Growing up on a council estate in the 1970s and early 1980s, a number of things are seared into my memory. The presence of the National Front. Nights in a dark house during power cuts. But most memorable was impending nuclear war.
Surrounded by five RAF bases, the whole area was deemed to be a prime location for the Russians to drop a bomb. It might seem far-fetched, but this fear was reinforced at every turn. The F4 Phantoms and Harrier Jump Jets screaming over our school playground; the regular dropping of leaflets through the door explaining what to do if the four-minute warning sounded; the backdrop of films such as When the Wind Blows and The Day After. The latter terrifying to an adult, let alone a child. But the leaflets scared me the most, because were sent to offer comfort but delivered the opposite. It did not seem plausible even to my tiny ten-year-old mind that unscrewing the living room door from its hinges, leaning it against a wall and hiding underneath it would provide any defence against an atomic bomb.
Emergency supplies
As I got older, that childhood preoccupation with existential threat never went away. And many years later I became a ‘city prepper’, always ensuring I had a backpack stashed in the back of my wardrobe, ready to hike out of London with clothes, a roll of cash, emergency supplies and a shortwave radio. My closest friends humoured me and assumed I had a problem; with one memorably accusing me of being ‘wistfully apocalyptic’ – actually wanting the worst to happen.
It was not until 2006, when I graduated through a radical, but now sadly disbanded MSc at Bath University that I came to a reckoning with my fear. A long-term answer to preparedness or survival through deep crisis was never going to be a singular endeavour. I couldn’t just walk alone from a city on fire. It would be morally and practically impossible to do so. I saw little worth in a climate-changed, war-changed society that did not seek its response and recovery in communion with others.
Ultimately, in any least-worst-case scenario, I knew we would only get through crisis through mutual aid, community and solidarity. Preparing for disaster is not a solo sport.
Rapid responders
Fast forward to 2025, and commentary on the fracturing and polarisation in our society consumes many books, many column inches, many lived realities. Today, Community, not catastrophe – a report I’ve developed with valuable input from Lily Owens-Crossman, a Senior Researcher at The Young Foundation, and with funding from Local Trust and support from the VCSEP – seeks to fill the ‘community chasm’ that exists in how we understand strategies for ‘preparedness’ in the face of multiple and varied threats.
We can prepare as individuals (if we are able, and as best we can) for power cuts, floods, extreme weather or worse, and we have exceptional commitment to preparedness through statutory services responders; albeit with less investment than is needed. But unless we see ourselves, civil society, as genuinely part of what government calls our civil contingency infrastructure, our response to major threats will fail many of us; and specifically fail those who are already at the sharpest end of disadvantage and marginalisation.
The role of the public, communities, civil society and the voluntary sector is downgraded in many national policy debates about crisis preparedness. That needs to change. Because the range of threats, risks and predictable crises facing the UK is growing, rapidly, and it is highly likely that we will encounter more turbulence in the coming years. Not all of these can be prevented or mitigated. And our social infrastructure, networks of support, voluntary capacity, and trusted information-sharing are vital to the functioning (and rebuilding) of our economy and society after every incident.
‘Whole society’ resilience
Not everyone is a resilience guru, of course. But we must all understand how our work and influence contributes to whole society resilience. Because, in communities across the UK, we need to understand how we shift from a ‘do to’ to a ‘do with and alongside’ approach to preparedness.
Different kinds of strategies are required. These include thinking systematically about household preparedness; neighbourhood-level mutual aid networks; local charities; voluntary skills and expertise; the role of educational institutions; and the platforms and infrastructure that help direct voluntary support, resources and money to those communities who most need it.
We also need a deep shift in attitude by government towards traditional, national ‘command and control’ approaches. The military, emergency services, local authorities, the NHS, utility and transport infrastructure bodies are fundamental to national preparedness and crisis response. But their effective collaboration with our critical voluntary capacity cannot be ‘turned on’ at will. And in places – often in deprived and disadvantaged communities – where civic and social infrastructure are either weak or missing, and where levels of household preparedness are very low, a longer-term focus on building community resilience and meaningful relationships with a plurality of local voluntary actors is required. Forget hiding underneath an unhinged door; consider this a call to action.
Civil society Climate change Community leadership Community needs and priorities COVID-19 Inequality Local government and public services Posted on: 2 April 2025 Authors: Helen Goulden OBE,