Explainer

Comment

Development

Politics

War & peace

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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Review

Culture

Music

Politics

25 July 2025

6 min read

As the congregation gathers Bruce Springsteen leans hard into hope

Chords of confrontation and communion

Elizabeth Wainwright

Elizabeth Wainwright is a writer, coach and walking guide. She's a former district councillor and has a background in international development.

Bruce Springsteen crouches down and holds a hand out to a sea of outstretched hands

Springsteen plays Manchester.

Brucespringsteen.net.

I finally got to experience a Bruce Springsteen concert recently. Which is to say, for three hours, I touched a land of hope and dreams.

We walked along a canal to get to the arena – my husband, my father-in-law, and me –Manchester shimmered with the arrival of summer, and light bounced off red brick and still water. We neared the arena and the air felt dense with anticipation. T Between us we carried heartbreaks, elections, hopes, failures, and a collective return to music that had accompanied and clarified it all. We were drawn by loyalty and nostalgia and joy, but also I sensed by a hope that Bruce would meet the moment — the frayed, furious, anxious now — with something that mattered.

We found our seats and gripped our drinks as the lights dimmed. Thousands of people stopped individual conversations, and hushed, and then joined voices into a deep and reverent chant. “Bruuuuuuuce”. To my right, the glow of a screen, the woman holding it sending a text – “yes babe, 1pm, lovely” – and it seemed incongruent and true. In the tension before the release, in the dark before the light, we hold our breath even as the ordinary carries on. The ordinary carries on even as the world fractures and glows. The ordinary is what Bruce often sings of, it is one reason why fans feel heard and seen by him. That night though, all the ordinaries he sang of formed something extraordinary.

Then there was light, and Bruce walked slowly from the side to the front of the stage, his guitar suspended across his body, his face a relaxed, broad smile, his bandmates and companions beside and behind him. Then there was music. No videos, no pyrotechnics; just old songs that felt as if they existed for the now. My City of Ruins, Death to My Hometown, Land of Hope and Dreams, The Promised Land. The song Long Walk Home was introduced as a “prayer to my country”. It is a country that he embodies, despairs of, and loves. He sings of his home with fury, sorrow, tenderness, and love.

Riffs and rhythms that were decades old were being made urgent again. Springsteen’s music holds both grit and glory, and hard-won joys leave space for sorrow. I write this and lines by Mary Oliver come to mind: “We shake with joy, we shake with grief / what a time they have these two / housed as they are in the same body.” What a time they had, joy and grief, that night with Bruce.

The evening unfolded not as spectacle but as liturgy; all of us involved in something like devotion – in part to Bruce, but also to moral clarity, to the power of poetry, to the promise of who we could be. At times the crowd seemed silent, ushered into something deeper – not entertainment or escapism, but something like confrontation and communion. We were being offered the joy of music and memory, but also an opportunity to reckon with who we are.

Between songs, Bruce spoke. He apparently rarely does so in his gigs. His voice slowed and deepened – not chit chat, not to entertain, but to bear witness and stand defiant and call us to the best versions of ourselves. “I’ve spent my life singing about where we’ve succeeded and come up short in pursuit of our civic values,” he said. “I just felt that was my job.” He proceeded to describe how those values are being torn apart, and why they matter. The crowd roared. He was making civic values shine, speaking about them with urgency. He acknowledged both the dream and the failure, but still he believes in the promised land and he asks us to as well. Before he belted out Rainmaker, he said, “when conditions in a country are right for a demagogue, you can bet one will show up.” He spoke of America, and really of the world – what it is, what it is becoming. His honesty and poetic rage situated us, then became a map for how to keep going.

We can be glad to be alive even while we are honest about sorrow, injustice, broken politics, fractured families, and tired hearts.

I found myself wondering: why is it that Bruce can sing and speak about justice, warped politics, and who we are becoming, and be met with cheers, while so many churches avoid doing so, preferring instead to whisper in neutral tones while the world burns? That night, I stood in a crowd of thousands and I heard a kind of moral clarity that orientates the soul and made me cry. It wasn’t partisan, it was human. Why can it feel riskier to speak specifically and prophetically in a sermon than in a stadium? I wonder if it’s because Springsteen has always rooted his politics in people’s real lives – in work, family, grief, memory. He doesn’t gesture toward abstract ideologies for fear of alienating people, or in the hope of retaining fans: he tells stories and gives names to problems and injustices, singing about crooked institutions, boarded-up factories, buses that never come, lovers who don’t come back.

The evening felt, for me, like the kind of church I long for and sometimes touch: no tidy answers, no insincere lyrics, no vague calls for justice, but rather honesty and specificity and the chance to stand alongside strangers and feel something challenging, beautiful, true.

I scribbled a question as the music soared: can a chord be mystical? Because that’s how it felt. As if there are progressions – minor then major, dissonance into harmony – that can reach past language and speak directly to the part of us that longs for love more than cynicism, to the part of us that still dares to hope even when there is very little obvious reason to do so, to the part of us wondering how to be truly alive.

Near the end, Bruce quoted the American writer James Baldwin:

“In this world, there isn’t enough humanity as one would hope. But there’s enough.”

There’s enough. It was a small phrase but it hung in the air like incense. For Bruce, there is enough humanity to keep singing for, and about. Now, he seemed to ask the crowd, what will you do with that enoughness, with that humanity?

In the final stretch, Bruce leaned hard into hope with songs like The Rising and Born to Run. The energy in the room felt like resistance – not against something, but for something. He didn’t pretend everything’s fine, but he sang anyway. “It ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive.”

We can be glad to be alive even while we are honest about sorrow, injustice, broken politics, fractured families, and tired hearts. Gladness is being asked to stand its ground now, and to do something with our improbable aliveness. For the final song, Bruce played Bob Dylan’s Chimes of Freedom. It is a song about lightning and exiles and freedom, about the trembling of the soul and about a sky that “cracked its poems in naked wonder.” He sang it slowly, tenderly, like a prayer – which can also be a trembling of the soul, a song of naked wonder. Perhaps he prayed to God, perhaps to some other sacred thing: our better angels, or the fragile hope of who we might yet become.

In a BBC documentary about Bruce Springsteen’s history with the UK, someone says “there’s something in Bruce fans, you know you can implicitly trust them.” As we filed out of the arena, it felt like 25,000 of us briefly knew each other, trusted each other, could take on the world together. Perhaps we just had.

Soon it was just me, my husband, my father-in-law, and the silent dark canal as we walked back into the night. We were tired, we were awake. I thought of Bruce’s belief in the promised land, and of Baldwin’s line: there’s not enough humanity, but there’s enough. These are beliefs that can feel risky. So can belief in God. But enough is plenty. Enough can turn up the volume and let the spirit be our guide. With 25,000 other people, I’d turned that volume up and I could hear the spirit defiant, unifying, guiding. It is – has always been – time to go and sing of it, despite everything.