This week, after a five-year legal wrangle, Ocado lost its battle to open a distribution centre next to a primary school in Tufnell Park, North London. The grocer’s plan was to build a 24/7 goods depot on the other side (literally) of the playground fence. The expensive dispute dragged on after three planning rejections and a trip to the High Court. In turn it created huge stress and drained much-needed time from schoolteachers and governors.
I know that because my children were at that primary school for most of this drawn-out battle. For that reason I always kept quiet and felt compromised when this story came up either at work with the Retail Week team, in passing conversation with Ocado, or at home at the school gates.
The retail industry needs businesses with robust growth plans. I admire its role as the biggest private employer in the UK, and applaud new ways of thinking and the innovative ways is strives to meet changing customer expectations. After all, Ocado is a grocer at the forefront of retail innovation and only this week posted strong first half results with EBITDA rocketing 329% to £71.2m.
Ocado is also one of Britain’s great international success stories with its white labelling of its game-changing grocery e-commerce platform. It has an army of fans; for British grocery customers, Ocado has changed how it’s viewed food shopping forever. And with the zone 2 DC plan it was attempting to put customers first - a central London location would enable faster, more efficient deliveries.
I found myself at a dinner next to a board member of Ocado. We discussed the case. That person laughed at the ‘middle class ridiculousness’ of it. But the point is, it wasn’t ridiculous
However, this five-year saga is, ultimately, a lesson in balancing business goals with corporate empathy. NOcado – as the anti-Ocado plan became known in the Tufnell Park community - was the small story that became huge because, in part, of corporate behaviour.
Yes, I heard Ocado's arguments for job creation. I recognised the reasons why it wanted to open a depot in the already congested and polluted zone 2 of London. I also cringed inwardly at the blatant nimbyism; it’s also questionable whether the case would have been successfully fought had it not been for a wealthy school demographic.
I found myself at a dinner next to a board member of Ocado. We discussed the case. That person laughed at the ‘middle class ridiculousness’ of it. But the point is, it wasn’t ridiculous to the thousands of children whose education, health and peace at school would have been affected. Nor the parents. Nor the teachers. There was a lack of recognition from the grocer about when was appropriate to call it a day and seek less contentious solutions. Its argument about the local benefits fell flat when you consider the plans were so loudly rejected by ongoing protests from that very community.
I’ve thought extensively about whether to write this given my biased position - hence my silence on the matter to date. Of course there’s an emotional involvement. But objectively this felt like a bid from Ocado to win at all costs, drafting in high-powered corporate lawyers to fight at every turn, and ultimately wasting money, time and resource on something that failed.
In the drive for sustainable business growth, it’s vital that retail leaders don’t lose sight of what matters. And that, in retail, is very often its communities. No matter how small they may be. NOcado was lucky. It had funds and influence behind it. There will be plenty of other instances when local communities cannot fight the same battle.
Profit matters. Growth matters. Of course it does. But so does purpose.
Charlotte Hardie is Editor in chief of Retail Week.
