Intro: Westerners have no right to feel morally superior over those in developing nations
The West likes to believe corruption is something that happens elsewhere. It is presented as a pathology of poorer countries, weak institutions, and unstable governments. In much of Africa, corruption is routinely cited by Western politicians, the media, and international organisations as evidence of failed governance. It is used to justify conditions on aid, scepticism towards investment and, increasingly, a broader sense of moral superiority.
Yet the uncomfortable truth is that many of the same behaviours exist in Britain, Europe, and the United States. The difference is not always the conduct itself. The difference is often the language we use to describe it. In Western democracies, power rarely operates through crude bribery or overt illegality.
Instead, it works through relationships, access, networks, and privileged information. Outcomes are shaped quietly, informally, and often entirely within the rules. Those closest to political and financial power gain opportunities, protection, and influence that others do not. We prefer to call this lobbying, networking, or simply “how things get done”. But if similar systems operated elsewhere, we would often call them corruption.
The global pandemic exposed this contradiction particularly clearly. Between February and November 2020, more than £3.7bn of UK PPE contracts were channelled through a “VIP lane” for companies with political connections. Those firms were significantly more likely to secure government contracts, even where they had limited relevant experience.
Had a similar process emerged in an African country – where politically connected individuals were fast-tracked for lucrative state contracts during a national emergency – Western governments and media outlets would almost certainly have described it as corruption. In Britain, however, the language was notably softer: “urgency”, “extraordinary circumstances”, “procurement challenges”. The same behaviour, but a different use of language and vocabulary. What increasingly troubles the public is not simply individual scandals, but the perception that elite networks operate by different rules altogether.
The Epstein affair reinforced that suspicion powerfully. It exposed the extraordinary proximity between convicted offenders and some of the most influential political, financial, and social figures in the Western world.
The main focus of accountability for the sexual abuse was rightly directed at Jeffrey Epstein himself and later Ghislaine Maxwell. But many others associated with Epstein – some of whom knowingly enabled, tolerated, or benefited from the network of influence and privilege surrounding him – have emerged largely untouched.
For many people, this reinforced the belief that wealth, influence, and proximity to power can create a form of informal immunity. Not necessarily from the law itself, but from the level of scrutiny and accountability that would apply to ordinary people – or indeed to public figures in other countries.
When access, relationships, and privileged information determine outcomes, public trust is inevitably eroded – regardless of whether formal rules have been technically breached.
If confidence in democratic institutions is to be rebuilt, it will require more than compliance processes and carefully managed optics. It demands a far more honest recognition of how power actually operates within Western systems.
Because the real danger is not simply that corruption exists elsewhere. It is that the West has become extraordinarily skilled at defining its own behaviour in ways that prevent it from recognising corruption when it is closest to home.
Intro: If Britain is nimble and responsive to this global crisis it can be a winner in an era beset by conflict. Confident governments that circumvent risk will benefit handsomely
Amid the geopolitical storms and instability emanating from Ukraine to the Strait of Hormuz, flickers of light are piercing the gloom. To paraphrase Charles Darwin, it is not the strongest that survive, but those most responsive to change. So too, with nation states. Mid-ranking powers are navigating independent paths to mitigate risks and grasping opportunities lacing the chaos. There are lessons here for Britain.
In Ukraine, necessity has proved the mother of invention. Since Russia’s invasion, Ukraine has revolutionised its industrial-defence base, changing the face of global warfare. In 2024, Ukraine conducted the first fully autonomous drone strikes on Russian targets. The scale of innovation is equally dramatic. Ukraine has reduced its reliance on foreign-supplied military hardware, from 54 per cent to 18 per cent, in three years. Now, Gulf states are queuing up to buy its drones to defend themselves against Iran.
Such rugged self-reliance and determination persuaded the United Arab Emirates (UAE) to leave OPEC, the 12-country cartel that fixes oil prices and supply. “Opexit” will enable the UAE to increase its oil production by around 40 per cent, and help to ease global shortages. In doing so, the UAE has derided regional rivals, deepened ties with the US and Israel, and signed a defence pact with Ukraine. These moves are highly controversial for a mid-sized power under lethal fire – responding with vision and self-confidence.
The trend is not limited to those facing military pressure. When China responded to Australian criticism over Covid in 2020 by imposing tariffs, the government in Canberra reduced its dependency on China. It expanded trade with South-East Asia, and signed Aukus, the defence co-operation pact with Britain and the US.
In the wake of US tariffs, Canada signed a dozen new free trade deals, and launched a sovereign wealth fund to boost critical mineral supply chains with allies. It has ramped up defence spending, and is partnering with innovators in defence tech.
The emerging trend undermines lazy assumptions that mid-sized nations must choose between or bow to larger powers. Confident governments that manoeuvre nimbly can circumvent risk. By co-operating in clusters with like-minded partners, they can seize the opportunities accompanying geopolitical ructions.
There are clear lessons for Britain. Since 2019, UK trade has increased – measured by volume or as a proportion of GDP. The latest United Nations statistics show that, since its departure from the EU, Britain rose from seventh to fourth place in the global trade rankings, spurred on by trade deals with Australia, India, and the 11 countries of the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership. As a services-oriented economy, the UK should strike further deals from the Gulf to South America.
UK trade objectives, however, must play to our comparative advantages. London remains the second-largest financial centre in the world, contributing 20 per cent more to the UK economy than it did in 2016. We can build on this by securing greater market access abroad. Reform at home would help, too. With public finances strained, state support should focus on sectors where the UK offers global leadership from life sciences to AI, for example, to make it easier for large funds to invest in data centres and defence procurement.
As the conflict in Iran shows, the global economy is still acutely reliant on traditional maritime supply chains. Britain has a long history as a leading maritime nation, and UK firms – like GB Global – are looking to high-tech logistics and modular methods of shipbuilding to mitigate these risks. The Government can do more to support this strategic sector, in ways that would boost tax revenue.
If Britain aims to lead in innovation, we need a reliable supply of critical minerals. Similarly, Europe-wide efforts to rebuild defence capabilities will fail without a stable supply of heavy rare earths.
While the West lags behind China by around 20 years in the race to mine and refine these commodities, Europeans have been slower to respond than the US, Canada, Japan, and Australia. The UK has some natural resource and refining capacity, but is yet to translate strategic objectives into operational delivery. One option is to help finance projects abroad in return for the off-take needed to service industry.
Likewise, in defence tech there is a UK hub emerging in Swindon, but it needs a technical college to provide the skills, faster procurement decision-making, and a revamp of the electricity grid to attract businesses.
The splintering of the post-1945 international order has sent waves of uncertainty around the world. Yet mid-sized countries can navigate turbulent geopolitical waters, but only if they face the new realities and play to their strengths.
Intro: The central argument of Brown’s thesis is that Mao was a ‘moderniser through destruction’. He believed that for a new China to be born, the old one had to be violently uprooted. The book suggests that while Mao’s methods were often catastrophic, the unified, assertive China we see today is an inescapable result of his reign
Kerry Brown writes that “Mao’s provocations… would have suited the world of social media and Twitter/X”. That’s a fertile observation. One could well imagine an @Mao account, or a podcast – The Chairman Mao Experience – attracting a huge and hungry following.
Mao Zedong was, after all, a famed dispenser of earthy aphorisms. He told an astonished hall in 1959: “Comrades… if you have to s—, s—! If you have to fart, fart! You will feel much better for it.” He was obsessed not so much with state-building as with the more intimate endeavour of moulding minds. “Simple slogans, cartoons, and speeches”, he wrote, “have produced… a widespread and speedy effect among the peasants.” Social media would have been a central platform for his rhetoric.
Even in death, Mao trips us up. In the half a century since his passing in 1976, biographers and historians of China have failed to reach consensus on what drove him, what degree of responsibility he bears for the tragedies of the early People’s Republic, and what his contributions were to the wealthy and successful China of 2026. He ran the country for 27 years, yet remained an enigma – associated, at various times in his life, with violence and mercy, Confucianism, and techno-utopianism. In his new biography Mao, Brown, professor of Chinese studies at King’s College, London, all but emits a sigh, surveying the task ahead: “Getting a clear sight of who Mao was… presents a massive challenge.”
Some early signs provide pointers. Young Mao, born in imperial China in 1893, was fiercely opposed to the ruling “Simple slogans, cartoons, and speeches”; yet, he was schooled in the Confucian classics, and was impressed by the importance of self-cultivation. It was a short hop from self-cultivation to the cultivation of others’ selves – in particular those of the vast mass of China’s peasantry, whose loyalty and labour were required for revolution.
Mao came to believe that Marxism offered the best blueprint for achieving this. Russia’s Bolsheviks had shown that what Brown calls “an enlightened vanguard of activists” armed with a simple critique of present injustices could rally the masses to their cause. The people of Hunan province, where Mao built his early political base, possessed, in his estimation, “no brains, no ideals, and no basic plan”. Changing that required, in Brown’s words, “the framing of social relations in elemental terms as a struggle between… two great forces”. One only had to exchange Marxism’s “capitalists” with “landlords” for China’s peasants to raise their gaze beyond their own fields and throw themselves into collective action. Mao deployed night-schools and propaganda to this end, providing just enough education to create a biddable mass that would “rise like a mighty storm, like a hurricane, a force so swift and violent that no power… [would] be able to hold it back”.
Compromise was not in Mao’s DNA. In 1921, while still a marginal figure in the party, he attended the fabled first meeting of the Chinese Communist Party in Shanghai. The location, then in the city’s French concession, is today regarded in China as sacred ground, festooned (the author tells us) with TV screens and interactive guides. And yet: so disillusioned was Mao by the CCP’s pragmatic decision to forge a temporary alliance with the Chinese Nationalists that he boycotted its second congress in 1922. (In later years, he would pretend he’d done no such thing, and only failed to locate the address where the meeting was being held.)
Mao once declared that revolution is “not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery . . . a revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence where one class overthrows another”. Brown takes the reader on the wild ride that was Mao’s life in the 1930s and 1940s: his quick return to the fold, the rise of the CCP, its fight against Japanese invaders, then all-out civil war with Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalists – whom Mao had driven out of China and into Taiwan by the end of 1949, thus establishing Communist rule.
Then comes the perplexing mix of success and tragic failure that were the early years of the People’s Republic of China. Greatest of all disasters was the Great Leap Forward of 1958–62, during which a staggering 50 million people may have died (reliable statistics are impossible to come by). How to explain the gargantuan folly of setting up backyard steel furnaces in villages across the country, producing shoddy tools and utensils, while people were left eating tree bark and raw wheat?
Prof. Brown points us towards “Mao Zedong Thought”, the “philosophy” that seems to have turned on a terrifying sense of China’s population as an expendable means towards utopian ends. Those village furnaces might have claimed untold lives – consuming farmers’ tools and time when they should have been tending their fields – but for Mao they were a symbol of Chinese modernity. A nuclear exchange would be regrettable, but China had so many people that no enemy could possibly kill them all. Food aid was offered to China’s neighbours during the height of the famine, because you can’t put a price on projecting an air of progress. Brown wonders whether Mao understood economics at all – whether “capitalism” was, to him, little more than “a term of abuse or criticism for those he regarded as… enemies, rather than something [of which] he had a clear understanding”.
Brown is like a trustworthy tour guide, knowledgeable and clear, but not always sure which sights we most need to see. Digressions into the lives and thinking of other figures occasionally takes up space that might have been better used in rounding out our sense of the chairman himself. Writing about a figure like Mao isn’t easy; but readers may still find themselves hankering after a more vivid personal portrait, alongside answers to some of the questions thrown up by Mao and Maoism.
For instance, important aspects of Mao’s private life are passed over rather quickly. He was often consumed by what might now be described as anxiety and low mood, over fears of his rivals plotting and scheming against him. He withdrew from public life for long periods at a time before returning with fresh and deadly energy – most famously at the time of The Cultural Revolution of 1966-76. And while we must be wary of sensationalism, it seems clear that Mao had a fondness for young women, especially during his later life. All these things might be mined for insights about one of the pivotal figures of the 20th century.
Similarly, we read about the extraordinary violence of the Cultural Revolution without being helped to understand what could make people do such things. So-called “sent-down-youth” from urban China were forced out into the countryside “to seek lived experiences of the revolution”. The results extended to forced marriage, rape, and even murder at the hands of rural Chinese who were fearful that their food and resources were under threat. Mao was the prime instigator and orchestrator of this infamous episode in Chinese history, alluding at the outset to the utopian potential of “disorder” under heaven.
Were Mao’s pathologies poisoning a nation, or coaxing to the surface its darkest inclinations? Brown is surely correct when he says that “it is hard to work out the psychology of a man who was almost constantly calculating and balancing different forces around him”. Still, a tighter curating of key moments and insights plus some judicious speculation might have helped the analysis in this book be more cohesive and compelling. As it is – and in fairness, perhaps this is true to the nature of the chairman – Mao Zedong risks once again slipping through our fingers.
– Mao by Kerry Brown is published by Reaktion, 272pp
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