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28 February 2025

5 min read

Viruses don’t respect borders and nine other reasons why aid is vital for security

Cuts are a dangerous false economy.

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Cargo sits in nets inside a plane, a sign reads 'UK Aid'

Neil Bryden RAF/MOD, Wikimedia Commons.

The Minister for International Development Anneliese Dodds took the difficult step to resign following the Prime Minister’s announcement this week that he is slashing the aid budget to pay for more weapons. Minister Dodds wrote in her resignation letter that:

“Ultimately, these cuts will remove food and healthcare from vulnerable people."

The hefty reduction in our international aid budget does indeed put lives at risk around the world. However, the move also serves to undermine our own national security. A strong UK presence on the world stage comes not primarily through military strength but through diplomacy and targeted development funding.

General Lord Dannatt, former Chief of the General Staff, commented:

“In the wider world, it’s disappointing that we’re probably going to plunder the international development budget, because the UK’s influence in the world often comes through a combination of our hard power and our soft power, our diplomacy and our development funds.”

International aid is proven to be one of the most effective ways to build prosperity and peace. It is a strategic investment in national and international security, arguably more useful and cost-effective than military defence spending.

Cutting aid budgets may release funds in the short term, but in reality, it weakens Britain’s influence, undermines global stability, and increases security risks. It is not only false economy, but a potentially dangerous and counterproductive shift in policy.

Here are ten reasons why international aid is such a crucial investment in security:

1. Addressing root causes reduces terrorism.

Foreign aid helps foster peace, reduce poverty, and support development in the most vulnerable regions. When countries are stable, they are less likely to fall into chaos or become breeding grounds for terrorism and extremism. UK-funded education initiatives in Pakistan and Somalia, such as the Girls’ Education Challenge, have provided over 1.5 million marginalized girls with schooling, reducing the vulnerability of young people to extremist recruitment. By decreasing the appeal of radicalization, this investment has contributed to lowering the long-term threat of terrorism against British citizens at home and abroad.

2. Investing in global health reduces pandemic risks.

Viruses don’t respect borders. Our funding for Ebola response in West Africa has helped prevent global outbreaks, reducing the risk of deadly diseases spreading to the UK. Similarly, by investing in vaccinations against new strains of Covid around the world, Britain has strengthened its own pandemic preparedness and safeguarded public health at home.

3. Stronger relationships between nations reduce conflict

Post civil war UK support for Sierra Leone helped train police and government officials, strengthening long-term diplomatic ties and preventing a return to instability that might have spilled across the continent. This has also helped position the UK as a trusted diplomatic partner in West Africa, leading to trade agreements and political alliances that benefit Britain’s global interests.

4. Supporting stability reduces forced migration.

It is now acknowledged that it is building anchors, not walls, that is the best strategy to curb migration. The UK Aid Direct programme has provided economic and social support in countries like Syria, Lebanon, and Afghanistan, reducing forced displacement and lowering pressure on UK border security. By stabilizing regions affected by conflict, Britain has been able to reduce illegal migration and the associated costs of border enforcement, asylum processing, and emergency housing.

5. Promoting sustainability reduces resource scarcity due to climate change.

The UK International Climate Finance (ICF) initiative supports sustainable agriculture and clean energy projects in Africa and Asia, mitigating competition over dwindling resources and preventing climate-driven conflicts that have contributed to making the world a more turbulent place. This has not only improved global stability but has also created opportunities for UK businesses in the green energy and sustainable development sectors.

6. Building resilience reduces international crime and instability.

UK funding has been instrumental in stabilizing Somalia, for example, improving their governance, training law enforcement, and reducing crime and piracy that threaten not only international shipping but tourism too. As a result, British shipping companies and tourists traveling in the region have faced fewer security risks, boosting confidence in UK-led trade and travel.

7. Preventing famine and malnutrition reduces political instability.

The UK-funded Famine Early Warning Systems Network (FEWS NET) has helped prevent food crises in East Africa, reducing the likelihood of mass migration and conflict over resources. Without that investment, Britain would have likely spent far more on emergency humanitarian relief and crisis management, demonstrating the cost-effectiveness of preventative aid.

8. Building stronger economies abroad creates opportunities.

UK trade-focused aid, such as through the Prosperity Fund, has helped African nations develop stable economies, creating trade opportunities for Britain while reducing dependence on fragile states. Stronger economies in partner countries mean increased demand for British exports, benefiting UK businesses and job creation.

9. Humanitarian aid strengthens a nation’s global influence.

The UK has been a major donor in response to the Rohingya refugee crisis, contributing £350 million to support displaced people in Bangladesh and Myanmar—enhancing Britain’s standing as a global humanitarian leader and leading to soft power advantage on the global stage. This goodwill has translated into stronger diplomatic relations with key allies in South Asia, supporting UK interests in trade, security, and regional stability.

10. Disaster response builds goodwill and strategic partnerships.

Following the 2010 Haiti earthquake, the UK provided £20 million in emergency aid, strengthening ties with Caribbean nations and showcasing Britain’s global leadership in crisis response. These efforts have reinforced Britain’s role as a reliable partner in times of crisis, leading to closer economic and diplomatic relationships with countries across the Caribbean.

If the West vacates aid funding it creates a very significant vacuum into which other countries will step. For example, Russia has already sent Wagner mercenaries to patrol the Central African Republic and Mali. This is not only bad for the citizens of those areas, but also from a UK national security perspective. It would be extremely concerning if the Russian state were able to build a sweeping base of influence and soft power in the global South.

With an increasingly fragile world, the tool that is most useful for national security at this time is international aid. The rise in conflict, migration, terrorism and other pre-war conditions is directly due to the impact of poverty – which now affects 44 per cent of the global population, wealth concentration – which increases the chance of financial crises, weakened trade routes – due to Brexit, war in Ukraine and the Middle East, and new tariff policies in the US, and climate change – which exacerbates all those tensions. If the UK want an effective defence strategy in these turbulent times, we must reconsider doubling down on our international aid commitments, not abandoning them.

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Comment

Community

Sustainability

Wildness

12 June 2025

5 min read

What my noisy, messy crow neighbours have taught me about how to live

We can’t control nature; we just need to become more porous to it

Joel Pierce

Joel Pierce is the administrator of Christ's College, University of Aberdeen. He has recently published his first book.

Meet the neighbours.

Townsend Walton on Unsplash.

Our neighbours hate our crows. I can’t blame them. The hundreds of crows that occupy the tops of the ancient pines which surround our rural manse are the noisiest and messiest residents I have ever lived near. They greet each sunrise with a din of caws and counter-caws, as if they are deeply concerned that anyone might miss this momentous daily event or the fact that it’s now happening before 5:30a.m. In nesting season, which lasts most of April and May, our car is easily identifiable in any carpark by the crusted grey spots with which the crows see fit to adorn it. Within a week of moving in, we gave up on the washing line so invitingly strung between two of the pines. Our pristine whites were too tempting a target for our crows.

I do not attend the meetings of our local community council, but I hear whispers of what transpires there. Our crows, evidently, have been a regular topic of conversation. Multiple solutions have been proffered for driving them away. All have been tried and all have failed. Our crows cling fiercely to their homes and their determination is more than a match for any human efforts. If I have the vibe of my community right, at least some of its members feel that there’s something perverse, obscene even, about a flock of birds being allowed to upset our human right to create a serene, comfortable, and convenient habitation. Our clump of houses is surrounded by a visually stunning landscape; shouldn’t the aural landscape be equally beautiful?

If my family does not mind our crows, it is because the treetop drama is just one more example of many natural encroachments on the house, some more welcome than others.

Every year we celebrate the miraculous return to our eaves of house martins, home from their intercontinental peregrinations. We look forward to another summer spent watching their acrobatics and listening to their chicks in the nests an arm’s length from our windows.

Clearing up the mess of our attic’s bats is an annual chore, one thankfully performed stoically by our church’s property convener, but there are compensations - such as the twilight shows they put on outside our living room window, performing impossible turns and reversals midair in their search for prey.

Less welcome are the massive spiders, which are a perennial presence; the slugs, which seemed to apparate onto the hall carpet all through winter, the mice, two of whom sacrificed themselves to knock our dishwasher out of action by chewing through its hose; and the wasps who built a nest the size of a telephone box in the roof space above our back bathroom.

Least fun of all has been what we call the Great Earwig Migrations, which have happened twice in our half-decade in the manse and which involve weeks of finding the little bugs under, seemingly, every object and on every surface.

When we moved into the manse, we expected challenges, the high heating bills, the leaking roof, and the isolation of the countryside. What we did not expect was the experience of porousness; the shock of realising that we had so little control over what other forms of life saw fit to share our habitation with us.

At first it felt to me perverse, obscene even, that a house, even a 120-year-old house, should be so vulnerable to incursions by animal creation. Shouldn’t our home, our space, be a haven where we can control who or what enters, who or what we feel comfortable with, and who or what we can exclude?

If I had to give a name to this expectation, maybe it would be that of the buffered home, a play on philosopher Charles Taylor’s description of the modern self as buffered. Taylor contrasts the selves we aspire to be in modernity, ones able to control and order our bodies, our space, our lives, and our relationships so that they accord with our autonomous desires and actions, with those of our premodern ancestors. Medievals and ancients assumed porosity. Bodies were subject not just to biological infection, but spiritual infections too. Projects and plans were frustrated not just by mistakes or personal failings, but by the ever-fickle whims of the goddess Fortuna. Their lives, their bodies, their homes, existed in a perpetual state of vulnerability. The threat of everything falling apart was always on the horizon.

We want nature to survive, flourish even, but not at the cost of our comforts or our sense of autonomy and security.

Modern technology has helped us tame the more unwelcome of these forces, but it has also given us an overly naive expectation that all that is inconvenient about nature can and should be gradually eliminated. This expectation frames the way we respond to worries about climate change and other creeping environmental crises. We want nature to survive, flourish even, but not at the cost of our comforts or our sense of autonomy and security. But as our ancestors might remind us, we are part of nature too, and, just as in any relationship, mutual vulnerability and sacrifice are needed if we are all going to survive. This is scary, but there are resources within Christianity - within other faiths too - to help us understand that there are benefits to affirming our vulnerability, our porosity.

My daughters love our crows. They point in wonder as the crows flood into the sky at dusk, hundreds of them making a giant circle once, then twice round the garden, before settling down for the night. When, in late May, grounded fledgings appear, bundles of feathers shocked at the sudden inhospitality of the nest, too stunned to realise they can fly home, my daughters watch over them, anxious lest the local cats take advantage of their bewilderment.

A few Sundays ago, my youngest, who struggles to stay quiet and well-behaved in Sunday School, pulled me out of church early. We sat on the church lawn staring up at the crows and soon were adapting the andante melodies of that Sunday’s hymns into imagined songs of praise that crows might sing. “No,” my youngest said, simpatico with the crows as she is, “I think they’d want something more upbeat.” And so we tried setting our own corvid-themed praise lyrics to Rosé and Bruno Mars’ song APT, while listening to the caw and counter-caw above. “Dad, how do you think God sees the world?” she asked me when we finished. I stumbled through my best theologically informed explanation of how God could be in every part of creation without being of it, before she stopped me. “I think it’s like a giant snow globe that he holds in his hands.” Watching the birds swirl around us, two stationary figures caught by the same currents of air that were sweeping them aloft, what could I do but agree?

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