Soupful of stuff

Political, Teaching

Let the quietness of the blog not give the impression that little is happening. Rapid updates, interleafed with some curious images found in Gateshead Archive for your delectation:

  1. I’ve been awarded £10,000 in HE-BCI funding for a 1-year project in Gateshead, looking at how unpaid carers have been impacted by changes to government spending and the cost-of-living crisis. It’s in partnership with Gateshead Carers, the aim being to co-produce a carers’ charter, videos, report and local event highlighting carers’ overlooked contribution to the basic functioning of people’s lives and communities as social security and local services are cut back. It’ll also feed into a chapter for the next book.

  2. My third book Spinoza and the Politics of Freedom will be out in paperback in November. With Christmas on its way, it’s the ideal gift for the person who’s got everything, right? Beatitudo guaranteed. (I was reluctant to publicise the hardback as it was forbiddingly expensive. This is now much more reasonable).

  3. Lots of teaching work over the last year. Some ready to harvest:

    Ready now: I rewrote and updated one part of the OU core politics module DD211 Understanding Politics. This included making a video about the history of the climate crisis, and interviews on climate activism/policy with Kate Soper, Bob Ward, Daze Aghaji. I also put together audios/teaching material on neo-liberalism and neo-statism with Paolo Gerbaudo; the Enlightenment, freedom and slavery with Kehinde Andrews and Holly Brewer; the Equality Act with Robin Allen QC and Caroline Derry at the OU; democracy in crisis in Brazil, India and the UK with M. Rajshekhar (author of this great book), and colleagues Britta Weiffen and Richard Heffernan; and on sovereignty with another great colleague, Simon Usherwood. It was a point of honour to write an introductory discussion of Mark Fisher’s concept of ‘capitalism realism’ in one of the chapters.

    Ready in autumn 2023: I’ve done lots of work on a new social sciences module, D113 Global Challenges: Social Sciences in Action. As well as writing a couple of weeks, it includes overseeing five films about climate crisis, the legacies of colonialism and enslavement, and digital technology; and later in the module, one about Coventry and development. I was pleased to get some unexpected perspectives and UK locations throughout these films, and they stand up well – in large part due to the great work of the production team at Common Story.

  4. Publications: a smaller crop this year. Two chapters. One in a collection coming out in December, “Do we still not know what a body can do?”, exploring embodiment through Spinoza, Arendt, Guery and Deleule.

  5. Another on “Climate Anxiety, Fatalism and the Capacity to Act” in a Routledge collection on approaches to autonomy, also out end of the year.

  6. On the publication front, I’m about to submit two big bits of new work to journals. I’ve got a ridiculous list of things to finish before the end of the year. I also put together an ambitious bid for a collaborative OU project on “The Future of Borders” with a team of great colleagues doing interesting and important work around the UK. Everything in this bullet may well be destined to rejection, but I hope there’ll be something good to report in a few months’ time.

  7. Little Ice Age: I forgot to link it at the time, but a piece me and Ariel Hessayon wrote for The Conversation was published in The Independent.

  8. With my colleagues Gerry Mooney and Helen O’Shea, I’ve been an academic consultant for a new BBC/OU co-production called Union, presented by David Olusoga. It tells a different, unexpected, critically-edged story of how the United Kingdom came about. At a moment of fragmentation and contestation of that “union”, brought to mind again with the death of the Queen, it’s a fitting time to be exploring this story. It’s expected to be broadcast sometime next year.

  9. I guest-edited the annual publication of the School of Social Sciences and Global Studies at the OU. It’s a great showcase of the fine work our staff and students are doing, and a pleasure to be involved. Read it here.

  10. Finally, David Ridley published a short polemical book called No Consolation: Radical Politics in Terrifying Times. As well as an endorsement, I wrote a short piece about it for a small publication, Post-16 Educator, titled “From Safety to Where?”, available here.

  11. And finally finally, before I think of even more things, I’m giving a talk on Spinoza’s concept of ingenium (which can refer to mentality, mindset, but also a collective or national “character”) as part of a panel for the Princeton-Bucharest Seminar in Early Modern Philosophy on 15 November. It’s online, free, and at 6.30 UK time.


I bumped into someone the other day who I hadn’t seen in some years. The last they’d read of me was Island Story, which had come out in 2016 and then generated some buzz the year after with an Orwell nomination. He wondered why I had not written more travelogues. What had happened?

Back in the latter part of 2016 I had in mind writing a book about Ireland. I have family connections there and know some of the history. It would’ve been called Tara’s Hill or something like that, the Hill of Tara being the place where the Irish kings used to be crowned and a site of mythological significance. Sounds a little pompous but the point would’ve been to play and skew established narratives like Island Story did (David Cameron’s favourite book, apparently).

But I remember being up in Donegal Town for a few days for a family gathering. It was interesting, strange – visiting the ruined two-room cottage walls where my Grandma Bridie and her thirteen-or-so siblings once lived, a site of pain, then a staged photo, remarkable that in the space of a generation her children and grandchildren were now living in unimaginably improved circumstances. A lot you can work on with that. And then, as ever, a lot of heavy drinking in the various bars, laughter and singing along to guitars, and later, fuzzy heads and leathery tongues.

Over that trip I kept thinking: how on Earth can a single visit capture the situation, lives and communities in a place? Perhaps through some luck, but as often through lending the narrative to just one small aspect, often a more familiar aspect (e.g. deindustrialisation in the North, or, if it were about Donegal, something to do with the famine or Troubles maybe, perhaps a final section on the legacies of the “Celtic tiger”).

And there’s nothing wrong with that – far more is covered, and the material is approached with the same unformed mind as the reader – but it is limited too. Far better to do dedicated work over days, weeks, months, walking the contours of a place, having conversations again and again with the same people, with different people, drawing out stories, building trust, allowing them space to shape the stories told. Recognising too that community isn’t the same as place, that while some communities or representatives lay claim to place, others are on the margins.  

That said, it would still be a good book. But other factors come into play too. It’s not possible to do that kind of work and teach full-time. Or be an attentive and decent partner. It can be done cheaply, that kind of travel writing, but still some savings are needed to cover lost earnings (Island Story could only have been written because I was receiving a condition-free PhD studentship of around 16k per year while in a social housing tenancy). And above all, why do the same thing over and again. Life is bitterly short. If I had the chance, I’d want to live a thousand different lives as well as my own, not be pigeonholed into the same.

Anyway, this line of thinking has shaped the new work, which is quite different in nature to anything that’s gone before. There’s not much point saying more about it – let it be judged once it’s finished, which will be several years away. But in a time of climate crisis and 1930s-level inequalities, at a time of unprecedented crises in care, broadly conceived, I think it’s unethical to rehash the same kinds of cultural and political writing and ideas. We’re in a new kind of water.


The Sheep Look Up etc.


I’ve written a few short pieces for a public audience recently.

The Conversation: The Sheep Look Up: Cult 1970s sci-fi novel predicted today’s climate crisis

Philosophy Now: Spinoza and the troubles of the heart

The Conversation: How 17th century Britain’s ‘cancel culture’ can help us understand the importance of free speech

The first one I had fun working on. The original draft was more radical, but I was glad to get across some of my points, particularly around narratives, metaphors and frames, which I’ve been thinking a lot about recently. The discussion, in the comments and also by email, has been really interesting. These debates will return to the fore when the next IPCC report comes out on societal impacts next week.

I’ve been driving a lot around the A13 and Thames estuary. Reading lots. Getting immersed in debates around class, capitalism and colonialism, and about dreams, ideology and damaged life, all on that stretch. Mining for the next book, the keywords of the near future.

I was on strike this week and last, like many. The response by UUK to UCU’s counter-proposals to the pension was galling. Late at night, I’m often doom-scrolling posts from academics about working conditions and what’s going on. There’s so much I want to say about my experiences and feelings, pre-OU (which has been a wonderful place to work), but I can’t bring myself to it. Looking at that time, late PhD and post-PhD, it was a blur of illness, exhaustion, hope, fear, anxiety, goodwill, wishful thinking, anger, solidarity, isolation and love – love of teaching, love of the craft. I have nothing coherent to say and probably won’t for some time. I will be on strike next week.

Hope and fear


‘Hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of men’ – Nietzsche

‘not to laugh at human actions, or mourn them, or curse them, but only to understand them’ – Spinoza


The ancient Greeks disliked hope. In his history of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides describes it as a form of wishful thinking indulged in at immense personal risk and cost. ‘Hope, danger’s comforter, may be indulged in by those who have abundant resources’ he writes, but ‘those who go so far as to put their all upon the venture see it in its true colours only when they are ruined’.

The election has been terrible news for many of us. The reaction among friends and relatives has been like Brexit in fact – stunned, anger, despair. I’ve heard lots of blame of the working class; of the English and their racism; of the world outside of London; of human nature. On the vocal Left, which by no means represents all the Left, let alone the wider range of public opinion on politics, that this is a result of a media stitch-up; or quisling centrist commentators; that the party should’ve pushed for Brexit, or instead harder for Remain.

There’s something in these positions, but all miss the mark in my view. It was clear from researching what became Island Story five years ago that there was a very wide gulf between London and the rest of England and Wales. London is the site of all economic, cultural and political power. It has long imposed decisions on the rest of the country which have been resented. To blame the world outside London, or England, reinforces the problem. To blame people for not ‘understanding’ Corbyn is similar. While ideology in the final part explains this election result better than any economic factor, the supposition of false consciousness on the part of the voters is arrogant and deluded.

Because in the final part, for many of the voters who mattered for Labour, this was about the credibility of Corbyn. While many will blame the right-wing press, this credibility had been undermined by his dithering on Brexit and failure to appropriately deal with anti-Semitism in the party, at least going 18 months back. Then, of course, about Brexit and bringing a decisive end to three years of a deeply frustrating deadlock. When the bodies are counted later, these two factors have to be prioritised. The tragedy is that the NHS and the social fabric of the UK will unravel at an increasing rate for the next five years.

One of the common findings of the Island Story work, which the book generally under-reported and avoided discussing because of its disquieting and inconvenient nature, was how immigration dominated most discussions of place and politics all across the country. This had an obvious bearing on the Brexit vote, even if it was one among several factors (Danny Dorling’s research rightly shows that, with Brexit at least, and I would say this result, the drivers were the more affluent middle classes, who make up the majority of the Conservative vote). In the perceptive election coverage of Patrick Kingsley in the New York Times came this insight from Shirebrook, where a massive Sports Direct factory has been built over a former pit:

‘Most residents refused to work in such a degrading environment, so the jobs are largely taken by people from poorer parts of the European Union. In the local consciousness, the concept of regional decline became fused with that of European immigration, instead of neoliberal economics.’

As we’ll know, Dennis Skinner has just lost his seat there to the Tories – a staggering loss (so too Laura Pidcock). But as we’re dealing with ideology, we need to talk about class. Cap-doffing and being allowed to snigger with your betters is a decisive part of the Boris Johnson charm (or any similar aristocrat in public office). The roots of class shame, humility and the need for respectability go back at least to the British establishment’s reaction to the French Revolution in the late 18th century. But with deindustrialisation came a collapse in jobs that evoked pride, and in allied industries and incomes that furnished working class communities. London also experienced deindustrialisation of a similar numerical scale to anything in the North-East over the 1960s-70s – hence the peculiar right-wing politics that marks its outer corridors like the East, to this day. The ‘wounds of class’, as David Smail wrote about from a psychiatric point of view, and later Mark Fisher and Jeremy Seabrook, from a socio-political one. We need someone with the insight and anger of Pierre Bourdieu to explore the psychological and embodied structures of social class in the UK.

Recently, I’ve been teaching a class called ‘Where are we going? Philosophy in the Anthropocene’, where I’ve been outlining and discussing concepts for my next book. Both classes I taught have made a great deal clearer. Collectively, we ended up generally agreeing on the importance of theories of participatory democracy, like Carole Pateman’s, but there was a radical strain throughout which refused to accept any theory of human nature as somehow determining or ‘fating’ politics. The concept of the Anthropocene was rejected in favour of an analysis of political and economic structures, but we were also careful to avoid lazy moralising and pieties about the evils of capitalism that divested ourselves of confronting difficult problems of obligation and responsibility that involve each of us.

The Ancient Greeks subscribed to a view of fate, as did Nietzsche. Amor fati, love of fate he called it – accepting what was necessary, embracing it even. But that position has always been dissatisfying to me and others. To not have hope seems strangely luxurious. Hope is something we need to live, to believe that alternatives are possible and worth pursuing – hence the old Gramsci line everyone knows.

But I am not convinced either that, as Mark Fisher once wrote, after Deleuze, that we should abandon hope. The few convincing accounts of hope in my view have come from the American civil rights movement. Dr King famously said that ‘with this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope’. But I find it more persuasive in the work of James Baldwin. In his “Letter from a region in my mind”, he pleads for hope, even for what is impossible or unrealistic. ‘But in our time, as in every time, the impossible is the least that one can demand’, for history ‘testifies to nothing less than the perpetual achievement of the impossible’.

Spinoza is generally dismissive of hope. ‘If men could manage all their affairs by a definite plan, or if fortune were always favorable to them’, he writes at the beginning of the Theological-Political Treatise, then none of us would suffer from superstition. But inevitably we encounter adversity. ‘Then’, he says, ‘they usually vacillate wretchedly between hope and fear, desiring immoderately the uncertain goods of fortune’. In the Ethics he writes that hope is an ‘inconstant joy, arising from the image of a thing future or past, of whose outcome we are in doubt’. Being inconstant, it is unreliable, because it based not on a knowledge of actual events but wishful thinking. ‘The more we strive to live according to the guidance of reason’, he writes, ‘the more we strive to depend less on hope, to free ourselves from fear, to conquer fortune as much as we can, and to direct our actions by the certain counsel of reason’.

But despite hope’s unreliability, it is undeniably one of the things that bring together people into communities. In the later Political Treatise, Spinoza describes political change being driven by ‘a common affect of hope, fear or desire to avenge a common loss’. Because hope involves a joy, it is considered more powerful, because a joy is something correlates to an increase in our power of acting. (All the same – simply advocating joy or collective joy isn’t a consistent position in Spinoza – joy does not make us more powerful, joy instead is something we experience when we become more powerful. Empty or transient joys are no good for us, nor is voluntarism. After a rave is the comedown. Collective power is more than collective joy).

But here I think Spinoza is less insightful than Thomas Hobbes, for whom fear has greater general influence in decisions of politics and human affairs. Many of us have seen this – how fear drives people to extraordinary actions, terrible as well as transformational – as I have beside the dying and the bereaved, the addicted, and those trying to fight their way through social services and housing offices. Fear has been a part of this election. Perhaps fear of the Other – but fear of further uncertainty, of the collapse of one’s savings or aspirations to material security, of being governed by someone who does not seem trustworthy.

You will say: Boris Johnson is far more terrifying. And you are right.

Fear will cloud the next few years. Beyond this current election are the wider crisis issues of the environment – food production, the habitability of many parts of the earth, and the wars and many hundreds of millions of climate refugees forecast by the mid-century – and that of the collapse of social care and the necessity of preparing for an ageing and unwell population. There is also the pressing urgency of restoring the social fabric, and I hope that at least some of the canvassers end up exploring work in frontline charity and social support and advice roles, where a real difference can be made to people’s lives.

Fear inhibits collectivity. Fear leads to distrust, contempt for others, and a retreat within. Fear was decisive in Hannah Arendt’s analysis of the rise of totalitarian regimes, in engendering the state of loneliness in which men are ‘deserted by all human companionship’ and feel they can trust no-one.

But fear is not overcome by facile hope. Both are equally uncertain. Fear, in Spinoza’s analysis, which to me remains the best one, is overcome by knowledge of its societal causes. It necessitates what the criminally-underread American philosopher Jane Addams saw as democratic knowledge. ‘All about us are men and women who have become unhappy in regard to their attitude toward the social order itself’, she wrote of working class Chicago, where she was a pioneering social worker at the turn of the 20th century. The challenge for the progressive, for the one who seeks real social transformation, was to develop and enable others to think and act for themselves. This couldn’t be done in a paternalistic, outside-in, top-down way. It meant learning, recognising and becoming part of the same social fabric. This was what she called ‘social morality’. For Carole Pateman, writing of participatory democracy seventy years later, it also necessitates ‘social training’ – a collective education in how and why to participate in community and social life, together. ‘[T]he more individuals participate’, she writes, ‘the better able they become to do so’.

There is an opportunity here for a new kind of participatory social democracy, but it will not become clear for a while. For the Left, simply blaming others is facile, reactionary and likely to lead to a second Johnson term in five years. Recent writing mocking communitarianism has proven to be out of step. But communities, like individuals, are made, not born, as Spinoza says. We will need a new understanding of the social fabric, one that begins to read and think about leading work in sociology and economics. But one, as Jane Addams would stress, that’s rooted in understanding and participating in communities in an open-hearted, democratic way. That remains a powerful opportunity.

Audio essay



“A tale of two countries” is the title of an audio essay I’ve put together for an exhibition opening today Up North in an abandoned boozer. It’s a rough attempt to try to put across some feelings and ideas about the political and social mood at the moment.

The exhibition, “Will the last person to leave the 20th century please turn out the lights?”, is a journey into the West Yorkshire eerie, bringing together drawings, installations and audio. If you happen to be bowling by Baildon, between Bradford and Otley, it opens today. More info here.

If not, have a listen here.

Thanks goes to John Ledger for inviting me to produce something and for bringing it together.

State of the nation


‘The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear.’ – Antonio Gramsci, Prison Notebooks.

There are signs that the interregnum may soon be over. An election result few of us dared hope for, a new collective desire not simply hoping but demanding an end to austerity.

Young, not so young and old are coming together, across regions, suburbs and inner-cities, saying enough is enough. No more lies, no more futile elections, no more strong and stable. We don’t want much. An end to debt, an end to uncertainty at work, jobs we want to do, an affordable place to live, teachers for our schools, nurses and carers for when we’re ill, libraries, children’s centres, pubs and local halls re-opened where our communities can come together, a world to pass on to future generations. No more people homeless when luxury apartments go empty, no more food banks, bedroom taxes, benefits sanctions, young minds going to seed in dead-end jobs, no children growing up hungry. A new social contract.

I’ve never been in the practice of fortune-telling, but I’m inspired by these new energies.

I’m speaking at two events this Friday in London, both open to the public, where I’ll explore this new terrain. There’s a great line-up at both and it would be wonderful to be joined by friends.

State of the Nation at Waterstones Piccadilly, 7pm-8.30pm: an evening of readings with novelists and poets including Amanda Craig, Jason Donald, John McCullough and Sarah Moss. £5 entry but includes wine.

Post-Capitalist Desire at the George, Commercial Road, E1 0LA, 9pm-3am (flyer above): a night of interventions, projections, K-punk mixtapes, DJ sets and yuppiedrome occupations (!) brought together by the Savage Messiah collective.

This night looks special, the first in hopefully a series to explore what the late, dearly-missed Mark Fisher touched on in his later writings, ‘acid communism – the spectre of a world that could be free’.

Wish me well for the Owell Prize announcement this Thursday, and looking forward to the conversations and events of the long summer ahead.



OECD Forum 2017


This week I spoke at the OECD Forum 2017 in Paris about the geographies of discontent, and about my book Island Story.

It was such an unexpected honour to be invited, and the conversations I had over those two days were inspiring, difficult, revelatory and valuable. Find out more about the event and the other speakers here.

Much of it was recorded. Here’s an interview where I discuss Britain’s many island stories, and the next book project…

And a longer panel discussion where I discuss pride, collectivity, distinguishing between cultural and economic factors behind Brexit, and the fascinating case of Cornwall. The other panellists were brilliant, and if you have a moment take a listen to the discussion about trade unions in the US, retraining workers in Denmark, and the valuable work we can all do within our communities:

It was excellent! There’s more photos here and here, and you can join in the conversation after by signing up here.

Orwell Prize Long-list


Island Story has been long-listed for the Orwell Prize for political writing.

It has sneakily gatecrashed into an impressive party. Many thanks to everyone who has enjoyed the book and supported it. Read more about the long-list here.

In tandem, Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four is being read aloud in its entirety at the Ministry of Truth on 6th June by actors, journalists, and other miscellaneous sorts like myself.

I’m also teaching these over the coming months:

  • For the IF Project’s ‘Thinking Without Borders’ course, I’m lecturing on ‘Power to the People? Populism, Freedom and Self-determination’ on 27th April. IF is a free university in East London, and the free evening course runs bi-weekly from April to July.
  • I’m also giving a 12-week course on ‘The Meanings of Life’ at the Mary Ward Centre, an adult education institute in Holborn, with a good social ethos and low concessions. This beginners’ philosophy class covers Aquinas, Montaigne, Spinoza, Kant, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Bataille, Kafka, Sartre, De Beauvoir, Arendt, and more if I can fit it in (yes!)

Brexit on a bicycle



My article on cycling around the North of England in the aftermath of Brexit has been published this week in the New Statesman.

Based on conversations during my book tour of Island Story, I set out to explain why many working class people voted Brexit. The horizons of political possibility have been hemmed in by economic hardship, I argue, and I look at the roles of work, welfare and insecure housing on how political choices are imagined.

The piece is a little late in its publication! I wrote separately about my journey and its findings for Fair Observer back in October, where I focused on the effects of poverty, debt, and the formation of a new kind of working class, unrepresented by any political party.

While Island Story certainly hasn’t transformed the zeitgeist of the nation, it has had a warm reception. It was reviewed by the Financial Times, the LSE Review of Books, and the Manchester Review of Books. There were interviews with Nottingham’s Left Lion and About Manchester, and it had favourable coverage in the Morning Star and the venerable Wakefield Express. Individually, Natalie Bradbury, John Hutnyk, and John Ledger generously responded to it. It was also book of the week at the London Review Bookshop.

Given its unwieldly length, I applaud anyone who’s read it cover to cover as a worthy companion in an epic adventure.

Island Story tour





The United Kingdom appears less politically or socially stable than at any point in living memory. The confusion caused by a seemingly impossible Brexit vote has left the island with no obvious political direction or gravity. Incoherence is the watchword of the moment. The feeling of defeat that was so palpable in people’s conversations and gestures two years ago during the journey of Island Story repeats itself: failed promises, broken infrastructure, the universality of public dishonesty, and the retreat of many back into familiar pessimism and frustrated anger.

High time to hit the road then. Over ten days I’ll be cycling through and giving talks in Nottingham, Wakefield, Sheffield, Manchester, and Liverpool. Findings from Island Story will be contrasted with talk of today’s politics of island identity. These will be lively, open discussions, and I hope for open-minded participation. All events are free.

Nottingham: Thurs 11th August, Nottingham Contemporary at 6.30. “This is Nottz”.

Wakefield: Sat 13th August, Redshed Working Men’s Club, 1pm on. As part of the “Fighting for Crumbs: Art in the Shadow of Neoliberal Britain” week of events.
Fighting For Crumbs (Art in The Shadow of Neoliberal Britain)

Sheffield: Sun 14th August, Site Gallery, with Glen Stoker and Anna Chrystal Stephens, 2pm-5pm. “Survey” – a landscape exploration.

Manchester: Mon 15th August, Friends’ Meeting House, Mount Street, 6pm. “The Island”. Hosted by Manchester Left Writers and Social Sciences Centre Manchester.
Reserve tickets here:

Liverpool: Weds 17th August, News from Nowhere Bookshop, 6.30pm.

Come down! Special thanks to David, Sophie, Allie, John, Nick, Steve, Sandra, Maria and Brian.

Radio 4



I had the pleasure this week of appearing on BBC Radio 4’s Moral Maze, discussing the morality of work. Michael Portillo and Melanie Phillips gave some particularly perceptive questions. You can listen to the programme here:

On the topic of Radio 4 and self-promotion, I was also interviewed by Tom Holland for the Making Histories show, talking about digital learning and pedagogy. That is here: