Sunday, 25 October 2026

In The Headlights

I know someone who won his workingmen's club's Stars In Their Eyes competition by singing Bright Eyes while dressed as a rabbit. I commend that course of action to Councillor Simon Bennett of Wolverhampton, as an alternative to sending round four Police Officers in two cars to arrest a 15-year-old identified only as Fraser, search his home, seize his devices, and take his fingerprints, his mugshot, and a sample of his DNA, all for having posted this picture online.


Indeed, assuming that Bunny Bennett was born in the United Kingdom, then he should record and release a cover version, since unlike Art Garfunkel's original that would be eligible for airplay on GB Music Radio, where Fraser, being a member of Reform UK, might have the pleasure of hearing it. Too bad for the forthcoming reggae version of The Lord's My Shepherd by the Lucknow-born Sir Cliff Richard. Yes, really. He wants it to be the Christmas Number One.

Too bad, likewise, for any such foray on the part of Daniel Hannan, Peter Hitchens, Boris Johnson, or indeed your humble blogger. Johnson, however, really ought to be arrested, and urgently so since he intends to decamp to his native United States to avoid his accountability for his mass manslaughter in the care homes. The Minister directly responsible for those was the now ubiquitous Helen Whatley, who is herself planning to use the benefits system to commit homicide on a similarly industrial scale.

Arrested at the very least on suspicion of misconduct in public office, would Johnson be handcuffed? Was Peter Mandelson? Or do the Police save that for schoolboys, and for blind wheelchair-users and octogenarian clergywomen holding up signs in support of the entirely peaceful Palestine Action that therefore ought not to be proscribed? Have they nothing better to do than that, or running around after Labour MPs who had reported the Greens for having passed a resolution, or following up on Reform's complaint about, all right, the blacker ops of investigative journalism, but even so?

Sea Change

In denying the rights of the people who were forcibly removed from the Chagos Islands and of their descendants, Andy Burnham is placing himself in the same category as Javier Milei, backed up by Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu. The same right of self-determination is enjoyed by the people of the Falkland Islands and by the Chagossian people. Anyone who does not believe in both does not believe in either.

The British Right worships Argentina under Milei, the United States under almost anyone but especially Trump, and Israel under absolutely anyone at all, even though Israel armed Argentina during the Falklands War. British centrism idolises the European Union of Emmanuel Macron and Friedrich Merz, who are offering to supply submarines to Argentina in a very significant departure from France’s strong support for Britain in 1982. Both the rightists and the centrists are unfit.

Call in Melania Trump, who apparently deserves the Nobel Peace Prize that has eluded her husband. It was he who handed over Syria to the people who have just killed seven mourners at a church funeral in Jordan. Cheered on both by the rightists and by the centrists in his country, in this country, and in every other country where the terms were meaningful. They both need to get out of the way.

Saturday, 24 October 2026

Reflect The Contortions


The Government’s decision to approve the Jackdaw gas field is undoubtedly the right one. It strengthens our energy security and will support many skilled workers in Aberdeen whose livelihoods depend on the North Sea. So accustomed have we become to vital industries being destroyed by green ideology, that even this barest of minimums is truly worth celebrating.

The project, beset by legal challenges, can finally enter production, bringing much-needed domestic gas into our energy system. Jackdaw is expected to supply around 6 per cent of British gas production at its peak and contribute an estimated £2.9 billion to the economy; driving local investment in the Northeast of Scotland and protecting established supply chains.

The importance to our energy security is greater than many recognise. On Thursday, it was revealed that Britain’s energy regulator Ofgem was making emergency plans to secure additional supplies of pipeline gas from Europe this winter. We are facing “negative supply margin”, meaning that a one-in-twenty-year cold day could lead to a supply shortfall. Such an event has never happened before, but has become more likely as our domestic gas supplies from the North Sea have fallen. In a worst-case scenario, it could mean factories having to shut down and homes being disconnected from the gas grid.

Beyond its economic and strategic benefits, Jackdaw’s approval could mark an even more significant turning point. In defending it, the Prime Minister has been making an argument that we sceptics of Net Zero have been making for many years. Namely, that it makes no sense at to import hydrocarbons from abroad rather than use our own. Not for the environment, and certainly not for the economy. Labour had spent much of the last decade, lest we forget, preaching the importance of keeping it in the ground.

We should take nothing for granted. It is important to understand what has and has not changed. Labour has not formally abandoned its policy of refusing new oil and gas exploration licences. Jackdaw is an existing licensed field, approved under the previous Conservative Government, whose subsequent legal difficulties prevented it from progressing.

The decision is therefore consistent with Labour’s existing policy. Yet it could be so much more than that: there is the potential here for the Government to embrace a newfound energy realism, a pragmatism that can help the country move on from the miserabilism of Net Zero.

For too long, so-called environmentalists have become erroneously fixated with the supply side of the emissions equation, insisting that oil companies simply extract oil for the hell of it and that people will pay them just to burn it. Possibly whilst doing an evil laugh. Were they to move on from these gross simplifications, they could embrace a far more productive approach to decarbonisation that recognises that if there are cheaper and better alternatives to fossil fuels, people will use them.

We are being asked to believe that, on the one hand, these projects will not bring down international fossil fuel prices but, on the other, that they will somehow stimulate greater international demand for fossil fuels. It doesn’t add up.

The legal troubles that the Jackdaw project has faced reflect the contortions of the modern environmental movement. Even though we have legislation that governs our emissions — the Climate Change Act — the legal challenge to Jackdaw was brought under Environmental Impact Assessment regulations. It was decided that their environmental impact assessment ought to have considered what are known as “Scope 3” emissions; that is to say, downstream emissions from burning the fossil fuels themselves, either here in Britain or overseas.

Beyond the Climate Change Act, which explicitly only covers territorial emissions, it is entirely discretionary what this “consideration” entails. Years and millions of pounds on legal fees have been wasted, only to let ministerial whim once again dictate the fate of many livelihoods. This is not the rules-based system espoused by sincere liberals. It is a corrupt system that allows powerful green vested interests to destroy industries they don’t like.

Which is why it was so encouraging to hear the Conservatives’ pledge at their conference to withdraw Britain from the Aarhus Convention; the treaty makes it incredibly easy to bring judicial reviews against infrastructure and energy projects, by capping costs to claimants. Leaving it will help protect future planning applications from such needless and expensive delays.

The Labour government, having accepted the argument for domestic oil and gas extraction, and having a younger voting base tired of economic stagnation, are in a prime position to embrace the abundance mindset that will be so important to our country’s future success. If only they have the courage of conviction to see off the extremist Net Zero advocates in their midst.

This won’t be easy. Net Zero has become akin to state ideology in modern Britain and it remains on the statute book. The next test will be making a decision on the larger Rosebank oil play. Here the mood music is not so encouraging, and there is a significant risk that the Government will argue that as an oil-producing field it is not as critical to our energy security as a gas field and block its approval.

But I remain optimistic for the future. A recent opinion poll showed that a majority of even left-wing voters now back issuing new licenses for oil and gas developments in the North Sea. Among the country at large, this is supported by a margin of 52% to 24%. The Government’s policies will have to reflect this new political reality.

Although Nick Tyrone cautions:

After years of being held up by legal challenges, the Jackdaw gas field, which sits about 150 miles east of Aberdeen in the North Sea, is to be reopened for exploration and production. This is undoubtedly good news – yet it also represents a half-measure by Andy Burnham’s Labour government.

Rosebank, a site which sits a few hundred miles northwest of Jackdaw, is the bigger prize for the UK economy. Ideally, the government would have allowed production at both sites, but if they had to pick one, Rosebank would have been the superior choice. Why the government looks set to reject Rosebank tells us a lot about UK energy policy and where it looks to be headed.

Some basics on Rosebank. It is estimated that it can produce around 69,000 barrels of oil a day at peak production, although exploration could reveal more than this in time. The total reserves of the site are estimated at 500 million barrels of oil, which is an amount that would supply the UK’s needs on its own for a year and a half.

Rosebank could also produce about 44 million cubic feet of gas a day. This is a small amount in terms of overall British consumption, but every little bit of gas helps. This is because the UK has become terrible at domestically producing natural gas and then storing it. We import around 68 per cent of the gas we use, which is a shocking amount given how much of our own gas we could be producing. UK energy policy should be absolutely focussed on reducing how much energy we import – instead, it is all about Net Zero, at least for this government and the Tory governments that preceded it.

Again, opening Jackdaw is good news. The site can produce about 200 million cubic feet of gas a day, which is around 2.5 per cent of UK demand. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but again, any uptick in domestic energy production is a good thing at this point. Yet opening Jackdaw and not Rosebank makes very little sense given that production at both sites would so obviously be beneficial to Britain, both in economic terms and energy security.

What, then, are the arguments against opening both sites up? I will run through the main ones now – and debunk them.

The chief argument made by environmentalists is that producing any oil and gas whatsoever in Britain is bad because it will make it extremely difficult for us to meet our climate targets – a 68 per cent reduction in carbon emissions by 2030 compared to 1990 levels, and entirely Net Zero by 2050. Putting aside an argument on whether Net Zero is a good thing to aim for or not, this argument does not even make sense on its own terms.

The UK does very well globally in the Net Zero race. Why? Because we don’t produce nearly enough of our own energy. We import it. Which means that we are simply allowing carbon production to take place elsewhere, while the UK gets to virtue-signal about being a low-carbon emitter. But climate change is a global problem. Cutting CO2 emissions down in Britain so that China or elsewhere can produce a whole lot more on our behalf makes no sense at all in environmental terms. Yet that is what we are doing.

The other classic argument is the one that says there is no point in exporting more energy from Britain because it would not provide an economic benefit. Oh dear, this is the one I really detest, mostly because the thinking is so lazy.

For a start, energy production in Britain at the level of Jackdaw and Rosebank would provide an instant boon to the UK economy in two ways.

One, it would create jobs, possibly thousands of them, which I assume doesn’t need explaining in terms of economic benefit. The other is in the form of tax receipts. Even if energy companies export most of what they produce at Scottish sites, they will be taxed in the UK for it. The headline rate is 78 per cent, so we are talking about a potentially huge amount of money that the Treasury could have that it does not currently have.

The arguments for opening as many sites in the North Sea for energy exploration and production as are financially viable are obvious and common sense. The arguments against them are half-arsed, logically incoherent and bathed in ideological dogma.

One of the most important issues for the United Kingdom over the next decade will be energy security. We are way, way behind the curve on this now. Our neighbours in Norway do every aspect of energy better than we do, from the production of oil and gas to developing renewable energy sources. You would think getting the left to look at Norway for answers would not be that difficult to do, given that it’s a successful Nordic social democracy. But when it comes to energy, even that is a bridge too far.

Britain needs to sort this problem out. Opening Jackdaw is a start, but a modest one. We need to produce more of our own energy. Without it, we’ll become poorer and more vulnerable, while having no impact on climate change.

Yet Jeremy Warner still holds out hope:

It’s long been the “somewhere over the rainbow” promise of economic transformation that never seems to arrive. No, I’m not talking about AI, which, though already with us, has yet to prove the grandiose claims made of it. Rather, I’m referring to nuclear fusion. This is the holy grail of energy production – the promise of limitless quantities of low-cost, carbon-free, baseload electricity.

Like the grail itself, commercialisation has thus far eluded even the world’s finest scientific minds and entrepreneurs. But that doesn’t mean it’s still just science fiction. Lab-made fusion has already been successfully demonstrated on multiple occasions, and the science behind it is now relatively well advanced. Yet until a few years ago, all such experimentation consumed more power than it generated, rendering it useless as an energy source. As the old joke goes, economically viable fusion is about 30 years away, and will always be 30 years away. Harnessing the same power as the sun has proved much more difficult in practice than in theory. 

In the past several years, however, there have been some very definite signs of the required breakthroughs. And perhaps surprisingly, some of them are happening in Britain. With its history of academic excellence, the UK has always been good at this sort of stuff, but it has also been notably poor at commercialising it. Innovative success has not translated well into economic exploitation. Rather, it is the US, and increasingly China, that tend to capitalise on what comes out of British brainpower. Is fusion likely to suffer the same fate? Dennis Whyte, who was this month appointed the chief executive of the UK Atomic Energy Authority – the Government body responsible for the nation’s “fusion strategy” – is determined that it should not. Formerly director of the fusion centre at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Whyte believes the UK has a unique set of capabilities that will allow it to excel in fusion’s development and commercialisation.

But first let’s talk about the potential, which to economic nerds like me is the really interesting bit. Move over AI, the truly transformational technology coming down the road at us is not fully conscious humanoid robots but fusion. Most economic progress is at root about energy and our ability to harness it to human purposes. At the heart of the industrial revolution, for instance, was not so much the machines themselves as the transformative power of coal. The so-called Kardashev scale, though in some respects quack science, provides one way of charting economic advancement according to energy consumption. 

Named after Nikolai Kardashev, the Soviet era astronomer, it seeks to measure progress in civilisation based entirely on the amount of energy that can be harnessed and deployed. According to Kardashev, it’s only when humans manage to access unlimited quantities of it beyond mere Earth-bound sources that civilisation achieves its true potential. This may or may not be an endorsement, but Elon Musk is particularly keen on the Kardashev way of thinking. Only for him it’s about accessing the power of the sun via solar panels, battery storage and infrastructure in space. Indeed, he has dismissed pursuit of Earth-bound fusion reactors as “super dumb and farcical”. Musk is the undisputed master of tech commercialisation, so he has to be taken seriously.

Nonetheless, he should know better than anyone that progress involves, through a process of trial and error, testing the frontiers of science to virtual destruction and eventually finding a way through. Think about it; if manmade fusion can be achieved at scale, it is likely to be a far bigger driver of productivity growth than anything AI can offer, as well as being a potential solution to any existential threat posed by climate change. As Whyte points out, AI is a technology with unproven potential, despite the hundreds of billions of dollars being invested in it.

A lot of questions remain about its supposedly transformational powers, as last week’s wobble in AI-related stocks and shares seemed to confirm. Nobody knows what its effect on jobs and growth might be, still less whether it is capable of generating the returns needed to justify the vast amounts being invested in it. With energy, on the other hand, we already know what cheap power can do; fusion is moreover not just a further time-limited energy source, in the same way as a new gas field might be. It is a forever, unlimited resource that promises to power hitherto undreamt levels of technological advancement and human progress. If it can be achieved, it truly would be a game changer, and as an economic leap forward, perhaps bigger than even the Industrial Revolution. Interestingly, it is also complementary to the development of AI, which both has an insatiable appetite for power and whose computational skills are already helping to turbo-charge the pursuit of commercially viable fusion. There is a developing symbiosis between the two, a mutually beneficial co-dependency which ought to help both technologies achieve their potential.

I’m no expert, so I cannot tell you if in 30 years’ time we’ll still be saying fusion is 30 years away and will always be 30 years away. But Whyte knows as much as there is to know about fusion, and he’s never been more optimistic. A growing number of labs and companies are successfully achieving it, including recently General Fusion Group, which has announced that its magnetised target fusion (MTF) technology has reached electron temperatures exceeding 12 million degrees Celsius, well in advance of what’s needed for fusion to take place. The results were confirmed using the UK Atomic Energy Authority measurement techniques. What’s more, around £10bn of private capital globally has been invested in fusion in a clear signal that commercialisation is beginning to be seen as eminently possible and even likely. Not to be outdone, China is also chasing hard, having elevated fusion to a core strategic frontier and national infrastructure priority.

Some readers may be familiar with an Apple TV science fiction series called For All Mankind, which is based around the idea that the space race never ended. The consequent superpower rivalry drives rapid technological progress, such that by the year 2000 space exploration and colonisation are far in advance of anything we see today. The same rivalry already apparent between the West and China in AI is beginning to take hold in nuclear fusion, where China has a significant advantage in terms of the supply chains and manufacturing capacity needed to make fusion reactors a reality. Still, Britain is for now very much part of the race. The UK was the first country in the world to produce nuclear power at scale for civilian use. It would be nice to think it is still capable of doing the same with fusion.

Beginning with the full exploitation of the Rosebank and Jackdaw fields, let us harness the sovereign power of the State, to deliver an all-of-the-above energy policy based around civil nuclear power and this country’s vast reserves of coal. Around those twin poles of nuclear power and of clean coal technology, let there be oil, gas, lithium, wind, solar, tidal, and everything else, bathing this country in heat and light. This is why we have a State. There is always climate change, and any approach to it must protect and extend secure employment with civilised wages and working conditions, encourage economic development around the world, uphold the right of the working class and of people of colour to have children, hold down and as far as practicable reduce the fuel prices that always hit the poor hardest, and refuse to restrict travel opportunities or a full diet to the rich. We must be unequivocal about regretting the defeat of the miners in 1985. Is Kemi Badenoch? Is Nigel Farage? Is Ed Davey? Is Zack Polanski?

We sent our manufacturing to India and China, yet we have the gall to criticise their carbon emissions. And we expect to depend for energy on the Sun, the wind and the tides, precisely because it is beyond our power to stop them from doing what they do and we just have to live with it, yet we also expect to be able to stop climate change rather than finding ways of living with that. China manufactures most of the  world’s solar panels, which should be on buildings rather than on farmland and which we need to start making here, but let there be solar, wind and tidal energy in the mix. The base of that mix is nuclear and coal. The coal without which there can be no steel, and thus no wind turbines or tidal turbines, just as there could be no rigs, pipelines, or power stations. Britain stands on one thousand years’ worth of coal, and was the world leader in clean coal technology until the Miners’ Strike. Again, do not vote for anyone who will not say that the miners were right. Does Andrew Rosindell, whose constituency office is called Margaret Thatcher House, say that? Does Robert Jenrick, who gave his daughter the middle name Thatcher? Not Margaret. Thatcher.

Fracking? There is no problem with any energy source in principle, but none of that shale gas has turned up yet, and if it is anywhere, then it is in heavily populated areas that could do without the earthquakes, the poisoned water, and all the rest of it. Any economic arrangement is a political choice, not a law of physics, and the “free” market cannot deal with climate change while defending and expanding our achievements. That is precisely why it is being promoted. But instead, we need the State, albeit a vastly more participatory and democratic State than has often existed. The energy sources to be preferred are those which provided high-wage, high-skilled, high-status jobs.

The standing charges on gas and electricity are 50 times the cost of maintaining the networks, and although they are supposed to protect the suppliers from going bankrupt, not only have they repeatedly failed to do so, but they have never come down when those suppliers have been eye-wateringly profitable. Thanks to the all-of-the-above energy policy, just abolish them. And thanks to the all-of-the-above energy policy, let there be an all-of-the-above transport policy based around public transport free at the point of use, including publicly owned railways running on the electricity that public ownership would also supply to charging points in every neighbourhood and village. Astonishingly, and yet not, the fewest charging points for electric vehicles are in the coalfield areas. Also, never forget that, when we can catch them, buses carry far more passengers than trains do, but those passengers tend not to be politicians or the “opinion-forming” sort of journalists. And so on. Let a thousand flowers bloom. In a garden well-tended and well-watered as an expression of democratic sovereignty.

This Deluge of Dysfunctional Divulgence

It must have been around three weeks ago that I was involved in a couple of conversations on Twitter, one about Ian Hislop’s Newsnight interview in which he bewailed that the plebs no longer deferred to their betters, and the other about the Daily Telegraph’s increasing promotion of sexual infidelity while attacking things like the traditional Sunday lunch. On the first, I pointed out that since the “satire boom” of the early 1960s, which was as long as most people had been alive, some public school Sixth Former from 1959 had been telling us all what to think, and if that had ever been funny, then it no longer was. On the second, I set out that while he himself had moved to a better payer, the Telegraph had always been the newspaper closest to Boris Johnson in his pomp. And he, of course, embodied Toryland’s financial fiddles and adulterous affairs. Theresa May was who they liked to think that they were, but Johnson was the truth and they knew it. As did he. Now, as the proprietor on which the Telegraph’s staff insisted to the point of having the Statute Law changed sacks 100 of them in favour of AI-generated puzzles, even The Critic, in the person of Ben Sixsmith, has dared to notice:

“I thought motherhood had killed my sex drive,” declares a headline in The Telegraph, “But I just needed a divorce.” Er — okay? The author of the Telegraph is apparently “a Modern Priestess of Pleasure guiding women out of burnout and into their feminine power”. Her book Blow Up Your Life claims to be “the book your husband doesn’t want you to read”, and contains sentences like: “we have buried our truth so deep, like an Easter egg in a Taylor Swift video …”

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not trying to be an austere moralist. Divorce in ice-cold marriages can be the best thing for everyone involved, I’m sure, and it would doubtless be possible to write something interesting, compelling and challenging about the experience. I’m just not sure this is the thoughtful and nuanced voice that a Telegraph reader might deserve. But for some reason The Telegraph is absolutely heaving with this sort of thing: lifestyle columns about people — largely, but not exclusively, middle-aged women — upending their lives before grandly, prematurely celebrating it. At this point, the two quintessential Telegraph columns are “The woke pro-Palestine protestors have gone TOO FAR” and “I was bored with my marriage — until I started sleeping with other dudes”.

I’m not exaggerating here. The Telegraph really did publish a column with the title “ I was unhappy in my marriage — until we agreed I could sleep with other people”. Fine? I guess? Again, there will always be husbands and wives with alternative arrangements. That’s life. One might as well complain about the weather. But — my God — that doesn’t mean we have to hear about them. (Or that people’s children should have to grow up with the exhausting details of their parents’ “mono-poly” relationship just a click away.) Yet this is a favourite theme of The Telegraph. Here is a less than comprehensive selection of titles: “I’m married and dating other people — and so is my wife”, “I’m a boring middle-aged professor with a husband… and three lovers”, “How I raise my kids in an open relationship” (writing about it in the national newspapers, apparently), “I have autism and ADHD – I prefer to be in an open relationship” … 

How can we explain this deluge of dysfunctional divulgence? There are two possibilities here. The first is that, in a tough time for the press, this sort of column is exploiting an instinct towards a prurient interest in other people’s sex lives. Look — I get it. It’s hard to find readers nowadays. “My love life was getting stale — before I discovered having sex in public parks” is always going to attract more clicks than “The problem with John Healey’s new tax scheme”.

But 50 Shades of Grey sold more than Klara and the Sun and I still don’t expect to see EL James replacing Sir Kazuo Ishiguro on the “Authors” section of Faber and Faber. We shouldn’t publish anything for clicks, regardless of its literary value — or lack thereof — or its potentially degrading spiritual impact. (Again, there could be a thoughtful piece about a failed marriage, or an alternative sex life — just not by the sort of oversharing lifestyle coaches who unironically believe in things like “chakras”.) The second possibility is that people at The Telegraph are, well — not okay. Is this a cry for help? Is there something you want to talk about, friends?

The Sacrifice Comes Before The Explanation

As if a drought in Britain at all, never mind in Wales and the West Country, had not been absurd enough, we now have people frantically buying up bottled water in a storm, and they are not even wrong. As Paul Knaggs writes:

Walk down almost any Victorian terrace in Sheffield and look at the low garden walls. You will find small iron stumps set into the stone, sawn flat more than eighty years ago. The railings were cut under Regulation 50 of the Defence (General) Regulations 1939, and you can still see the stumps outside houses across the city. The railings did not go alone. In the summer of 1940 Britain’s housewives were asked to give up their aluminium for aircraft, and they did. Saucepans, kettles and colanders were piled high at collection points in every town on the promise that they would come back as Spitfires and Hurricanes. The iron gates and railings followed: more than a million tons of ironwork by September 1944.

Historians have long doubted how much of it ever flew or fired. But the metal was never really the point. The drive did its real work on the people who gave. A comfortable household could spare a gate. A working-class family handing over one of its two good pans and making do was giving away something it would have to scrape together the money to replace, on wages that left nothing spare. They gave it gladly, because they were told it was their part. To a family like that, the pan was worth every penny. To the government, it was scrap that bought something more valuable than aluminium.

That something was participation. A government that needs a nation to accept sacrifice first needs the nation to feel it is already doing its bit. Nothing secures consent quite like having given something yourself. Once your saucepan is on the pile, you are not inclined to ask whether the war is being run well. You are in it. Hold that thought, because today the Prime Minister went shopping in our cupboards.

Why the “Be Ready” emergency food campaign is political theatre 

Andy Burnham used a wildfire and resilience summit to promote the government’s new “Be Ready” campaign. It advises households to keep three days of bottled water and non-perishable food, a battery or wind-up radio, and some cash in case card payments fail. He told BBC Radio 5 Live he favoured baked beans and soup, and admitted to a weakness for Twiglets. Let nobody pretend the advice is foolish. A torch, a few bottles of water, some emergency cash and a cupboard of tins are common sense. But they have precious little to do with Moscow. Britain has quite enough trouble keeping its essential services running without the Russians lending a hand.

The Victorians dug sewers and laid water mains because they understood that clean water was the foundation of a civilised city, and cholera and typhoid retreated as a result. A hundred and fifty years later, parts of Britain cannot reliably keep the taps running. In January, Storm Goretti and a hard freeze left up to 30,000 customers across Kent and Sussex without water or with low pressure, some of them for almost a week. People queued at bottled water stations in Tunbridge Wells and Maidstone. It was not a freak event. The same company had left Tunbridge Wells dry only weeks earlier. In July, Ofwat concluded its investigations with a £30.5 million redress package and an independent monitor. The regulator found that South East Water had “failed to plan sufficiently, maintain key infrastructure or learn from previous incidents.”

Nor is it a southern problem. In August, two mains burst in quick succession in south Holderness, during a spell of warm weather. That left Preston, Patrington, Bilton and surrounding villages east of Hull with low or no water. Yorkshire Water delivered bottled supplies to care homes and vulnerable customers, local shops ran short, and Withernsea Sands Holiday Park closed its facilities. No Russian saboteur was required. No enemy cyber attack. Just old pipes, thin resilience and another water company apologising for failing to deliver a service its customers had already paid for.

The power network tells the same story. When a substation fire shut Heathrow in March 2025, the subsequent investigation found that a fault in the equipment had been flagged years earlier and never fixed. Electricity is the service everything else depends on. Lose it and the broadband goes, the card machines stop and the pumps that move our water fall silent. And the banks are no steadier. On Tuesday, a “power event” in one zone of Google’s London cloud took down Revolut’s card payments and cash withdrawals. It hit Lloyds, Halifax and HSBC customers, and knocked out the video platform the courts in England and Wales use for remote hearings. One of the largest technology companies on earth had a power failure in a single zone, and the damage spread across the country.

Often there is not even a power cut to blame. Just the code. In March, a botched overnight software update at Lloyds Banking Group let customers of Lloyds, Halifax and Bank of Scotland see strangers’ transactions. Up to 447,936 people may have seen other customers’ payment lists. The bank is still reviewing how the defect got past its own testing. The Treasury Committee found that nine of the largest banks and building societies had clocked up the equivalent of 33 days of unplanned outages in two years. Banks blame third-party suppliers, botched system changes and creaking legacy systems, stitched together through decades of mergers and never properly replaced. Again, no Russian hackers. A bad update. An old system. A single point of failure. That is the honest argument for keeping a stocked cupboard. It is not that war with Russia is coming. It is that too many of the services we depend on have become disturbingly fragile. Keep bottled water because the supply might fail. Keep cash because the banks might go offline. Keep a radio because the networks might go down. All sensible. But what happened to the expectation that the state should make these systems work in the first place? 

In the 1970s, water, electricity and telecommunications were publicly owned. That did not mean they never failed; anyone who remembers the power cuts of that decade knows otherwise. But the infrastructure was a public responsibility, and governments answered directly for its performance and investment. Today water in England is in private hands. The energy system is divided among private generators, suppliers and network owners. Much of our digital life runs on a handful of multinational cloud companies whose decisions are made far beyond the reach of Britain’s democratic control.  Privatisation did not create every burst pipe or every crashed app. But successive governments gave up direct ownership of essential infrastructure on the promise that private capital, competition and regulation would deliver secure, dependable services. The public is entitled to judge that promise against the bottled water stations, the frozen payment screens and the dark substations.

Of course hostile states can exploit those weaknesses. Sabotage and cyber attacks are real threats. But that makes the neglect more serious, not less. A country that cannot keep its water flowing or its payments working has vulnerabilities an enemy would be foolish to ignore. If ministers believed their own warnings, investment in pipes, cables, substations and the systems that run our money would sit at the heart of the defence argument. Instead, they have chosen another stage. The campaign was not born at a wildfire summit. It was announced in July with very different packaging. Darren Jones unveiled it alongside a national home defence exercise, the largest in decades, to test how Whitehall would cope with a hostile “hybrid” attack. 

At the same time the Armed Forces Minister, Louise Sandher-Jones, told the country that Russia was a direct threat to the British homeland. She said the exercises and the rewriting of the “war books” would help prepare for it, “as well as showing the British public how seriously we are taking it.” Read that last clause again. By the minister’s own account, part of the purpose was the audience. The exercise was not only about preparing institutions for an emergency. It was about making sure the public saw the government preparing for one. That is where practical advice becomes political theatre. A household stocking bottled water because the local supplier cannot keep the taps running is protecting itself. Present the same act as part of national defence against a hostile power, and it takes on a different meaning. The citizen is no longer preparing for the next failure of a privatised utility. The people are doing their bit. The timing is everything. A week before the budget, a manufactured consent.

That is the machinery of manufactured consent. Take an everyday necessity, dress it in the language of national emergency, and turn private preparation into public participation. The government gets its demonstration of resolve. The companies responsible for the pipes, the cables and the servers slip out of the centre of the argument. And the public is left responsible for preparing to live without services it has already paid for. Before asking the British people to prepare for the Russians turning off the lights, the government might explain why we cannot always keep them on ourselves.

Manufactured Consent and Britain’s Defence Debate 

The phrase is older than its most famous users. Walter Lippmann wrote of “the manufacture of consent” in 1922, and he meant it approvingly: a complicated world, he thought, needed an expert class to shape what the public believed. Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky borrowed the phrase in 1988 and turned it round. Their argument was never that a shadowy committee writes the news. It was subtler and more durable. When official sources set the terms, when fear supplies the frame and when dissent is treated as disloyalty, the range of acceptable debate narrows on its own. Nobody needs to censor the question if nobody thinks to ask it. 

We no longer need to infer any of this. Last week the head of the British Army said it out loud. Filmed by BFBS at Catterick Garrison, General Sir Roly Walker told soldiers that politicians had to explain to the British people “that our citizens have got to consent to sacrifices to prioritise defence and security.” Kemi Badenoch praised it as a powerful intervention. On Thursday the Defence Secretary, Wes Streeting, said he fully endorsed it. He went further, saying the heads of the armed forces should be in front of the microphones and not just in front of the troops, as part of a “national conversation” about the nation coming together to fight and win. 

Read those two statements side by side. The general wants consent to sacrifice. The minister wants the generals on the airwaves to secure it. Herman and Chomsky spent a book describing how official sources come to set the terms of public debate. They could hardly have asked for a cleaner illustration than a Cabinet minister calling uniformed chiefs credible message-carriers and sending them out to explain why we must go without. Notice what neither of them said. Neither told us what the sacrifice would buy: which threat, which capability, at what cost. The conversation they want is about how much we give up, not about what we get. It is the same narrowing as ever. We argue over whether to reach 3 per cent by 2030 or a few years later, almost never over what the money is for.

The threat, meanwhile, is fixed permanently a few years over the horizon. That is close enough to justify a budget and distant enough never to be tested. Of course Russia is a threat. Britain is pouring money, aid and weapons into the country Russia invaded, and those weapons are used to kill Russian soldiers. Nobody should expect Moscow to regard us as a bystander, and I don’t suppose it does. Those of us who served through the Cold War learned not to be sentimental about the Kremlin, and the sabotage and the cyber attacks are real. The point is narrower and harder. A real threat is precisely what makes manufactured consent so effective, because it allows a government to skip the step where it explains what it intends to do about it.

NATO’s 5% Spending Target: Where Is the Plan? 

That missing step is the scandal. Britain’s defence policy is no longer expressed as a strategy. It is expressed as a percentage, and the percentage was set in Washington. Orwell understood how a number can be made to stand in for a reality. In Nineteen Eighty-Four, part of Winston Smith’s work at the Ministry of Truth is correcting the Ministry of Plenty’s production figures, so that every forecast turns out to have been met. Rewriting a forecast for boots, he reflects that the figures were fantasy in both their original and their corrected versions: “Very likely no boots had been produced at all.” The point was never the boots. It was the figure, and the public’s willingness to cheer it.

Britain’s defence target works the same way. When Keir Starmer promised 2.5 per cent of GDP by 2027, his government then counted spending on the intelligence agencies) to call it 2.6. At the NATO summit in The Hague in June 2025, under pressure from Donald Trump, members pledged to reach 5 per cent. That means 3.5 per cent on core military spending and a further 1.5 per cent on matters that “benefit” defence, a category that includes civil preparedness and resilience. Your three days of tinned soup, in other words, sit inside the same accounting envelope as the warships. Resilience is something the state counts towards its NATO target while handing the actual work of it to you. The number can always be met. It is only a question of what you agree to count. The government’s own Defence Investment Plan, published this summer, is candid about how little lies behind the headline. It commits £298 billion over four years, reaching 2.7 per cent of GDP by the end of the decade. For the years between 2030 and 2035 it simply leaves the spending unallocated. The money is promised. What it will buy is not.

Even the near-term numbers do not add up. John Healey resigned as Defence Secretary after failing to secure the money to reach 3 per cent by 2030, a departure that contributed to Keir Starmer’s fall. He is now Chancellor. He faces a £4.7 billion hole in the existing plan and, by the Office for Budget Responsibility’s estimate, a further £17.3 billion bill to reach the interim 3 per cent. Burnham has committed to the 2035 target, but his government has yet to publish a timeline or a plan for meeting it. Earlier this month he was reported to be considering delaying the roadmap altogether. So the order of events is this. First the target. Then the fear. Then the call for sacrifice. Then, perhaps, at some later spending review, the plan. A nation that buys its defence this way is not defending itself. It is meeting a quota.

Could Britain Build Its Own Missile Defence? 

In June last year this publication argued that if Britain was going to spend 5 per cent of its national income on “defence”, it should at least spend it defending Britain. That meant layered air and missile defence over our cities and infrastructure, rather than more power projection in distant seas. It was not a fashionable view on the left. It still seems to us the only honest starting point, because it begins with what is being protected and from what.

This month the Conservatives arrived at something similar, and promptly lost their nerve. Kemi Badenoch announced a £10 billion “Britannia Shield” over ten years in The Sun, describing it as modelled on Israel’s Iron Dome, and party officials called it “in essence, a British Iron Dome”. Within a day she was telling the BBC, “We are not building the Iron Dome.” The money is also nowhere near enough. General Sir Richard Barrons, a co-author of last year’s Strategic Defence Review, estimates an entry-level system would cost around £80 billion over a decade.

The Tories deserve the ridicule. Fourteen years of their government left the armed forces hollowed out, and this plan is underfunded and muddled. But look at how the Prime Minister answered it. At PMQs Burnham mocked Badenoch over the confusion, and offered nothing in its place. The only proposal in British politics that starts from the question “what are we defending, and against what?” was laughed out of the chamber. It was laughed out by a government that cannot yet say how it will spend the money it has already promised.

THE BANK BALANCE 

Next Wednesday John Healey delivers his first Budget, and there is a grim irony in who is delivering it. The man who walked out of the Ministry of Defence because the Treasury would not fund the target now holds the Treasury’s purse. Strip away the language and the choice in front of him is simple. Unless taxes rise or the borrowing rules change, every extra pound found for the target is a pound not spent on the councils going bust, the hospitals with buckets under the leaks and the bus routes that no longer run. Defence spending or public spending. That is the balance, whatever the speeches say. 

It is not a new choice, and the most eloquent warning about it came from a soldier. In April 1953 Dwight Eisenhower, the general who had commanded the Allied invasion of Europe, told American newspaper editors that “every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed.” Eight years later, in his televised Farewell Address of 17 January 1961, he gave the danger its name: “In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex.” Millions of us will look at the cupboard, the tins and the torch and the bottled water, and feel we are doing our bit. It is the saucepan on the pile all over again. This time, though, there is less mystery about where the metal goes. Follow the money and it does not vanish into an estuary. It lands on a balance sheet.

Across Europe the rearmament has been, in large part, a buying spree in America. SIPRI found that European NATO states more than doubled their arms imports between 2015-19 and 2020-24. Sixty-four per cent of those imports came from the United States, up from 52 per cent five years earlier. It was the largest US share of any five-year period in two decades. Combat aircraft did most of the lifting, with almost 500 still on order. Britain was among the biggest buyers. In the same week it signed up to NATO’s 5 per cent, it announced the purchase of twelve American F-35As. 

Now look at who is building the real thing across the Atlantic. In March, Washington raised the cost estimate for Trump’s Golden Dome to $185 billion. It confirmed Lockheed Martin, RTX and Northrop Grumman as prime contractors, the same names that fill European order books. Golden Dome is a layered shield of sensors, satellites and interceptors designed to protect the American homeland from ballistic, cruise and hypersonic missiles. Even the setting for Streeting’s endorsement told its own story. He gave it at the opening of a Rheinmetall factory, which will make large-calibre gun barrels in Britain for the first time in twenty years. That is one rare piece of homegrown capacity, and it is run by a German arms giant. The sacrifice is asked of the citizen. The factory, the order book and the profit belong to someone else.

So Europe sends its orders west, and those orders keep the production lines warm for the firms building America’s dome. America gets a shield over its cities. We get a percentage, a cupboard of tins, and a Prime Minister who laughs when anyone suggests a shield of our own. Eisenhower would have recognised the arrangement at once. That is what this Budget will ask us to pay for. A plan would ask what Britain needs and buy it. A target asks only how much, and the answer is always more. Watch on Wednesday which column grows and which one shrinks. Then remember who was told to stock the cupboard, and who was never asked.

Britain Needs a Costed Defence Plan Before Sacrifice 

None of this requires pacifism. It requires the ordinary disciplines of democracy that are being skipped. Before another pound is committed to the 2035 target, the government should publish a defence plan that names the threats, the capabilities needed to meet them and the cost of each, and Parliament should vote on it. Ministers should publish exactly what Britain is counting towards NATO’s 1.5 per cent resilience category, so we know whether our own emergency tins are being used to pad a target. The question of home air and missile defence deserves a costed answer from the government, not a joke at the dispatch box. And if the generals are to be sent before the microphones to ask for our sacrifice, they should be made to answer the question that comes first: for what?

The saucepans went onto the pile because people believed they were needed. The railings came down because families believed they were doing their bit. Eighty years later the iron stumps remain in garden walls, a permanent reminder of what a nation will willingly surrender when it believes the cause is just. Now the government wants us stocking cupboards, preparing for emergencies and accepting sacrifices in the name of national defence. But there is a difference between preparing a country for danger and preparing its people to accept whatever comes next. That is how consent is manufactured. First, make people feel part of the effort. Then make them responsible for the sacrifice. By the time anyone asks what we are actually defending, or where the money is going, the public has already been enlisted.

And for all the talk of new threats, one brutal reality has not changed since the Cold War. A war between nuclear powers will not end with the Union Jack flying over the Kremlin, or the red flag raised above Westminster. There will be no victory parade and no grateful nation welcoming its soldiers home. There will be cities reduced to ash and human shadows burnt into stone, the legacy of Hiroshima repeated on a scale the world has never seen. We understood that forty years ago. It was called Mutually Assured Destruction, and the whole point was to make certain nobody ever tested it. MAD is still MAD. No amount of military spending, patriotic theatre or tins of baked beans will change that. In 1940, they asked for our saucepans. In 2026, they want our consent. And once again, the sacrifice comes before the explanation, and the bill arrives before the plan.

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks?

As the storm lashes, are those old fellas still at Drumcree? King Lear does not have a happy ending. And have they been informed that the Royal Confrater of the Papal Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls had approved the election of the Papal Confrater of the College of St George at St George’s Chapel, Windsor? The Royal Confrater had to be installed, meaning that he had to go to Rome and pray with the Papal Confrater, who will in turn have to be installed, again liturgically.

No doubt the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead looks forward to welcoming the Democratic Unionist Party, Traditional Unionist Voice, the Loyalist Communities Council, the Loyal Orange Institution, the Grand Royal Arch Purple Chapter of Ireland, the Imperial Grand Black Chapter of the British Commonwealth, the Apprentice Boys of Derry, the Free Presbyterian Church of Ulster, and Jamie Bryson. All chanting “Not My King! Not My King!” while talking of UDI. That on its own will be worth the television licence fee.

After all, the alternative project has completely collapsed. Enoch Powell, Jim Molyneaux, David Trimble and Ian Paisley were all more than familiar with highly ambitious young men who were utterly convinced of themselves. Each of them had been one. Yet each of them in turn saw something particular in Jeffrey Donaldson. Whatever might that have been? Northern Irish politicians are surveilled up to their eyeballs both at home and in London, so the suggestion that “nobody knew” is unworthy of serious attention. Was Donaldson blackmailed first to take over the DUP and then to lead it into full compromise with Sinn Féin, itself riddled with touts? The full story will be more complicated than that. But it is quite clearly along those lines.

Friday, 23 October 2026

Who Writes The Sum?

Paul Knaggs writes:

In Gaza, Israeli intelligence officers had a word for the dead before they died. NAZA is an acronym for nezek agavi, Hebrew for collateral damage: the estimated number of civilians the Israeli military considered acceptable to kill. Twenty NAZA meant up to 20 civilian deaths approved to eliminate a single target. For one high-value target, a figure of 500 was approved. Nobody said “women and children”. They said a number, and then they pressed a button.

That word is now the title of a film. NAZA, written and directed by Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor, opened in British cinemas on 16 October. It is built from interviews with 24 Israeli soldiers, most of them intelligence personnel, describing their roles in surveillance, target selection and strikes. Naomi Klein watched it, and then recorded a short video for her Substack with a message the technology industry would rather we did not hear.

We keep being told to fear the day artificial intelligence slips its leash. Klein’s answer is blunt: it never needed to. “It isn’t rogue,” she says. “It hasn’t gone rogue.” The speculative chatter about killer robots is, in her words, “an elaborate distraction” from crimes already committed and still being committed. What makes her argument powerful is what she refuses to blame. “I’m not saying that it’s the technology that’s to blame,” she says. The danger lies in the marriage of a powerful tool with an ideology that has already decided some lives count for less.

A PROBABILITY, NOT A PERSON 

The film’s sources describe how that marriage works in practice. Intelligence officers detail an AI-assisted system known as Lavender, which identified people for assassination using data gathered from thousands of hacked mobile phones. Klein puts it precisely: targets were generated “based on data patterns, not based on evidence”. A suspicion becomes a score; a score becomes a building; a building becomes rubble with a family inside it.

The Israeli military rejects this account, and its response deserves to be stated fairly. It insists that AI does not decide whether a person or object becomes a target, nor whether a target is struck, and that appearing in Lavender does not authorise a strike. The Guardian, which produced the film, says it stands fully behind it, and points out that the New York Times, Washington Post and Associated Press have also confirmed the use of AI systems and the loosening of civilian safeguards.

But notice what the denial concedes. Nobody disputes that the database exists, or that civilian deaths were priced in advance. The argument is over how many, and how much human judgement stood between the machine’s suggestion and the bomb. That gap is the whole story. One interviewee reaches for the oldest alibi in the book: “My role is entirely technical,” he says.

THE COMPANY IN THE ROOM

Klein demands the names of the technology firms behind this machinery. One name already sits on the public record. In January 2024 Palantir agreed a strategic partnership with the Israeli Ministry of Defence, and its executive vice president Josh Harris told Bloomberg that both sides had agreed to harness Palantir’s technology “in support of war-related missions”. Bloomberg noted that Palantir had recently introduced its Artificial Intelligence Platform, AIP, a decision system able to analyse enemy targets and propose battle plans.

To be exact about it: Palantir has denied developing, in whole or in part, the automated targeting systems used by the Israeli military in Gaza. Lavender is not proven to be its product. But a company that publicly volunteered its technology for a war now under examination for genocide is not a neutral supplier of spreadsheets. It chose a side, and said so.

The then UK Defence Secretary John Healey and Palantir CEO Alex Karp signed a £1.5 billion investment commitment in the UK. And that company is inside our health service. In November 2023 NHS England awarded Palantir the £330 million contract to run its Federated Data Platform. More than half of English NHS trusts now use it. The NHS points out that the contract bars Palantir from commercialising or marketing NHS data, even in anonymised form, and that the platform manages waiting lists and theatre schedules, not life and death. Fair enough, today. The question is not what the software does this year. It is who owns the machinery of knowing everything about every patient, and whose values will steer it when the money runs short.

THE OLD ARITHMETIC

We do not have to imagine how a British state might use an algorithm against the vulnerable. It already has. A Department for Work and Pensions fairness analysis in February 2024 found a “statistically significant outcome disparity” in the machine-learning system used to vet universal credit claims for fraud, with bias by age, disability, marital status and nationality. Claimants were not told, because the department decided they “do not need to know”. The assurance was that a human made the final decision. The humans of Gaza’s targeting rooms made final decisions too.

So the fear in this article is not science fiction. It is history waiting for better software. The idea that a disabled person is a cost to be calculated was once mainstream policy across the civilised world. In 1927 the United States Supreme Court upheld forced sterilisation in Buck v Bell. Nazi Germany’s 1933 sterilisation law put roughly 400,000 people under the knife, and its propaganda posters told citizens how many Reichsmarks a hereditarily ill person cost the national community over a lifetime. From there it was a short administrative step to Aktion T4 and the murder of disabled people in their tens of thousands, by doctors filling in forms. Britain had its own eugenic enthusiasts, many of them respectable progressives who spoke the language of efficiency.

None of them needed a computer. What a computer offers is the thing they lacked: scale, speed, and the comforting fiction that nobody in particular decided anything. Feed a model the logic of austerity, tell it to minimise lifetime cost, hand it genomic data and disability records, and it will produce a recommendation with perfect neutrality. The cruelty will already be in the question.

THE WORST USE COMES FIRST

None of this should surprise us, and nothing in it is new. Bad men will always find the cruellest use for a new tool, and they usually find it first. The first great battlefield use of industrial chemistry was chlorine gas, released over the trenches at Ypres in 1915. The first public demonstration of nuclear fission erased Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The motor car killed thousands on British roads before anyone thought to make drivers take a test, which only arrived in 1935.

In each case, the horror came first and the thinking came after. The Geneva Protocol banned gas warfare in 1925. The Non-Proliferation Treaty tried to contain the bomb. The driving test, the seatbelt and the breathalyser turned the car from a menace into something we hardly think about. Societies do learn. Technologies that began as instruments of death have become, under law and democratic control, instruments of ordinary life.

But the learning has always been paid for in lives, and bad men are only half the story. Gas did not release itself, and the men who released it did not think of themselves as monsters. They were following procedure. The soldier in NAZA who says his role was “entirely technical” is the most dangerous figure in the film, because he is the most ordinary. Evil needs a few people to give the orders and many more to feel they are only doing their jobs. Artificial intelligence is the most powerful tool yet for producing that feeling. Following orders excused nothing at Nuremberg. Following an algorithm must excuse nothing now.

THIS TIME, THE LAW MUST COME BEFORE THE BODIES 

That is why the Nuremberg tribunals refused to accept that following orders excuses anything, and why we must now establish, in law, that following an algorithm excuses nothing either. We have the advantage no earlier generation had: we know the pattern. We have seen what the first use looks like, in Gaza, and we have seen the smaller trial runs closer to home, in a welfare algorithm that singled out disabled people while telling them nothing.

The first test is close at hand. A break clause allows the government to stop Palantir’s NHS contract renewing beyond March 2027, a ministerial decision is due by December, and Prime Minister Andy Burnham has not said what he will do. He should use it and bring the health service’s data infrastructure into public ownership, answerable to Parliament. No company with an undisclosed role in an alleged genocide should hold a British public contract. No decision about a person’s benefits, treatment or entitlement should be made by an automated system without a named human being legally responsible for it. Every algorithm the state uses on its citizens should be published, audited and open to challenge in court.

Klein is right that the decisions remain human. So must the responsibility, and so must the punishment. Every new technology has been used at its worst before it was used at its best; the only choice we have is how many people pay for the lesson. The machine will never go rogue. It will simply do the sum it is given, and the only question that has ever mattered is who writes the sum.