Disparity and Disillusionment: The Unraveling of Europe’s Grand Revival Initiative
Every dawn, as Nadeem Iqbal steps into his living space, he beholds a sight of unprecedented wonder. A sheer rectangle of pristine, crystalline water now hangs suspended between two apartment edifices opposite his balcony, a liquid azure monolith defying gravity like a creation from a surrealist canvas by Magritte.
This marvel is the Sky Pool, the newest gem in the crown of the opulent residential sanctuary of Embassy Gardens in Nine Elms, southwest London. It’s a step into the absurd beyond the private cinema, indoor pool, gym, and rooftop lounge bar. Initially dismissed as a “ludicrous” PR gimmick when revealed by Irish developer Ballymore in 2015, it was envisioned as a fantastical fish tank of affluent individuals for the common folk to marvel at from below. Many doubted its realization. Yet, last week, the scaffolding was dismantled, revealing a vibrant blue expanse suspended amidst January’s leaden skies, ten stories above the ground—just beyond the 30-meter safety zone surrounding the neighboring US embassy.
Market as the world’s first “swimming pool bridge,” this acrylic marvel promises an ethereal experience, allowing residents to “float through the air in central London.” However, despite residing in Embassy Gardens, Iqbal and his neighbors will never savor the thrill of an aerial dip. “We have a front-row seat of the Sky Pool,” he lamented. “But the melancholy for us, residing in the shared-ownership enclave, is that we’re barred from access. It’s merely an ornament for us to admire, much like the elegant lobby and other amenities exclusive to the private blocks. We don’t anticipate these luxuries for free, yet we’re denied even the option to purchase them.”
To reach his modest two-bedroom abode—appraised at £800,000, of which he owns a quarter and leases the rest—Iqbal must traverse past the grandiose, hotel-like entrance to the complex, flanked by personalized supercars, to the rear of the development. There, beyond construction barriers and rubble heaps, lies a nondescript door nestled amidst ventilation shafts and a refuse repository, facing a railway line. “They’re termed ‘poor doors’ for a reason,” he sighed. “I hail from South Africa, a country once rife with racial segregation. But in London, class division persists egregiously. We have a mortgage and pay rent, yet daily, we’re reminded of our inferior status, relegated to the have-nots of Nine Elms.”
Stretching over a sprawling 230-hectare riverfront expanse from Vauxhall Cross to Battersea Power Station, spanning Lambeth and Wandsworth boroughs, the Vauxhall Nine Elms Battersea (VNEB) “opportunity zone” was hailed as Europe’s largest revitalization endeavor. When then-London mayor Boris Johnson unveiled the blueprints in 2012, it was touted as “the most transformative narrative in the world’s greatest metropolis,” the “final puzzle piece” in central London’s mosaic. Once a domain of low-lying warehouses and logistical hubs, it now looms large on the capital’s skyline. Sprouting along the riverbanks are competing clusters of opulent apartments, supplanting erstwhile elm groves with a concrete and cladding forest, a gaudy mosaic of mirrored facades, colorful panels, and synthetic bricks.
With approximately 5,000 residences completed over the past half-decade and another 15,000 in the pipeline, glimpses emerge of the district’s character and the ramifications of the past decade’s planning policies. Yet, the outcomes thus far are far from encouraging. Spanning an area akin to Monaco, the new precinct assumes the semblance of an exclusive enclave, a playground for global investors, relegating native Londoners to the peripheries or sidelining them entirely.
London is no stranger to towering symbols of affluence, but VNEB elevates the inequities of the real estate nexus to unprecedented heights. Here, penthouses with private sanctuaries and tracks overlook dilapidated council estates across the tracks. Scores of units lie vacant, held by clandestine firms in offshore havens, delineating a chasm between absent investors and owner-occupants ushered through ‘poor doors.’ Haunted by allegations of cronyism and electoral manipulations, it epitomizes the outcome of politicians beholden to developers, blinded by unwavering faith in the market, even as investors grapple with the realization that they’ve bought into a mirage.
Adjacent to the railway line, south-west from Vauxhall to Battersea, stand dense ranks of residential towers akin to Iqbal’s—a facet of the “affordable” segment of luxury developments, relegated to rear plots where land values wane, obscured from sight alongside garages and service entrances. Across the thoroughfare, the Riverlight development’s angular edifices line the Thames, housing a shared-ownership enclave besieged by the cacophony and debris of London’s new “super-sewer” construction site.
A mere stone’s throw from Embassy Gardens lies The Residence, by Bellway Homes, promising “Manhattan-style living” in brick towers accentuated by flamboyant hues. A sweeping staircase ascends from the street to a podium garden, yet a towering fence with an electric gate obstructs ingress for second-tier residents. “We’re deliberately excluded from communal life,” lamented Jason Owusu-Frimpong, a resident of The Residence facing the railway, managed by L&Q housing association. “We’d gladly pay for gym access if permitted, but management deems it beyond our purview. Meanwhile, the car park initially reserved for disabled use is now sold off to affluent foreign residents.”
A few paces from Owusu-Frimpong’s threshold, sportscars flaunting Qatari plates obstruct an emergency egress on the pavement, festooned with unpaid citations beneath their wipers. The concierge exudes exasperation. “This is willful misconduct,” decried the lobby attendant, barred to Owusu-Frimpong and neighbors. “We’ve dispatched countless notices, but their actions remain unchecked. Gulf residents descend here for seasonal sojourns, careening along roads, revving engines at ungodly hours, evading fines with impunity.”
VNEB crystallizes into a dichotomy, with a pervasive sense of schism ingrained into its fabric. Exclusion is enshrined within the edifices, streets, and communal spaces, policed by private regimes. If this is an opportunity, it’s one to trial a novel form of social apartheid on an industrial scale.
Andrea Franzel inhabits an apartment in Embassy Gardens’ Chancery block, managed by the Peabody Housing Association. After navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth as the residents’ association chair, he secured funding for a painting, mirror, and console table in the building’s stark lobby. Yet, after three years, Peabody’s neighborhood overseer deemed the table a fire hazard and had it removed. “It may seem trivial,” reflected Franzel, “but that table was part of our community.
Every time I return home, I see a space, a void indicative of our isolation, a constant reminder of our subjugation.”