Why our shared need to survive should lead us toward cooperation, not certainty at any cost 

When People Feel Lost, Certainty Becomes Tempting 

Sometimes it seems that many people do not really know what they want. That is not because they are foolish or careless. It is because life rarely presents itself as a neat problem with a final answer. We keep moving, adapting, worrying, hoping and trying to make sense of things that never feel fully “sorted”. 

In that state of uncertainty, the promise of a strong leader can become very attractive. A confident leader appears to offer direction. They speak as if the answer is obvious, as if the complexity can be swept away by willpower. For people who feel lost, that can feel reassuring. 

The danger is that confidence is not the same as wisdom. A leader who refuses to listen may look decisive, but what they are often doing is avoiding the uncomfortable work of dealing with problems. When people point out flaws, risks or consequences, those warnings are treated as the problem rather than part of the solution. 

The Quick Fix and the Career Politician 

Much of modern politics seems trapped between two unsatisfying types. On one side are the quick-fix leaders: ultra-confident, dismissive, certain of themselves and often appealing precisely because they do not appear troubled by doubt. On the other side are career politicians who have learned how to operate inside the political system, but who can seem detached from the everyday concerns of the people they represent. 

Neither type fully answers the deeper need. People do not simply want slogans, nor do they want politics as a professional game. They want to know that someone understands the pressures of ordinary life and can speak honestly about them. 

What We Have in Common 

Despite our political differences, most of us probably have more in common than we think. At the deepest level, we all want to survive, and — if possible — to survive comfortably. We want safety, food, shelter, health, family, purpose and some confidence that tomorrow will be manageable. 

My background in IT and telecommunications shapes how I think about this. In those fields, there is often a layered model. At the lower layers are the physical foundations: plugs, metals, insulation, connections and hardware. These are the basics. When something goes wrong, the fault is often found there — a loose connection, a break in the line, a simple failure at the foundation. 

As the layers rise, the systems become more complex and more specialised. The same is true in society. At the upper layers we argue about ideology, culture, identity and policy. These things matter, but underneath them are the basic conditions we all depend on. If we start at those lower layers — survival, security, dignity and comfort — we may find a better way to talk to one another. 

Competition, Survival and Cooperation 

Margaret Thatcher once emphasised the importance of competition. I am not an admirer of everything she stood for, but there is something important in recognising that survival involves competition. We compete with nature, with scarcity, with other groups and sometimes even with our own bodies, which are constantly fighting to keep illness and decay at bay. 

But competition is only part of the story. Survival also depends on cooperation. No one survives well alone. Families, communities, workplaces, health systems, infrastructure and nations all depend on people working together. The question is not whether competition exists. It clearly does. The better question is how we compete intelligently while still cooperating where cooperation is necessary. 

A Different Way to Talk About the Future 

This way of thinking may help us talk across political divides. Take renewable energy as an example. Some people oppose renewables because they associate them with a particular political tribe or cultural identity. But the conversation changes if renewables are framed not only as an environmental issue, but as a way to compete. 

If clean energy, new industries and technological leadership are where the world is heading, then investing in them is not weakness. It is a strategy. It is a way to build capability, independence and influence. Countries that lead in these areas will shape the future rather than simply react to it. China appears to understand this and is acting accordingly. 

Leadership That Starts at the Foundation 

The kind of leadership we need is not the loudest voice or the simplest promise. It is leadership that understands the lower layers: the shared human needs beneath the noise. It listens to problems instead of treating them as disloyalty. It recognises uncertainty without being paralysed by it. It can compete without forgetting the need to cooperate. 

People may be drawn to strong leaders because they want the world to make sense. That desire is understandable. But real strength is not found in pretending that everything is simple. Real strength is the patience to deal with complexity, the humility to listen, and the courage to build from what we all have in common. 

Why do I want to put down my views here.

In times like these, it is easy to understand why many people want change. There is a widespread sense that something is not working as it should, and that ordinary people are being asked to accept outcomes that feel unfair, unsustainable, or unnecessarily hard. When people are unhappy, they naturally look for reasons. But too often, the discussion quickly turns into a search for a single person to blame. A politician, a business leader, a public figure, or some other recognisable character becomes the focus of the frustration, as though removing or attacking that person would somehow fix everything.

I do not think it is that simple. My view is that our problems are usually deeper than one individual, one party, or one obvious villain. They often come from the way we think about the economy, the assumptions we accept without questioning, and the limits we are told are unavoidable. If people are asking for change, then it is worth asking what kind of change they actually want, what they expect it to achieve, and whether they would really be satisfied if the person they blame was replaced by someone else.

This is where my thinking has been influenced by Stephanie Kelton’s The Deficit Myth, a book about Modern Monetary Theory that challenges common assumptions about government deficits, public spending, and what is economically possible. Kelton argues that governments that issue their own currency should not be understood in the same way as households, and that the real limits on public spending are things like inflation, resources, and productive capacity rather than simply the size of a deficit. Whether or not someone agrees with every part of that argument, it opens up a useful question: are we debating the real constraints on change, or are we repeating ideas that prevent us from imagining better options?

That is what I want to explore here. Not because I think I have all the answers, and not because I want to defend one side against another, but because I think the conversation needs to slow down. Before we decide who is to blame, we should first ask what we are really talking about, what we are hoping to change, and whether the economic stories we have inherited are helping us understand the problem or stopping us from seeing it clearly.

Change, technology, and the pressure on democracy

One of the reasons I think this conversation matters is that democracy itself seems to be under pressure. Increasingly, it can feel as though people with money and influence are the only real winners, while many others are left feeling unheard or powerless. That matters because large inequalities of wealth do not only affect individual lives; they can weaken social cohesion, reduce trust, and make societies less competitive over time. If people come to believe that the system is working mainly for those already at the top, then frustration is not surprising.

At the same time, the world is changing faster than many of our institutions seem able to manage. Technology is advancing at a phenomenal rate, and the effects are not abstract. A few hundred years ago, a harvest might have required a whole village of workers. Today, far more can be produced by one person using modern machinery. That kind of progress can be impressive and beneficial, but it also changes the role of work, the distribution of income, and the expectations people have of government. If societies do not respond thoughtfully, technological progress can end up increasing insecurity rather than reducing it.

This is not really a new problem. Change has always forced people and societies to adjust. A Stoic idea often associated with Seneca compares life less to a dance and more to a wrestling match: we are not simply moving gracefully through predictable steps, but constantly meeting resistance, pressure, and unexpected difficulty. That image feels relevant now. Modern societies are being pushed by economic change, technological disruption, inequality, and political frustration all at once. The question is not whether change can be stopped, but whether it can be understood and managed in a way that serves more people.

That is why I remain cautiously hopeful, even while I find the current debate frustrating. Writers such as Stephanie Kelton, along with economists and commentators in the public conversation, have helped me think more broadly about what governments can and should do. The challenge is that public reactions often become extreme, and the media can sometimes amplify anger rather than encourage understanding. I do not think the answer is to dismiss people’s frustration. The task is to look more carefully at where that frustration comes from, and whether our political and economic systems are prepared to deal with the scale of change already underway.

More to follow.