How G4S prepared for Bloem at the London Olympics
At the London Olympics in 2012, I was stopped at the security point I used every day to get into the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park and, for the first time, asked to unpack my bag. It contained an object of concern.
The security check was the closest to the Westfield Stratford City shopping mall. I’d stopped in to buy some shower gel from the Body Shop to smell nice after using the media gym. As I recall, it was the Arber gel for hair, such as it was, and body, such as it was. It was cruelty free, possibly vegan. It was a gel. It was 200ml. You were not allowed to take water or other liquids into Olympic venues.
I should have known, but I had a brain fart. I had become an expert at getting through checkpoints quickly down the years. Put the loose change, cellphone, wallet, watch, metal glasses in the bag, take out the laptop, wait to be waved through. But not this day.
The soldier who searched me said he was sorry, but I could not take it in. I understood and we had a quick chat about what it was like to be working at the Games. He was having a blast. They got to be part of the event and got tickets to the odd event when any were spare.
He smiled and said he would put the gel in their office tent next door and I could pick it up when I left. Nothing confiscated ever got given back, so I said goodbye to my cruelty-free, probably vegan Arber for hair and body.
The British military was a late addition to the London Olympic security points. An additional 1,200 troops were deployed after a private, multinational security company contracted for the Games failed to do what it said it was going to do: provide security.
Can anyone guess the name of the company? If you said G4S, then you go to the top of the class, although it was hardly the biggest leap after the Thabo Bester farce in the Free State. If only someone, I don’t know, had done a background check on the company before, perhaps a little research on the interweb, they would have found the London 2012 situation called a “chaotic farce”.
G4S was awarded a £284m contract to provide 13,700 guards, for London. In the week before the opening ceremony, it had supplied only 6,000.
Paul Deighton, CEO of the London organising committee, said: “We signed a contract with the biggest security company in the world, whose biggest customer was the UK government. They continually reassured us they had the capacity to deliver. It was obviously a huge disappointment ... This is all about their poor performance in a very strong contract.”
Sound familiar, department of incorrections?
G4S went into full panic mode to try and save face in the week before the Games, calling for former police “ideally with some level of security clearance and with a Security Industry Association [accreditation]; however, neither is compulsory”.
One G4S trainee, a former policeman, told the Guardian in 2012 that the recruiting was “an utter farce ... There were people who couldn’t spell their own names. The staff were having to help them. Most people hadn’t filled in their application forms correctly. Some didn’t know what references were and others said they didn’t have anyone who could act as a referee. The G4S people were having to prompt them, saying things like, ‘What about your uncle’?” This sounds like the ideal company to put in charge of a prison in Bloem.
Troops on duty at the Olympics were polite, friendly and professional. There was always time for a chat and a joke. The G4S personnel we encountered were sometimes confused, sullen and bored at the same time.
On the night Cameron van der Burgh won his gold medal in the 100m breaststroke, he was stopped entering the Olympic Village after setting off a metal detector. He smiled, unzipped his tracksuit top to reveal his medal. Cue whoops of joy from the soldiers and a multitude of photographs. It was a great night made better.
When I went back through the checkpoint after 12 hours of working on gel confiscation day, the soldier had left. Dammit. I asked if anyone had left something for me in the office tent. A soldier asked me, was it shower gel? And there it was.