What the Australian trade deal really means

To rescue agriculture – and humanity and the natural world – we need to dig deep and go on digging, says Colin Tudge

Everyone except a few businesspeople and our government, clutching as it is at post-Brexit straws, is agreed that Britain’s new trade deal with Australia is a disaster – although of course disasters have become the norm. Most obviously, the new deal will help to kill off British agriculture – although this, to a neoliberal government bent only on maximizing and concentrating material wealth, will be no bad thing. It’s still cheaper to buy food from abroad, from countries with more sunshine, cheap labour, and no meddlesome unions and NGOs, leaving us to make money from the things we are good at, of which there are still several (eg the sale of high-tech degrees from prestigious universities).

But the deal is a disaster for Britain’s farmers, and at least very sad for all those whimsical people who see the need for home-grown food and local economies, built around agriculture, in Britain and the whole world, and who hate the grisly prospect of hyper-intensive agriculture with no free livestock and no people. More even than this, the new deal symbolizes all that has gone wrong with the modern world: the loss of a sense of values, apart from the titular value of money; the loss of any sense of the sacred – a sense that derives from religion but is shared by the non-religious; a sense of what really matters, and of how we judge what matters.

In truth, the sickness of the present world runs so deep and has so many ramifications that it is hard to know how to begin the diagnosis, let alone the cure. Its roots lie deep in all history and in the evolved psychology of human beings (“evolved” does not necessarily mean gene-based). But a proximal cause beyond doubt is the economic ideology of neoliberalism, first formulated in the 1960s by the Chicago economist Milton Friedman. The ideology was adopted by Margaret Thatcher in the late 1970s and she passed it on to her great chum Ronald Reagan and thence it became the global norm, as things American tend to do. Friedman was awarded a Nobel Prize for his pains – one of many reasons for feeling that the idea of the Nobel Prize is past its sell-by date. Judgement is mine, sayeth the Lord.

Neoliberalism is an offshoot of capitalism but that is not what really matters. At least, I still nurse the conceit that capitalist ideas applied decorously as part of a mixed economy can work to the world’s net benefit – “business with a conscience”, as Kenneth Clarke puts it. The key point is that economies properly conceived – including the capitalist economy – should always be seen as a servant of society and of humanity and (although this is generally forgotten) should also be good for the natural world. The economy in short should operate as if society matters, and individuals matter, and the biosphere matters. J M Keynes said much the same thing except that he omitted to mention the biosphere, which wasn’t so close to collapse in his day. In short, the economy – like all of life! – must be embedded in what some including me suggest are the bedrock principles of morality and ecology – all underpinned by the metaphysical sense of the sacred.

Many capitalists in the history of the world would surely have been very happy with this, including Adam Smith. Smith is commonly seen as “the father of modern capitalism”. His book of 1776, The Wealth of Nations, is its seminal text. But Smith was a moral philosopher before he was an economist (his Theory of Moral Sentiments dates from 1759), and he took it to be self-evident that human beings must first and foremost be moral beings. Perhaps he should have been clearer on this point, though he couldn’t have foreseen what strange turns the world would take.

But although the neoliberals are seen to be good capitalists – neoliberalism is an extrapolation of capitalism and is sometimes seen as its apotheosis – they have, as a matter of policy, or indeed of ideology, shaken off the trappings of morality, which they see as an impediment. To be fair to Milton Friedman, he did not reject moral thinking out of hand. He wasn’t, apparently, a heartless monster. He simply thought that the economy would generate more wealth if it focused single-mindedly on making money – and assumed that wealth per se must be good for us all. Mrs Thatcher famously made the same point in a television interview with Brian Walden in 1980:

“No-one would remember the good Samaritan if he’d only had good intentions; he had money as well.”

To be sure, in the parable, the Samaritan installs the injured Jew in a hotel, and leaves his servant to take care of him. But as many a cleric pointed out after the Brian Walden interview, it’s the will that counts. You don’t have to be rich to exercise compassion; and, demonstrably, wealth per se does not make people more compassionate.

But the world at large and big business in particular were convinced by the arguments of Friedman via Thatcher and Reagan, or pretended to be, and neoliberalism is now the core of economic teaching in the world’s most prestigious centres of learning (Oxford, Yale, Stanford). It is taken to be the norm, or the only game in town, by most if not all of the present British cabinet. Most are too young to remember anything else. (Clarke for a time was the Father of the House but he might as well have been the great grandfather).

In practice, in the neoliberal world, wealth is supposed to be maximized by competing in the global market. Any enterprise that succeeds in the market and out-competes the rest is seen to be good, and any that fails is ipso facto bad. So the market itself becomes the moral arbiter. Other sources of conscience, like God, are seen at best to be anachronistic – although the American Christian Right has managed to convince itself that God is himself a neoliberal. Indeed they take this to be self-evident since they know no other way. Socialism is seen as the great no-no to be equated with communism and reds under the bed, a threat to the Americam way of life, to be stamped out with all possible vigour. In slightly less fanatical circles, as in Tory Britain, any alternative to the neoliberal status quo is said to be “unrealistic”. Indeed – since it must be good to maximize wealth – it is irresponsible to allow anything else to get in the way. Wildlife conservation is for long-haired layabouts. Ecology is for second-rate life scientists who aren’t clever enough to do molecular biology and get a proper job with Syngenta.

In agriculture, so long as oil is affordable and available, wealth is linked to production. Agricultural output is of course limited by the law of diminishing returns including the steady loss of soil structure and hence of potential fertility but in general, the more you produce the more you have to sell, and the more the less productive producers are shoved to the sidelines. Hence the unrestrained – “free”! – global market pushes the world inexorably towards monopoly. There are laws against monopoly but the largest traders in the form of transnational corporates have the wealth and power to override or circumvent the law, whether made by national governments or by international agencies and some national leaders (vide Thatcher and Rupert Murdoch) welcome monopoly so long as it is on their side.

So what’s to be done? In general, if we seriously care about the future of humanity and of the natural world, then we need to take agriculture very seriously indeed. It is at the heart of all the world’s affairs. But governments like ours, and that of the US and Australia and Russia and most other modern countries of the kind that are seen to be modern, do not. However they bill themselves all the most powerful countries are neoliberal and they treat agriculture as “a business like any other”, designed not to provide us all with good food and to look after the natural world but to feed commodities into the global market and compete for maximum profit.

To take agriculture seriously means that we must run it (like everything else) within the guidelines of morality and ecology, with (more or less) equal concern for society, for individuals, and for the biosphere at large. To this end we need farming that is rooted in the ideas of agroecology (treat all farms as ecosystems) and of food sovereignty (every society should have control of its own food supply) and, as I have argued many a time and Chris Smaje spells out very eloquently in Small Farm Futures (2020) this (in general) is best achieved by polycultural (mixed), low-input (organic) farms that perforce are complex and so must be skills-intensive and so are best left small- to medium-sized, and are geared primarily to local markets. This of course is the precise opposite of the kind of farming that maximizes short-term wealth, and so is required by neoliberal big business and supported (with taxpayers’ money) by neoliberal governments like ours. Ostensibly modern (though in truth anachronistic) big-time “Neoliberal-Industrial” agriculture leads us towards high-input monocultures with minimum to zero labour, all on the largest possible scale, and designed to produce commodity crops and livestock that are intended to make maximum profits on the global market. In the neoliberal world, profit trumps all. The biosphere – known as “the environment” – gets a sniff only insofar as it can be seen as “natural capital”, and can be made profitable. In Britain right now the countryside is made to turn a profit by building very expensive houses in places with a nice view, to be occupied at weekends by the sensible people who have focused on making money, leaving the locals on their average incomes to sink or swim, while local farming languishes in the spurious causes of modernity and “progress”.

So what’s to be done? Well, to begin with, nothing can be put to rights ad hoc. We need to replace neoliberal agriculture with what I have been calling “Enlightened Agriculture”, aka “Real Farming”, rooted in the principles and methods of agroecology and food sovereignty – or indeed, more broadly, in the bedrock principles of ecology and morality. But no big and worthwhile change can be achieved in isolation. We need an economy that can support Real Farming – an economy that is truly geared to the wellbeing of humanity and of the world, which means to the principles of morality and ecology. To achieve this, we need a government that sees itself truly as the servant of humanity and of the world.

To bring this about we need a different mindset.

To start with we need to re-think what we mean by morality. That is: we need a morality that is rooted in the universal principles of compassion, humility, and true concern for the natural world — very different from the “utilitarian” approach which dates from the 18th century and at least in its present, corrupted form, leads us to equate goodness with expediency and indeed with cost-effectiveness. We need a different approach to science. Now science is seen – at least by governments like ours and academics who have taken the commercial shilling – simply as the route to high-tech, which in turn is seen as a means to wealth. Yet science should be seen, as was the norm in the 17th century, primarily as an exercise in aesthetics and metaphysics; a spiritual exercise indeed. Metaphysics itself asks what are often called “the ultimate questions”: what is the universe really like; what are the roots of goodness; how do we know what’s true; and, “how come?” But metaphysics as an independent subject has gone missing. As a matter of urgency, it needs to be re-instated – brought back to centre-stage. In short: even to begin to put the world to rights we need to develop a new form of education; one that brings the ideas that really matter into the public realm, to help people at large to address the world’s real problems. Specifically, we need to replace the mountebanks, ignoramuses, and sometimes out-and-out gangsters who now control the world’s centres of power with people who can properly be called wise. (A key problem, of course, is that people who can be called wise aren’t usually interested in power. But that difficulty can be overcome, as some other societies have achieved in the past. It’s all a question of priorities).

All this lies behind the new Australian trade deal. It is a disaster in its own right but it is also the culmination of centuries of inadequate thinking which over the past few decades has emerged as a grisly alliance of uncritical technophilia (high tech, generously funded, will solve all our problems) and neoliberalism (the compulsion to maximize material wealth). Neoliberalism and uncritical technophilia between them, the hallmarks of governments like ours that consider themselves to be modern, are a greater threat by far to the future of the world than any mere pandemic.

I discuss all this in my latest book, The Great Re-Think, published by Pari Publishing (Tuscany): and we are seeking to explore and develop the ideas in our still embryonic but rapidly expanding College for Real Farming and Food Culture.

The biology of politics

Colin Tudge seeks to explain why the nice majority of people allow themselves to be ruled by a nasty minority

Most people are nice most of the time – meaning unselfish, cooperative, compassionate: feeling that other people – and other species – matter, and willing to put themselves out on others’ behalf. All of us are capable of nastiness but by far the majority would prefer to be nice, if they are not taken advantage of thereby. Most of us, too, are happy to be part of the gang. Few truly choose to be solitary, and few truly relish being out in front. Few of us except perhaps in moments or euphoria truly want to be leaders and even fewer are truly endowed with leadership qualities.

But human beings, like all successful species, are heterogeneous, not to say polymorphic. Some stand out among us. Sometimes this is to the good – for the world would be a sadder and certainly a duller place without the genius of Beethoven, or Einstein, or Prince Siddhattha Gotama. Some good people of genius are also outstanding leaders: Mahatma Gandhi, Desmond Tutu, and Nelson Mandela come to mind. All sought to lead their societies and indeed all humanity into better times. It is surely true, too, more generally, that the most universally successful long-term survival tactic is not to be ultra-competitive but to be cooperative; and cooperativeness is best reinforced by compassion – a sense that other people matter too. As Jesus put the matter, “the meek shall inherit the Earth”.

Alas, though, in the short term, until such time as society slumps into depression or explodes in chaos and war, it can pay those of selfish mien who seek to come out on top to be ultra-competitive, and as ruthless as may be necessary. Vicious, in short. Nasty. A few very rare individuals combine viciousness with some at least of the qualities of leadership – enough to induce others to follow them. Alas, too, the short term dominates the long term, for in practice the long term is merely a succession of short terms joined end to end.

Vicious thugs are both rare and damaging, and people who are both rare and damaging are commonly classed as psychopaths. But vicious thugs who also have enough chutzpah to inspire others are all too likely to dominate whatever society they live in – and so the world is always liable to be dominated by psychopaths. The present line-up includes Assad in Syria; Bolsonaro in Brazil; Modi in India; Viktor Orban in Hungary; several in Africa; and for the time being at least – who knows how long? – the unspeakable General Min Hlaing in Burma. But the global brand leaders in organized psychopathy are Putin in Russia and Xi Jinping in China. Donald Trump desperately wanted to join this all-powerful cabal and buddied up to both of them. But they rejected him. America has too much history – or perhaps too little. Also, of course, Trump wasn’t and isn’t bright enough. The super-elite are indeed vicious thugs but they are also clever. The world as a whole is all very public school, at its worst. No out-and-out thickos are allowed in the prefects’ room, or not at least in the inner circle.

All this is very primitive, in the proper sense of the word: reflecting our biological origins. For in the end human beings are primates – the third chimpanzee, as Jared Diamond put the matter; and as chimpanzees we are super-social creatures who quickly languish and die when isolated. But we are also tribal – which is good and advantageous insofar as it prompts us to cooperate with our neighbours, and bad and generally very damaging insofar as it prompts us to treat outsiders as the enemy. We are cursed too as chimps are with an in-built urge to follow whoever we perceive to be a strong leader – primarily to protect ourselves against the apparent or sometimes real threat of attack by rival tribes. The irony is, of course, that it’s the leaders who make the wars. Ordinary people just get to fight them. People on opposite sides who personally may have much in common – a shared love of football or home and hearth or wildlife or whatever – try to kill each other, in essence to protect the interests of their ostensible leaders with whom they have nothing in common at all, except that they live in the same country, though without ever meeting.

All this of course is just story-telling, an exercise in speculative biology. Yet it is enough, I suggest, at least in outline, to explain the past and present fate of the world: why we allow ourselves to be led by people who play by different rules from most of us — people who in large part hold us in contempt, except insofar as we are useful; why indeed the nice majority allow themselves to be ruled by a minority of psychopaths who are often extremely nasty.

This account, as it stands, provides no solutions. But diagnosis comes before cure, and I think it is helpful to spell out the nature of the problem.

These ideas are expanded in Colin’s latest book, The Great Re-Think, published by Pari

WANTED: A different attitude to science

Linnaea floribus geminatis = Linnaea borealis in Flora Svecica… (1745, Stockholm) by Carl Linnaeus

The Linnean and other learned societies might soon be priced out of their prestigious headquarters in London’s Piccadilly – and this, says Colin Tudge, reveals a deep flaw in our attitude to science

In our materialist, neoliberal society in which money is the measure of all things science is construed, and taught, almost entirely as a materialist pursuit — as the source of high technologies that can “compete” in the world market and make us all rich. (Or at least make some of us rich — those who are deemed to matter. Who, broadly speaking, are the ones who are rich already). Science is supposed to achieve this by helping us (humanity; known in Parnassian vein as “Man”) to control or indeed to “conquer” nature, roughly as recommended by Francis Bacon at the start of the 17th century, when recognizably modern science first got decisively underway. The immediate aim was and is to adjust the otherwise hostile natural world to our needs: “conquer” disease, keep us well fed, and generally make us more comfortable (and indeed richer).

The 18th century, the climactic age of the “Enlightenment”, saw the rise of capitalism and forged the grisly alliance of science and money that is with us still. Science provides the material understanding that gives rise to bigger and smarter technologies that in turn are geared to the perceived compulsion to maximize wealth – measured in money. William Blake’s “dark satanic mills” captures the thinking admirably. Conventional thinking has it too that all human endeavour is driven by our innate human desire to acquire and to dominate. These are not attractive characters, many might feel, but they are perceived nonetheless to be the defining features of human nature, shaped over aeons by natural selection, which has required us above all to compete, wax fat, and multiply our own particular kind, or at least to multiply the genes that ultimately underpin our urge to acquire and dominate. Or that at least has been the prevailing view these past few decades. The desire to be rich and dominant is therefore perceived to be natural and therefore to be right.

All of the above is dubious biology (which sadly misrepresents Darwin), and very bad moral philosophy, for as many a philosopher and Christian saint has pointed out, what is natural is not necessarily what is morally right. Much more to the point, though, is that there is no good reason to assume that greed and acquisitiveness are the prime features of human nature – or of any other creature, come to that — and there are many reasons to suppose that they are not.

Then again, the materialism of science and the spirituality of religion are often seen to be at odds. They seem to lead us to quite different worldviews. At least, again, that seems to be the received truth. Yet the great scientists and philosophers of science who launched the age of recognizably modern science in the 17th century were all devout: Galileo, Newton, Descartes, Leibniz, Robert Boyle, Robert Hooke, John Ray. All saw their research as a form of worship – seeking to understand the mind of God and hence to draw closer to him. To be sure, they could be very practical too. Newton pursued astronomy partly as an aid to navigation. Hooke’s microscopy had very obvious relevance to medicine. All in all though those fathers of modernity felt the same way about science as J S Bach, some decades later, felt about music; that it was for the glory of God. For them, science was a spiritual quest.

I can’t myself claim to be a bona fide scientist but I wanted to study biology from the age of six (nature study we called it at that innocent age) and it was the aesthetics and the sense of mystery – the thrill — that drew me into it: the world of nature pervaded by a sense of what the German theologian Rudolf Otto called “the numinous”; of an underlying intelligence; an underlying divinity. Later I earned a living by writing about science and met and talked to many hundreds of scientists and medics and I know that many of them feel that way too, even if they don’t necessarily express the thought in the language of Christian theology. Science, they feel, at its roots, is an aesthetic and spiritual pursuit. That is what it is really for, and why it deserves a special place in our culture. And that, I suggest, without dumbing down, is how it should be taught.

Such thoughts have now been brought to the surface by news in The Observer (February 18, 2021, p 3) that our dyed-in-the-wool neoliberal government wants to charge the five learned societies that lodge in London’s Burlington House an “economic rent”: the same amount that an oil sheikh or a Russian oligarch or Donald Trump might be prepared to pay to dwell amongst such real estate. I’m sure the super-rich could get permission to park their helicopters in Green Park (or anything else they might want to do) and then it’s just a brief stroll across Piccadilly. With cops to hold up the traffic and their personal bodyguards they’ll be safe enough. Obviously the learned societies should pay the going rate. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? And what trumps reason? And what is reason, but calculation? And isn’t money the universal calculus, and hence the ultimate measure of worth and of value?

The five learned tenants of Burlington House include the Society of Antiquaries of London; the Geological Society; the Royal Astronomical Society; the Royal Society of Chemistry; and the Linnean Society. The sixth inhabitant – the Royal Academy of Arts – is not apparently affected by the rent hike. The Linnean Society is close to my heart. I was a Fellow for some years before I foolishly allowed my fellowship to lapse when we left London. But I visited the library a lot when I wrote my book on taxonomy, The Variety of Life (which I would love to update, incidentally. Though not as a solo turn this time round, if anyone out there is interested). I also went to quite a few meetings, though not enough, and they were, and still are, splendid.

Much or most of the Linnean Society’s work is of direct relevance to everyday life, contributing directly to the wellbeing of humanity and the natural world. But also – and for my money of even greater significance – the Linnean has been and still is a guardian of “pure” biology, of scholarship for its own sake, not simply to control nature for our own material benefit but to enable us more fully to appreciate the world we find ourselves in. There is still a strong emphasis on taxonomy but the overall vision of the society is far broader, as recorded on its website: to contribute to “a world where nature is understood, valued, and protected”. Absolutely.

Among much else the Linnean houses some fine collections – not least of original illustrations by Beatrix Potter, who was a wonderful observer of the natural world as is evident not simply from her magical depictions of fungi but also from Peter Rabbit and the rest. Peter wears a blue blazer but he’s still a very rabbity rabbit. Perhaps the Linnsoc’s greatest coup was the paper by Messrs Darwin, C, and Wallace, A R, which was read in their absence in 1858, on their parallel insights into evolution by means of natural selection – although the society secretary, in his annual report, famously or infamously recorded that nothing much of interest had happened that year. Wallace wasn’t there because he was in darkest Brazil and Darwin was holed up in darkest Kent or perhaps was taking noisome waters in some sulphurous spa. Darwin published Origin of Species just a year later, in 1859. Origin of Species was a rushed job. Darwin intended to write the definitive work later but never got around to it. Often the rushed jobs are the best. You never can quite “recapture that first, fine careless rapture”.

The Linnean was founded in 1788 and was granted its Royal Charter in 1802. It is named of course after the Swedish biologist Carolus Linnaeus (1707-1778). The Swedes liked to Latinize their names in those days. Linnaeus was truly the founder of modern taxonomy. He divided all living creatures (or all the ones he knew about) into two kingdoms, animal and plants (in which he somewhat waywardly included fungi. Surely he knew they are not plants?). Nowadays all living creatures are divided into three “domains” (Bacteria, Archaea, and Eucaryota) and the eukaryotes are split into about seven kingdoms including Animals, Plants, Fungi (which in truth are closer to animals than to plants) and a miscellany of seaweeds, slime moulds, and single-celled “protists”. But the basic hierarchical structure is still much the same as Linnaeus proposed.

He also bequeathed the modern way of naming living creatures – in Latin binomials, the generic name followed by the specific, as in Homo sapiens and Bellis perennis. He wasn’t quite as original as he may seem, however. Nobody ever is. All stand on the shoulders of giants, as Newton acknowledged, and depend on the labour of lesser lights (which Newton surely would not have acknowledged). Thus Linnaeus derived his Latin binomials largely

from the Latin herbals of earlier centuries and John Ray had made a very good fist of classification in the 17th century (though this is less well recognized than it should be). Linnaeus himself was a wonderfully flamboyant character, who led the local citizens on botanical rambles – with all of them kitted out in special livery and accompanied by a brass band. Presumably when and if he went bird-watching he left the brass band at home. But plants can’t run. (I like brass bands. But there’s a time and place.)

The Linnean Society moved to Burlington House in 1856. Sandra Knapp, now president of the society, told The Observer that the three buildings that surround the main courtyards of Burlington House “were built specifically for the use of the learned societies by Queen Victoria as a cultural hub in central London”. But although Britain’s governments in the mid-19th century were pretty hard-nosed, today’s neoliberals are even harder. Like Hermann Goering, when they hear the word “culture” they reach for their collective revolver. Thus in 2012 the Linnsoc paid £4000 in annual rent – peppercorn for such a place, but appropriately so. Then neoliberal ideology took over and by 2020 the rent had ballooned to £130,000 – a 3000% mark-up. “If this continues at this rate”, says Dr Knapp, “we will have to relocate”.

Where to? One wonders. Some big shed in, say, Slough? (Only 30 minutes to Central London by train. Even quicker by HS2, if it stopped there, which it won’t. Or anywhere else, apparently.) Surroundings matter, enormously. I personally was lured into biology partly or largely by visits with my pa to London’s Natural History Museum, its arches festooned with terracotta pterodactyls, grand and mysterious and other-worldly – yet not sci-fi but our own world as it once was. And what will happen to London’s “cultural hub”? The Victorians were into commerce, too, big time – it was, in the end, the point of the Empire – and they loved technology too. Both came together triumphantly in the Great Exhibition of 1851. But although orthodox Christian theology was losing its grip in England (receding, wrote Matthew Arnold in Dover Beach, in a “melancholy, long, withdrawing roar”) the Victorians very obviously retained a sense of values apart from those of razzmatazz and money. Broadly, they still very obviously had a sense of the sacred and of the divine. It’s that, above all, that seems to have gone missing. Only money counts these days, at least with the people with the most power, like our present government. The possible exodus of the Linnean and the others is a symbol of the materialist shift. The melancholy roar continues – to leave, so Arnold went on to say, only the “naked shingles of the world”.

For science, for humanity, and for our fellow creatures and the fabric of the Earth, this – essentially the loss of the sacred – is the most damaging blow of all.

Colin Tudge expands these ideas in The Great Re-Think.

Illustration of Linnaea floribus geminatis (Linnaea borealis) in Linnaeus’s Flora Svecica (1745, Stockholm). Image: Public domain via Wikimedia Commons


Two weeks after its article on The Linnean The Observer brought news of the government’s “reckless” cuts to UKRI – the UK Research and Innovation agency, which controls science funding in Britain: from £245 million to £125 million (14 March, p15). For alas, the plight of the Linnean is but a symptom of a far greater malaise – the deep philistinism of the present government and all it stands for, which is or are the very worst qualities of the Right: opportunistic, materialist, self-centred, dedicated above all else to tangible wealth and personal advancement. Everything that is necessary and most worthwhile in this country and is dependent on public support is starved of funds: science; the arts; agriculture; education; housing; transport; and, most immediately, the National Health Service which, our government has the effrontery to claim, is closest to its heart. All are threatened with privatization – takeover by the highest bidders. Instead of the things that matter we have short-term putative earners and vanity projects including the fifth Heathrow air-strip, HS2, and Boris’s absurd proposal for a (literal) bridge to Ireland. All will waste money, damage the biosphere still further, detract from the things that really matter, and lead us deeper into the mire.

The Tories and its splinter group UKIP affect to be patriotic, not to say chauvinistic. They also claim to be fiscally wise. Yet in their twelve years in power the succession of Tory governments (with noises off briefly from the Lib-Dems) has contrived to turn what they perceive to be Great Britain into a banana republic, selling off whatever is saleable (which seems to be all of it) and increasingly dependent on foreign capital and whim – the very opposite of the sovereignty that they claim to hold dear. Britain’s very palpable decline is not their fault of course. They blame the Left, the Russians, Iran, the EU, or whoever else may swim into view, and now Covid. But they are the government after all, and they have been for a long time. They do have a lot of real power. Surely a little bit of the buck must stop with them.

To put things right it isn’t enough just to vote for somebody else at the next election. Keir Starmer is the most plausible alternative and is surely a good man and this alone would be a pleasant change but it’s not enough. Neither Labour nor any other existing political party can do the things that really need doing. Indeed, probably, no mere political party of any conceivable kind can do what really needs doing. Government of one kind or another is surely necessary (societies need some kind of central organization, and someone has to take the decisions that affect the whole world) but governments alone can and should do only what the people at large want them to do. What’s most essential is that people at large should want the right kind of things and should have enough influence to ensure that those things happen.

As I argue in The Great Re-Think, to put things right – or at least to point the world in the right direction – we need first of all, the sine qua non, to spell out what it is we are actually trying to achieve: something more substantial than “Take back control” or “Put America first”. Our goal, I suggest, should be to create or at least to work towards “convivial societies – with personal fulfilment – within a flourishing biosphere”.

To achieve this, we need to re-think everything we now take for granted from first principles: what we value and why; what kind of government and economy we really need; what in practice we need to do, to create the kind of world we really want. Crucially, in the above, “we” means everyone. The change we need must be led by us. People at large.

High on the agenda is democracy. Democracy is difficult – indeed it can never be perfect. But we have to make it work. Most countries now claim to be democracies (some even have the word “democratic” in their title – often those with least claim to it) but in most countries, including this one, democracy at best is a travesty. Overall, the breadth and depth of the changes required amount to nothing less than a Renaissance, which literally means “re-birth”. But the Renaissance we need now must be people-led. Then, with the goal agreed and the appropriate structures in place, we can begin where necessary to re-structure. Not everything needs to be re-structured – some of what we have, including the NHS, is just what’s needed (at least in principle) and there are plenty of good models to build upon in other fields including agriculture and education; and there are even some good up-and-running economic models out there (including community ownership and various forms of cooperative). In practice the Renaissance we need can best be led by an Agrarian Renaissance – a re-think of farming and food. These in the end are the most important of all human pursuits, affecting everything else and affected by everything else. Serendipitously too, and despite appearances, they are the most amenable to a people’s takeover.

In short, what’s happening in the world at large in many countries including the biggest and most influential, is infinitely depressing; and for the most part the world’s most influential people are either wicked (it’s not too strong a word and in some cases is not strong enough) and/or ignorant and incompetent (often staggeringly so). Yet the present is exciting too. To borrow a phrase from the gung-ho neoliberals, “There are no problems – only opportunities”. Despite the best efforts of the people who now run the world we, people at large, do have an opportunity to set out and enact a new agenda: ideas and ways of life that really could keep humanity and the natural world in good heart in effect forever, starting with the next million years. Let’s go for it.

The Great Re-Think by Colin Tudge is published by Pari Publishing.