions, where they honed their skills. In other plots, such as the connected attacks in London and Glasgow Airport of 2007, the explosive devices failed mainly because the bomb-makers had found it difficult to travel abroad and develop their skills in safe environments. Whatever Abedi’s connections, the long war in Syria and Iraq has once again created a permissive environment for terrorist training and attack planning.

The devastating impact of this has already been felt across Europe. Since the Syrian uprising began in 2011, more than 800 Britons are believed to have travelled there to fight. From Europe as a whole, the figure is over 5,000, of which a significant number are believed to have joined IS. Of the British contingent, the security services estimate that about half have returned or become disengaged from the conflict. Of those who remained, a hundred are believed to be active, the rest having been killed.

It is improbable that Abedi acted alone in Manchester or that this plot had no international component. Indeed, he was already known to the authorities (and had returned recently from Libya). As pressure on IS intensifies across Syria and Iraq, the threat to Britain will only become more acute as the group’s sympathisers prepare for what they consider to be a fightback.

This speaks to the scale of the threat facing Britain, and Europe more generally. Our police and security services have been stretched and continuously tested in recent years. Just recently, in March, the Metropolitan Police assistant commissioner Mark Rowley told Radio 4’s Today programme that 13 plots had been thwarted since Lee Rigby’s murder in 2013. Put another way, the police have disrupted terrorist plots every four months for the past four years.

Naturally, Islamic State is not the only threat. On 13 May, one of Osama Bin Laden’s sons, Hamza, released a video, titled “Advice for martyrdom-seekers in the West”, on behalf of al-Qaeda. Hamza, 27, who was his father’s favoured successor to lead the group, called on its supporters to concentrate on attacks in the West rather than migrating to conflict zones in the Middle East and beyond. Scenes of previous ­terrorist attacks in Britain played throughout the video.

The central leadership of al-Qaeda is increasingly looking for opportunities to reassert itself after being eclipsed by Islamic State and losing control of its affiliates in Syria. It needs attacks and a cause in the West with which to revive itself. Hamza therefore cited the January 2015 Charlie Hebdo attack in Paris as a critical example, calling for the assassination of anyone deemed to have “insulted” Islam.

The Charlie Hebdo attack was especially important for al-Qaeda because it enabled the group to transcend the fratricidal conflicts that frequently define relations between the various jihadist groups. In Syria, for instance, al-Qaeda’s affiliates (when it had better control over them) and Islamic State have been in open war with each other.

Yet, the Charlie Hebdo attack brought warm praise from the group’s Islamist rivals because none of them wanted to appear ­unsupportive of an atrocity that had, as the terrorists proclaimed, “avenged” the Prophet Muhammad’s honour.

The British man from High Wycombe who joined IS told me the group had welcomed the attack for precisely those reasons. It was something that, in his view, had confirmed the “nobility” of the attackers, even if they had not been members of IS.

Is it too late for the West to save itself, I asked him. What if the West simply accepted all of Islamic State’s demands: would that provide respite?

The answer was as emphatic as it was stark: “We primarily fight wars due to ppl [sic] being disbelievers. Their drones against us are a secondary issue.”

He went on: “Their kufr [disbelief] against Allah is sufficient of a reason for us to invade and kill them. Only if they stop their kufr will they no longer be a target.”

In other words, we are all guilty, and we are all legitimate targets.

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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