We often talk about work, healthcare, social care, families, housing, transport and community as though they are separate parts of society.

In the year ending December 2025, an estimated 246,000 British nationals left the UK.

Gordon Brown recently set out a stark picture of civic life in the UK.

Yesterday in Cardiff, the leaders of the SNP, Plaid Cymru and Sinn Féin signed a joint declaration asserting that Scotland, Wales and Ireland have the right to determine their own futures. They spoke of inalienable rights, self-determination, and the principle that no higher authority should permanently block a people from deciding how they are governed.

Twenty-five years after the attacks of 11 September 2001, the consequences are still unfolding. The immediate response produced the Patriot Act, vast expansions of surveillance, and open-ended military authorisations. Those decisions, made rapidly by representatives and executives, set in motion a series of prolonged conflicts — Afghanistan, Iraq, and the wider “War on Terror” — that proved far easier to start than to end. Power vacuums, regional destabilisation, and the strengthening of adversaries such as Iran were among the results. Ordinary citizens largely watched from the outside.

Patrick Henry’s cry was not a request for better terms. It was a rejection of the premise that safety and provision from above could substitute for freedom. “Give me liberty or give me death” drew a hard line: self-rule is not a preference. It is the condition of a free people.

History often feels like a series of disconnected events — wars, economic crashes, social unrest. But when we look deeper, we see a single thread running through it all: the failure of representative systems.

When Elon Musk publicly expressed regret over some of his past posts about Donald Trump, headlines blazed with interpretations of surrender, realignment, or even manipulation by political forces. Many saw it as Musk bowing to pressure — from investors, regulators, or broader establishment interests.