How can cities soften the environmental impact of hosting the Olympics?

The rings over Sochi in 2014. Image: Getty.

Last week the International Olympic Committee (IOC) announced that Beijing will host the 2022 Winter Olympics. There will no doubt be many surprises during the games – but we can already be sure that there will be a substantial environmental toll to locating in Beijing.

Where will the snow come from for a winter event in a city and region that has little snow? Events needing altitude, such as skiing and snowboarding, will be held between 55 and 100 miles away; some of them will be held on the edge of the Gobi Desert, where snowfall rarely exceeds 10 inches.

The snow for the Beijing Winter Olympics Games, like much of the snow for the Sochi Games, will come from water drawn from lakes and streams, super cooled into ice crystals and then shot from a cannon.

The environmental impacts in a region subject to desertification could be profound and long-lasting. The choice of Beijing, and revelations of how poor water quality in Rio could be a hazard to competitors, highlight the environmental impacts of the games. How did we get here? And will host countries ever compete on the basis of environmental sustainability?

Changing Games

Few worried or cared about the environment consequences of the early games of the modern period, perhaps because they were of limited size and had minimal environmental consequences.

The building big era was inaugurated with the 1936 games in Berlin, when the Nazis decided to fully exploit the propaganda opportunity. They built a new Olympic stadium, an athletes' village and a 20,000 seat swimming arena. These were the first games to use television and employed their in-house cinematographer Leni Riefenstahl to make the film Olympia for worldwide distribution.

Copacabana Beach: a recent report found swimmers and boaters will be competing in very polluted, and potentially unhealthy, waters in the 2016 Rio games. Image: Pilar Olivares/Reuters.

After the austerity of the immediate post World War II era, Berlin became the role model, as the games became a gargantuan spectacle: building new and building big, often on greenfield sites. The games were the perfect opportunity to achieve the modernist dream of rewriting urban landscapes and transforming local environments. The only constraint was money, not an environmental sensitivity.

The first environmental change was brought about by the massive cost overruns of Montreal in 1976. Building vast edifices on a greenfield site was expensive as well as environmentally damaging.

The Los Angeles games of 1984 marked a shift from this new-build model to a new template, a mixture of new-build and the reuse of exiting facilities. This had a positive environmental impact, in that buildings had secondary uses – but it was the result of cost cutting, rather than the pursuit of environmental goals.

A new environmental awareness

The explicit use of environmental goals slowly emerged in the 1990s. For the 1992 games, Barcelona’s committee built a new waterfront and upgraded an abandoned industrial-railway site. It also made numerous improvements throughout the metro area: new roads, a new sewer system and the creation or improvement of over 200 parks, plazas and streets.

Environmental protection and sustainability was an integral part of the 1994 Winter games in Lillehammer, too. Norway’s then-prime minister, Gro Harlem Brundtland, was the chair of a 1987 UN Commission that promoted the idea and practice of sustainable development.

The 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, were held in a subtropical region, and relied on energy and water-intensive snow making machines. Image: Акутагава/wikipedia, CC BY.

The games were now drawn into a more environmentally aware world. In 1996 the Olympic charter was amended to address the issue of sustainable development, and the environment became the third pillar of the movement beside sport and culture.

Cities now had to address issues of sustainability in their bid documents. But this is more rhetorical than practical, a form of legitimation in a more environmentally conscious age, rather than a practical guide.

It is a remarkable and disturbing fact that we have no formal agreed-upon criterion for assessing the environmental impact of the games. One of the biggest mega-events in the world goes ahead with no agreed upon rules for measuring or monitoring its environmental impact.

The environmental turn since the 1990s is not a continuous line of progress. For every London, there is also a Sochi.

Despite the lack of formal monitoring by the IOC, there was a shift as some cities took the opportunity to promote a greener development.The main site of the Sydney Games of 2000 was built on Homebush Bay, an inner city contaminated site, part of city-wide remediation and greening projects – although some were critical of what they described as corporate environmentalism.

The games in Turin 2006 sought to reduce carbon footprints, minimise water use in snow making, promote eco-friendly hotels and introduce carbon offsets. Athens undertook large-scale, long-delayed public investments in water supply and mass transit. Even Beijing, where the environment was not so front and centre, replaced its 18,000 bus fleet with more fuel efficient and less polluting vehicles.

The 2012 Summer Games in London made a priority of environmental issues, including use of construction materials and renewable energy. It had a target of zero waste. Image: UK Department of Culture, CC BY-NC.

The 2012 London Games were promoted as a green games, with greater use of renewable energy and water recycling. The polluted lower Lea Valley was cleaned up; only wood from sustainable sources was used, while the soil removed for the swimming pools was used in the landscaping of local parks. Even with these projects, the games generated around 3.45m tons of CO2.

Host cities have also used carbon offsets, or purchases in carbon-reduction projects meant to offset the global transport of visiting athletes and spectators. But despite these efforts, we have no solid basis to answer the basic question: what are the total and long term environmental costs and benefits of hosting the Olympics?

An honest answer has proved elusive, as analyses are hampered by lack of proper accounting methods, technical issues and the lack of available data. Organisations seeking to promote, justify, or attract the games generate the vast majority of analyses. There are far fewer studies that examine the environmental costs of the games.

The environmental turn since the 1990s is not a continuous line of progress. For every London, there is also a Sochi.

The ideal solution may be for a city to make a bid that allows a green reimagining of the city, but not to actually host the games. The real winner in the 2009 announcement to host the 2016 Games may have been Chicago not Rio: that city went through the exercise of planning for city improvements despite never hosting the games.

I think we are entering a new era in which popular support for the games is undermined by the unease over the rising costs and environment impacts. An environmentally friendly games is likely to be a more expensive games. Hosting a green games is more expensive – but hosting a cheaper but environmentally damaging Games is also unacceptable. My own solution is to have a permanent site.

The IOC, for which the best we can say is that as an international sporting organisation it may be less corrupt than FIFA, could be at a crossroads. Rising costs and greater scrutiny of environmental consequences and impacts makes hosting the games a less attractive proposition and a tougher sell.

With fewer bids from credible candidate cities, the IOC becomes more reliant on non-democratic regimes and host cities where the environmental requirement may be part of the bid documents but, as in Sochi, not the reality on the ground.

In this new era, even a gold medal may lose its luster. The Conversation

John Rennie Short is a professor in the School of Public Policy at University of Maryland, Baltimore County.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.


Could twin towns bring Britain back together?

An unlikely pair. Image: Wikimedia Commons.

Twin towns: an irrelevant novelty to most of us, a peculiar name on a village’s welcome sign. But could linking one British town to another – a domestic reinterpretation of this long-standing European practice – help bring Britain back together in a time of national crisis?

Born in the aftermath of World War II, town twinning aimed to foster cooperation and solidarity across Europe. Communities entered formal alliances, nurturing friendships and shared histories. Coventry forged links with Dresden and Volgograd, then Stalingrad, marking the devastation faced by their citizens during the war.

The democratisation of Greece, Spain and Portugal during the 1970s led to a new wave of twin towns across Europe, as did the fall of the Soviet Union a decade later. Since its inception, the focus of town twinning has been on uniting people through relationships. It is a testament to the initiative’s success that many of these remain to this day; Coventry recently enjoyed a performance at the city’s cathedral by Volgograd’s children’s choir.

While European relations have improved since the 1940s, unity at home has received less attention. As a result, Britain is riven with deep economic, political, educational and cultural divides. These fault lines are increasingly determined by geography, with a growing gap between our big metropolitan cities and almost everywhere else.

In comparison to other European countries, we face staggering levels of regional inequality; six of the ten poorest regions in northern Europe can been found in the UK. As outlined by Alan Milburn, the government’s former social mobility tsar, “the country seems to be in the grip of a self-reinforcing spiral of ever-growing division. That takes a spatial form, not just a social one.”

These divisions are poisoning our body politic. As Adam Smith argued in The Theory of Moral Sentiments, putting yourself in someone else's shoes is vital for developing a moral compass; in doing so "we conceive ourselves enduring all the same torments, we enter as it were into his body, and become in some measure the same person with him..." But this is difficult when we have little interaction or experience of those with opposing views.

This is increasingly likely in geographically polarised Britain, with the places we live dominated by people who think alike. Our political leaders must commit time and energy to bridging these divides, just as the leaders of Europe did in the aftermath of the Second World War. By forging links between different parts of the country, a new era of domestic town twinning would do just that.

School exchanges between sister towns would offer an opportunity for children to be exposed to places, people and perspectives very different to their own. This would allow future generations to see things from an alternative and opposing perspective. It may also embed from a young age an awareness of the diversity of experiences seen by people across our highly unequal country.

MPs would be encouraged to spend time in their constituency’s sister town. First-hand exposure to voters in a very different part of the country would surely soften the views of even the most entrenched parliamentarian, making for a more civil debate in the Commons. Imagine the good this would do for Parliament today, with Brexit gridlocked because of the unwillingness of MPs to compromise.

In 2016 the Carnegie UK Trust launched its Twin Towns UK programme, a pilot linking twenty towns across the UK to examine how they might develop together. Emerging benefits include a reduction of insularity and a greater awareness of the bigger picture. Its focus was not on bridging economic divides – towns with similar socioeconomic characteristics were twinned – but initial outcomes from the scheme suggest a broader programme of domestic town twinning could have a powerful impact.

Looking further back, Camden has been twinned with Doncaster since the 1980s, a relationship that unionised Camden Town Hall workers forged in a display of solidarity with striking miners during the 1980s. Funds were raised to feed families of striking workers at the pit and Camden locals even drove north to deliver presents at Christmas. Though the relationship appears less active today, it serves as a powerful reminder of twinning’s capacity to bring people from very different places together.

As we prepare for Brexit it’s imperative that we protect existing twin town relationships with our European partners. This is of vital importance when we know sadly many of these are under threat from austerity and gloriously un-PC mayors. But we should look to breathe new life into these traditions too, where possible. Domestic town twinning would do just that: a step towards bringing Britain back together, just as a continent was reunited after the devastation of war.

Ben Glover is a researcher at the think tank Demos.