Introduction: Grenfell and the return of ‘social murder’

At around 12.54 a.m. on 14 June 2017, an exploding fridge freezer set fire to a flat on the fourth floor of Grenfell Tower, a 24-storey public housing block of flats in the west London borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Ten minutes later, firefighters were on the scene, handling what appeared to be a routine job – post-war high-rises like Grenfell had been designed to contain fires within separate flats and the residents had been told to ‘stay put’ rather than evacuate. But the fire did not behave as expected. Within 15 minutes, a column of flames had rapidly climbed up the outside of the tower block to the uppermost storey, and shortly after the whole building was ablaze. Survivors and emergency service workers would later recount the sheer horror of human carnage that took place, which they were helpless to prevent. As people leapt from the tower, others trapped inside climbed to the upper floors and roof, some trying to make ropes from sheets, others making phone calls and video messages to their loved ones, begging for help or saying goodbye. Those who survived did so in large part by ignoring the official fire safety advice to ‘stay put’ in their flats. It would take 250 firefighters, 70 fire engines and 60 hours to extinguish the fire that eventually claimed the lives of 72 people in one of Britain’s most deadly infernos since the Great Fire of London of 1666.¹

While the architectural and construction quality of tower blocks has attracted long-standing critique, Grenfell Tower was a beacon of the high building standards brought in after the 1968 Ronan Point disaster in east London that killed four people when a new tower block partially collapsed following a gas explosion. The original architect involved in Grenfell’s construction in 1974 had stated a year prior to the fire that its design and solid concrete construction meant it ‘could last another 100 years’² – so what went wrong on 14 June 2017? It is now known that the devastating speed with which the fire spread and the high death toll were primarily caused by the Tower’s flawed £9 million refurbishment in 2014–16. Flames from the originating flat travelled up the building’s new external cladding, apparently fuelled by the low fire resistance of the aluminium panels and the ultra-combustible plastic core. Subsequent tests showed that the Grenfell cladding succumbed to flames less than 9 minutes into what should have been 40 minutes of resistance.³ In a cruel twist, it was revealed that a non-combustible cladding originally chosen for Grenfell had been decided against in favour of a cheaper and more incendiary substitute due to cost-cutting pressures on the local authority from the austerity policies of the Coalition and Conservative governments since 2010.⁴

The poor quality of workmanship and materials used during this outsourced regeneration project fatally compromised the building’s original fire-resistant structure and both the central fire alarm and emergency fire escape lights failed on the night of the fire.⁵ Despite this, the Grenfell refurbishment passed all building control inspections by the local authority. It has since been revealed that Grenfell residents repeatedly raised concerns about fire safety and the standards of works by the main private contractor, Rydon Maintenance Ltd, before, during and after the renovation work. However, they were largely ignored by the Conservative-controlled Kensington and Chelsea council, and its arm’s-length management organisation, Kensington and Chelsea Tenant Management Organisation (KCTMO). Incredibly, several residents were even threatened with legal action over making their claims public.⁶ In November 2016 an online blog by residents who were members of the Grenfell Action Group made this chilling prophecy about their future:

It is a truly terrifying thought, but the Grenfell Action Group firmly believe that only a catastrophic event will expose the ineptitude and incompetence of our landlord, the KCTMO, and bring an end to the dangerous living conditions and neglect of health and safety legislation that they inflict upon their tenants and leaseholders. … It is our conviction that a serious fire … is the most likely reason that those who wield power at the KCTMO will be found out and brought to justice!⁷

Grenfell residents were not alone – other canaries in the mine were also being ignored. The disaster was foretold in the seven major fires and 11 deaths in high-rise council tower blocks since 1986 linked to flammable cladding across the UK (see box I.1). Each fire generated the same demand by a coalition of campaigners, the fire service, coroners, architects and parliamentary committees for

government to revise building regulations so as to require sprinkler systems in all new and existing high-rise blocks, and ensure that cladding was non-combustible and actively resistant to the spread of fire.⁸ While governments in Scotland and Wales have taken steps to address some of these issues under their devolved powers, the UK government in England has consistently refused to act.

Since Grenfell, safety inspections continue to expose the enormous scale of the safety time bomb in our midst. Nine days after the fire, five high-rise tower blocks containing 800 flats and 4,000 residents on the Chalcots Estate in Camden, London, were evacuated over multiple fire safety concerns. The tower blocks had been refurbished and re-clad by Rydon between 2006 and 2009 under a controversial £153 million Private Finance Initiative (PFI) scheme to which I will return later in this book.⁹ At the time of writing, 468 high-rise buildings had been officially identified as having combustible cladding, with the majority in the private sector, as well as a number of schools and hospitals built under PFI.¹⁰ But the issues go beyond cladding. Checks in Greater Manchester found that 367 tower blocks – 75 per cent of the total – failed to meet safety standards, with only 117 of those surveyed ‘broadly compliant’ with fire safety legislation.¹¹ Two London council estates – the Ledbury Estate in Southwark and the Broadwater Farm Estate in Haringey – built using the defective ‘large panel system’ designs implicated in the 1968 Ronan Point disaster that were never strengthened, had to be evacuated for emergency work or demolition. The problem of construction defects extends far beyond housing to encompass other public and private buildings. In April 2016, 17 schools built and managed by Edinburgh Schools Partnership – a consortium of Miller Construction, Amey and the Bank of Scotland – had to be closed following the partial collapse of a wall at a primary school. Construction defects were later found in an additional 80 PFI schools in Scotland.¹²

As this book will reveal through damning evidence from other botched public housing regeneration schemes in England under similar outsourcing arrangements, the Grenfell disaster was neither an accident nor a one-off event but instead an act of what German industrialist and socialist Friedrich Engels called ‘social murder’.¹³ Engels used the term in his classic text The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844, to capture the mass immiseration and premature deaths of the industrial working class from starvation, disease and injury at the hands of unsafe working conditions and insanitary slum housing provided by private landlords. Social murder, he argued, was the result of unregulated private greed, in which a capitalist class knowingly forced people to work and live in deadly conditions and ignored all calls to improve those conditions despite mounting evidence of their murderous nature:

when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual … social murder.¹⁴

Over the 19th and 20th centuries, working-class struggle against social murder saw local authorities gradually empowered to clear the slums left behind by the unregulated capitalism of the Victorian era and build high-quality, decent, affordable, secure and safe public housing for rent, reaching a third of the UK’s total housing stock by 1979. At face value, therefore, the link between the contemporary society that produced the Grenfell disaster and the dangerous working and housing conditions of the mid-19th century appears misplaced. However, the disaster exposed a much deeper neoliberal fault-line in the governance of housing safety, from decades of so-called ‘free market’ policies aimed at boosting capitalist profitability and in particular feeding the voracious returns demanded by an increasingly dominant global financial investor class.¹⁵ Successive governments of all political persuasions rolled back state provision and social protections through privatisation, outsourcing and deregulation across every sphere of society. When we focus on the dangerous effects of these policies on housing, and the ‘institutional indifference’¹⁶ of those in power to the safety warnings of campaigners and those affected, the charge that Grenfell was social murder strikes at the heart of this abhorrent tragedy and its wider political relevance.

Nowhere has this neoliberal agenda been more fervently pursued than in the realm of housing. Thatcherism flipped the post-war model on its head, aiming to shrink the state’s housing role to an ‘ambulance service’ for the genuinely ‘weak’¹⁷ and instead to establish a ‘property-owning democracy’ in which the vast majority of people would be encouraged to act like ‘little capitalists’ in the housing market, treating shelter as a financial asset by speculating on house price inflation and passing on the spoils to their children. One route to this end was, and still is, the privatisation of public housing; since 1980, 2.5 million homes have been sold off to tenants at large discounts under the ‘right to buy’, the vast majority of which have never been replaced. This laid the basis for the UK’s crisis of housing insecurity, a crisis made worse since 2010 by years of cruel Conservative austerity policies that have hit the poorest households and communities hardest. In this book, however, I will contend that it is a less well known part of this privatisation story – the demunicipalisation of public housing – that can help us to understand more fully the issues raised by the Grenfell disaster. Instead of allowing local authorities to invest directly in repairing and modernising their remaining housing stock, both Conservative and Labour governments since 1979 have sought to make such funding conditional on local authorities agreeing to sell off or outsource to commercial actors the management, maintenance and even regeneration of public housing.

Accompanying privatisation and outsourcing has been a dangerous game of deregulation in which both the legal standards governing building and housing safety and their enforcement have been fundamentally weakened. While the government has declared the Grenfell cladding to be unlawful, experts believe the watering down of building regulations in 2006 at the behest of the insulation industry created a legal route through which combinations of previously outlawed combustible materials as used on Grenfell could be used on buildings over 18 metres high.¹⁸ A more flexible regulatory framework has gone hand in hand with the rise of ‘self-regulation’, with an estimated 85 per cent of all building work previously requiring third-party inspection now being self-certified.¹⁹ Meanwhile, local authority building control teams, previously the police force of quality control, must now compete in a liberalised market with private sector companies for contracts to inspect building work, making speedy approval a priority over rigorous checking of compliance. This perhaps explains why Rydon’s chief executive officer, Robert Bond, could so confidently declare after the Grenfell fire that its work ‘met all required building regulations – as well as fire regulation and Health & Safety standards’.²⁰

For social housing residents, demunicipalisation and deregulation have transformed what used to be a clearer and more democratic line of landlord accountability into a highly fragmented set of often conflictual relationships between multiple actors all chasing the bottom line. Residents find themselves routinely fobbed off and passed around their landlord and its contractors, and then frequently rebuffed by their local councillors, MPs, government departments and various regulatory bodies who all claim not to be responsible for dealing with residents’ concerns. They are also increasingly locked out of the legal system due to the gradual dilution of tenants’ statutory rights to repair, as well as cuts to legal aid. This is especially the case for council tenants, as local authorities’ environmental health officers are legally prevented from using their health and safety enforcement and prosecution powers on their own housing department or any management company or subsidiary acting on its behalf.²¹ It was this legal quagmire that Grenfell residents faced when trying to challenge what they saw as the health and safety risks posed by the refurbishment.²² Parliamentary efforts to change this situation and protect all tenants from dangerous housing conditions in England were defeated by Conservative MPs in 2016, when the official government line was that they would ‘result in unnecessary regulation and cost to landlords’.²³

It took the Grenfell disaster and intense political pressure in its aftermath for the government finally to give in and support new safety regulations on landlords and to appoint Dame Judith Hackitt, former chair of the Health and Safety Executive, to undertake a review of building regulations and fire safety in high-rise buildings. Combustible cladding has now been banned on all new residential and public buildings over 18 metres high, and borrowing controls on local authority housing departments have been relaxed – but this is too little, too late for the residents of Grenfell Tower.

Safe as Houses provides the first comprehensive account of the disastrous safety implications of the privatised model of commercial outsourcing and self-regulation that has come to dominate social housing and the wider built environment and that has left in its wake what Grenfell residents called an ‘accountability vacuum’ for ordinary people.²⁴ The book recounts the frustrated efforts of residents, whistle-blowers and even academics since the early 2000s to make social landlords and other public bodies listen to their concerns and evidence about how this outsourcing model was putting lives at risk. Instead of their concerns being listened to and properly investigated, local authorities and other public bodies have not only sided with the private companies, but have done everything in their power to ignore, deflect and even silence those who speak out. I know this because, as I will discuss in chapter 5, I too was targeted after I published evidence about dangerous work being carried out under the guise of regeneration. These experiences are now part and parcel of an ever-increasingly privatised state. By outsourcing regeneration to private companies whose social responsibilities have been progressively reduced over recent decades, politicians have ensured that the most important risks in regeneration – the health and well-being of residents – are moved away from the companies and state bodies involved and ultimately placed onto the public. In the process, residents’ safety has been sacrificed in pursuit of profit.

The book evidences this argument through an in-depth focus on public housing regeneration schemes in England since 1999 carried out under PFI, arguably the leading edge of outsourcing and deregulation in the UK. PFI has been the preferred means by which governments since 1992 have invested in building new or maintaining existing public infrastructure like hospitals, schools, roads, prisons, street lighting, leisure centres and social housing – as of end March 2017, there were 715 PFI schemes operating across the UK, worth at least £308.46 billion in committed public spending up to 2050 (see chapter 2). I will show how PFI is in reality outsourcing on steroids, handing over the entire process of financing, building, managing and maintaining public buildings and assets to ‘special purpose vehicles’ (SPVs) – typically a subsidiary company that represents the interests of private developers, banks and investors – through highly lucrative, long-term contracts that provide a guaranteed stream of taxpayer-funded, inflation-proof payments. Proponents of PFI promised that this far more expensive route for financing public infrastructure was worthwhile because it would guarantee greater ‘value for money’ through the private sector’s apparent ‘superior’ management of risk and a ‘payment by results’ contract that supposedly made profit conditional on performance. However, such claims amount to what the former head of the Financial Services Authority and current Royal Bank of Scotland (RBS) chairman, Sir Howard Davies, has called ‘a fraud on the people’.²⁵ Not only were the claimed efficiencies hugely exaggerated but, as I show in this book, PFI takes the regime of self-regulation to its ultimate extreme by effectively allowing the private companies to monitor and certify their own compliance with building and fire regulations, contractual standards and key performance indicators, leading to poor-quality work and services that are almost always rewarded with handsome profits. Three original case studies of public housing PFI regeneration are presented in chapters 3 and 4:

The book shows how this form of privatised regeneration works in practice, who the main actors are, how the law and public bodies empower them to evade accountability and act with impunity, and how much they profit in the process. The evidence presented is a damning indictment of what happens when public housing is outsourced to private companies that are empowered to squeeze every ounce of profit out of an estate by cutting corners and doing poor-quality and unsafe work. At the heart of the problem is the illogical notion that fire safety and building quality should be left to the voluntary action of profit-seeking capitalists rather than remaining a state-enforced requirement. The book concludes with policy proposals and campaign ideas needed to end the era of unsafe regeneration and housing provision in the outsourced state. We should all hope that if Grenfell was a disaster foretold, it will also represent the moment in history when political negligence and private greed were tamed, and the place we call home finally can become as safe as houses.

Chapter 1 charts the life and death of public housing, from its emergence as part of a wider collective resistance to the social murder of unregulated capitalism to its planned demise under neoliberal policies of privatisation, demunicipalisation, deregulation and austerity. It argues that public housing represented both the partial decommodification of shelter and the protection of residents’ health and safety through a wider system of building regulation and control. These qualities made public housing a target for privatisation and demunicipalisation policies that have recommodified and financialised housing and land for profit-seeking corporate interests. It was in this context that the ‘outsourced regeneration’ under PFI described in this book was born, with the launch in 2000 of New Labour’s Decent Homes programme, which sought to bring all social housing in England up to a minimum decent standard by 2010. The chapter ends with an explanation of how the assault on public housing was accompanied by the rolling back of building regulations and the rolling out of self-regulation that have weakened building safety and residents’ ability to hold their landlords to account.

Chapter 2 introduces the contested politics of PFI and regeneration under New Labour. It begins by outlining the basic workings of a PFI scheme before exploring the origins of this model as part of the wider corporate takeover and financialisation of public services. It then debunks official claims that the inflated cost of private finance is justified by the superior ‘value for money’ delivered through PFI’s supposed ‘risk transfer’ and ‘payment by results’ model. This is followed by an overview of the origins and evolution of PFI as the ‘only game in town’ for local authorities during the 2000s that wanted to retain ownership of public housing and access the desperately needed finance for home and estates in need of major regeneration and refurbishment. The chapter describes 20 PFI schemes across England eventually selected by the government, covering some 20,000 homes with a combined contract value of £5.58 billion, and explains how under PFI every aspect of housing regeneration – including the up-front financing – is contracted out to private companies. Finally, the chapter examines the controversy on the ground that met the undemocratic imposition of housing PFI schemes – sometimes in the face of resident opposition and the problems that engulfed the procurement of these contracts.

Chapters 3 and 4 present evidence gathered from the three case studies in Islington, Camden and Lambeth that arguably represent the most controversial PFI housing regeneration schemes in England. Chapter 3 recounts the experiences of residents in Islington’s street properties and Camden’s Chalcots Estate under the near-identical ‘Partners for Improvement’ consortia, while chapter 4 focuses exclusively on the MFN regeneration under Regenter. After setting out the origins of each scheme as well as the promises made to residents in each of them, the chapters illustrate in painstaking detail how residents experienced the kind of ‘regeneration from hell’ now synonymous with Grenfell. These chapters document the extraordinary number of problems that have plagued every aspect of these schemes, with information gathered through residents’ testimonies and complaints over defective works and services in both new-build and refurbished properties. The chapters also detail the shocking safety defects discovered during post-Grenfell inspections.

Chapter 5 focuses on a particularly sinister side of the outsourced state under PFI that was clearly present in the Grenfell disaster – the ‘accountability vacuum’. It draws on interviews with professionals in both the public and the private sectors, residents involved in PFI schemes and whistle-blowers to illuminate with specific examples three aspects of this deficit: first, the lack of public or regulatory scrutiny of PFI works and services under an extreme form of self-regulation and self-certified performance reporting; second, the role of poorly written contracts that set largely meaningless key performance indicators (KPIs) and result in minimal financial penalties for demonstrable failings; third, the local authority’s prioritisation of protecting long-term partnerships with private companies over genuine resident involvement and empowerment. I argue that all of this is compounded by the absence of genuinely independent and powerful regulatory bodies, as well as by an absence of legal routes that residents could use to get redress, meaning that those who do speak out are routinely ignored and sometimes actively silenced.

Chapter 6 turns to the bottom line of outsourced regeneration and self-regulation – the colossal financial riches made from these PFI contracts at the expense of residents and the taxpayer, and shows who benefits and by how much. The chapter maps out the intricate value-extraction chain of companies, and follows the money from government to the companies directly involved and then through to their ultimate owners, often offshored in tax havens. It shows how PFI enables a variety of commercial actors to capture an array of taxpayer-funded or otherwise underwritten income streams that would simply not be possible if regeneration was financed and procured directly through the public sector. This includes the complex yet lucrative financial deals done to raise the upfront investment that provides private banks, financial market traders and PFI investors with enormous risk-free profits, the generous profit margins commanded by the construction and maintenance firms from the lack of genuine competition in the procurement process, the conflicts of interest for the global accountancy firms that both advise the contracting companies and audit the schemes, and the huge windfalls on offer from the transfer of public land to the private companies involved through the development and sale of private housing.

Chapter 7 concludes by setting out a vision of immediate and gradual reforms needed for ending the era of unsafe regeneration and housing provision in the outsourced state. This means ending the disastrous regime of self-regulation by strengthening all building and fire safety laws for all homes and buildings, whether existing or in the pipeline, and creating new enforcement agencies that are independent of government and industry, with legal powers to inspect and enforce regulations. It also means ending PFI and similar models of outsourcing to bring back democratic control and accountability of public services and ensure the safety of our buildings. But re-regulation and nationalisation alone will not be enough. We must start to put in place a longer-term plan to end the financialisation of home and place based on a new model of public housing that treats the provision of shelter as a social service democratically accountable to its residents.

The evidence presented in this book stems from research carried out between 2007 and 2018 under different funded research projects and subsequent updates. From 2007 to 2011, I was funded by the British Academy Postdoctoral Fellowship scheme (ref. PDF/2007/75) to explore housing regeneration and PFI as part of a wider investigation entitled ‘The new enclosures: council housing privatisation in contemporary Britain’. I conducted a number of interviews with former government ministers, civil servants, local councillors, local authority housing officers and individuals working on social housing and PFI in the private sector. I also began to document some of the many emerging problems in PFI housing schemes at both the national policy level and at the local project scale, meeting residents affected by some of the early PFI regeneration contracts in Manchester, Reading and Leeds.

What I saw and heard was so shocking that I decided to focus the next stage of my research on evidencing residents’ experiences of PFI. This led to a three-year project, between 2011 and 2014, funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) (ref. RES-061–25–0536) entitled ‘Public housing regeneration under the Private Finance Initiative: a study about people, place and local governance’.²⁶ I wanted to understand how PFI transformed public housing as a place, a residential community and a democratically governed public service and, above all, what residents’ ‘lived experiences’ of PFI were. Three case studies were chosen, in Islington, Camden and Lambeth. Part of the methodology involved using a ‘participatory action research’ approach that brought the affected residents’ interests into the heart of the research design and implementation so that it became about both documenting and seeking to redress the poor accountability for construction and management failures under PFI.

A list of key interviews from these projects is presented in the appendix to this book, and these and other primary and secondary sources, including data disclosed under the 2000 Freedom of Information Act, are fully referenced in the chapters. This evidence base (and the book more generally) draws on the following peer-reviewed journal articles, though with updates and much new material: S. Hodkinson and C. Essen, ‘Grounding accumulation by dispossession in everyday life: the unjust geographies of urban regeneration under the Private Finance Initiative’, International Journal of Law in the Built Environment, 7:1 (2015), 72–91; S. Hodkinson, ‘The new urban enclosures’, City: Analysis of Urban Trends, Culture, Theory, Politics, Action, 16:5 (2012), 500–518; S. Hodkinson, ‘The Private Finance Initiative in English council housing regeneration: a privatisation too far?’, Housing Studies, 26:6 (2011), 911–932; S. Hodkinson, ‘Housing regeneration and the Private Finance Initiative in England: unstitching the neoliberal urban straitjacket’, Antipode 43:2 (2011), 358–383. The book also draws on and updates the research presented in a number of reports co-written with residents that are referenced in chapters 3, 4 and5. The evidence in chapter 6 is based on my own analysis of PFI companies’ annual accounts and the methodology is fully explained in the chapter.