Origin & Team Behind Downstream Intelligence

Downstream Intelligence—founded by a group of Fletcher School graduates—describes itself as “an AI/M[achine]L[earning]‑native geopolitical scenario forecaster,” aiming to make sense of world events at the speed they unfold.

But the company is also part of a generational shift. Its founders belong to a cohort of analysts shaped not by think‑tank habits, but by prediction markets and probabilistic reasoning.

They see geopolitics as something to model, test, and update in public — not a privately circulated memo.

The team behind Downstream Intelligence blends backgrounds in policy, technical, and communication. Sandy Glickman previously worked in the IMF Managing Director’s office. Rachel Leighton trained in mathematics at MIT and studied East Asian technology and international affairs at the Fletcher School, focusing on computation and East Asian tech policy. Raffael Hüberli brings experience from Swissnex in San Francisco, the Swiss Army press office, and earlier work as a journalist.

“With Rachel”, notes Raffa, “we have someone who is extremely strong in computer science and mathematics, which helps us to turn the qualitative insights from news articles etc. into quantitative data points that we can then use to build our model. Her…current research [that] she’s conducting as part of her PhD in Mathematics at MIT directly relates to what we’re building.”

A Computational Way of Seeing the World

Downstream Intelligence’s first product, Augury 1.0, is a model and “terminal‑style platform” designed to forecast what comes next. At its core is a structured way of breaking down events into signals, drivers, and causal chains. Signals are observable data points, drivers are the forces behind them, and causal chains show how one event leads to another.

Instead of relying on country experts writing narrative assessments, Downstream Intelligence treats global politics as a system of interacting variables that can be decomposed, modelled, and recombined. It mirrors how prediction‑market participants think:

• Break the problem down.

• Assign probabilities.

• Update continuously.

“We let the data do the work here”, adds Sandy. “We bound our scenarios by an upside, a downside, and a base. Each scenario has exclusive measurable requirements in order to identify closest outcomes.”

Pressed on the fundamental limits of forecasting, Rachel explains:

“There are so many absolute limits to forecasting - even with AI-native tools. We can’t map the entirety of the world and smaller events that may go unreported have ripple effects onto larger events. Forecasting is non-deterministic, so it’s impossible to get completely right even with the most cutting edge technology and mathematics.”

“I am bullish that what were once considered Black Swan events, such as COVID-19 or the 2008 financial crisis will be better anticipated and (hopefully) more proactive decisions will be taken. However, this is less about AI forecasting and more about AI helping to understand new realities without one’s cognitive bias preventing them from doing so.”

Forecasting in Public

Credibility is the company’s biggest challenge.

Downstream Intelligence does not hide its scorecard in the footnotes of an obscure quarterly report. They’ve built a fast‑growing Instagram presence (@downstreamintel), now with nearly 29,000 followers.

Each video features Sandy at a desk, in a suit and tie, typing on a typewriter. “Will the US strike Cuba by Jan 31?” he asks in one video. “Will North Korea launch a missile before Feb 28?” he asks in another.

The look is deliberate - it turns forecasting into a public act, where probabilities are posted, tracked, and judged in real time, making it the opposite of the private, cautious style of traditional risk analysis. Downstream Intelligence’s videos normalise being wrong so long as the model updates accordingly — a core value of the prediction‑market generation. “The typing and slide noises are good call to attention hooks - it’s simple and repeatable”, Sandy explains.

“We are really excited about how AI can be leveraged on the backend, but on the frontend we want to be as human as possible...By recentering this around us as humans testing a system we are openly and actively testing, it allows us to fully own our losses without ego, tinker with the model, and improve while building a community invested in the process.”

Raffa makes the case that “our public-facing work serves as more than just a tool to get the word out. It is also important for us to build a community around what we’re trying to do and feel the momentum of the people that are interested in what we’re developing.”

In a podcast interview in January, Sandy reflected that, “Rachel and I are not the best at explaining what we do.” Yet the videos do exactly that: they make forecasting visible.

“There’s an exhausting trend in the startup community to describe yourself as a “builder” or a “founder””, Sandy told me. “Everyone is trying to signal that they know exactly what the future looks like and they are “just shipping it”....we describe ourselves as tinkerers; taking complex systems apart, probing what’s working, and fixing what we can.”

The Market Challenge

According to Raffa, “the way out there vision is to also be in the toolkit for analysts” and compete with the biggest players like Eurasia Group. Yet, the geopolitical‑risk market is slow to buy and dominated by well‑funded incumbents such as Recorded Future, Control Risks, and Blackbird.AI, as well as hyperscalers (large technology companies that provide enormous cloud computing capacity) increasingly embedding risk‑intelligence features into enterprise platforms.

But the deeper challenge is cultural. Clients are still shaped by the think‑tank mindset that favours authoritative narratives over probability ranges, clear explanations over model-native reasoning, polished memos over causal-chain graphs, and industry incumbents because they speak their language.

Downstream Intelligence must show that its scenario‑generation engine offers something meaningfully better than generic LLM outputs, free OSINT dashboards, or established intelligence platforms.

That’s difficult when sales cycles stretch 6–18 months and clients demand transparency, liability‑safe outputs, and a clear sense of how the model thinks.

Add in regulatory pressure around AI safety, political content, and explainability, and the company must scale its technology, revenue, and governance faster than most early‑stage teams can manage.

On these challenges, Sandy acknowledges that:

“Political risk consultancies act as incredible nodes in an intelligence network between government officials, corporations, NGOs, security experts, and the media. Their ability to easily call on all of those experts and leverage those relationships is an unfair advantage that cannot be replaced by AI…At the same time, they will absolutely have to adapt to automated processes in the intelligence collecting, analyzing, and reporting cycles just to maintain their edge over cheaper, AI-native platforms.”

“We recognized very early on that if we went down the traditional consulting or advising route, we would have to fundamentally change how we think about transparency and experimentation….The amount of startups in this space selling information and predictive intelligence is baffling to me. If your model is truly better than everyone else’s, why are you selling your edge?”

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A Generational Bet

Downstream Intelligence’s wager is ultimately about industry culture, not code.

Its founders are betting that a new analytical style—probabilistic, iterative, computational, and public—will displace the think‑tank habits that have shaped geopolitical work for decades.

If that shift takes hold, their approach looks prescient: a model that updates in real time, a community that expects transparency, and a team comfortable being wrong in public because the point is to learn faster than the world changes.

But if the old mindset endures, then Downstream Intelligence faces a steeper climb. The incumbents will keep their advantage not because their tools are better, but because their style still matches what enterprise buyers recognise as “analysis.”

Should the next generation embrace continuous updating over confident assertion, Downstream Intelligence will seem less like an outlier and more like a prototype. If they don’t, the incumbents will keep winning — not because they see the world more clearly, but because they still speak the language of certainty. Either way, the experiment is already underway.

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About the Author

Dr. Tom Parkin is a consultant and analyst focused on conflict communication and post‑conflict governance. He holds a PhD from the University of Sheffield and explores how technology is reshaping geopolitical strategy at tomparkin.org.

Political risk - the business of explaining how geopolitics messes with corporate balance sheets - is facing its biggest identity crisis since the end of the Cold War.

The shift isn’t just about analysts using ChatGPT to summarize PDF reports faster. The integration of Large Language Models (LLMs) is fundamentally altering what corporate clients are willing to pay for, how intelligence is verified on the ground, and whether massive legacy agencies can still justify their massive overheads.

For a sector historically built on curated databases and networks of regional offices, the tectonic plates are shifting.

Here is how the industry is actually being hollowed out, and where the human value-add is hiding.

1. The Democratization of the Language Moat

Language used to be a multi-million-dollar competitive moat.

If your firm could afford to keep native-speaking analysts in Jakarta or Riyadh tracking markets in real time, you won the contract.

Advanced Natural Language Processing (NLP) and machine translation aren’t brand new—intelligence agencies and enterprise firms have used them for a decade.

What is new is the total democratization of these tools.

Today, a solo practitioner sitting in London can monitor regional Telegram channels, local Thai press, and obscure legislative trackers with the same speed and accuracy as a legacy firm’s centralised research desk.

But there is a massive catch: LLMs catch the text but miss the subtext.

Machine translation can process a corrupt bureaucrat’s public statement flawlessly while completely missing the subtle, unwritten cultural cues that indicate something big is coming down the road.

2. Drowning in the Last Mile

Where workflow used to be slowed down by information scarcity; today, it is cognitive overload.

AI can take on ten thousand pages of maritime data or housing policy briefs in seconds. What it cannot do is tell a board of directors in Delhi exactly why they should care, or how specific competitors will react.

When data aggregation costs near nothing, human value shifts entirely to the “final mile” of synthesising and explaining data clearly.

The analysts who survive the next decade are not the ones who can find the data, but the ones who can look at a mountain of AI-generated summaries and say, “Ignore 90% of this. Here are the three lines that actually threaten your bottom line.”

3. Automated Confirmation Bias

AI models are echo chambers by design.

They train on the dominant, digitally available online narratives. In geopolitical risk, relying blindly on this is a recipe for disaster.

If an AI scrapes open-source intelligence (OSINT) and Western media coverage during a sudden constitutional crisis in sub-Saharan Africa, it will output a sanitized, highly biased narrative. It cannot accurately account for the offline, informal power structures that drive the crisis.

Worse, AI is easily fooled by coordinated digital disinformation.

An algorithm mapping local social media sentiment during a coup can, for example, easily mistake a localized bot-network campaign for actual military mobilization on the ground.

Preventing this mistake requires aggressive human “red-teaming”—treating AI outputs as a hostile witness whose testimony must be rigorously cross-referenced against trusted, human assets who can physically look out the window.

4. Flexibility: Boutiques vs. The “CYA” Factor

For decades, legacy political risk giants won fortune 500 contracts simply because they had the headcount to throw at a crisis.

AI completely obliterates that scale advantage.

A single sharp analyst can track an overnight border dispute just as fast as a bloated corporate team trapped in a maze of internal review loops.

That said, boutiques face a distinct hurdle: the “Cover Your Ass” (CYA) factor.

Chief Risk Officers often buy from massive legacy firms not just for the data, but for the institutional liability shield. If something goes wrong, hiring a giant firm protects the executive’s job; hiring an unproven three-person outfit does not.

The winning strategy for modern boutiques isn’t trying to replace the legacy giants as an institutional shield. It is positioning themselves as the agile, tactical strike team that works with internal corporate risk units—providing rapid, unvarnished truths that corporate compliance departments take weeks to approve.

The Shift in Risk

High-volume/low-margin

Automated Saas

Generic country risk scores

AI dashboards, commoditized

Data aggregation

Low-volume/high-margin

Flexible human advisory

Bespoke insights

Direct access and human judgement

Localised nuance

5. The Ethics of the Machine

AI supercharges analytical capability, but it creates a compliance minefield around data provenance.

When an algorithm takes on a closed network or aggregates leaked state data to give a client an edge on a competitor’s regulatory exposure, firms must ask: Where did this data actually come from?

Companies are increasingly becoming highly risk-averse. They don’t just want the intelligence; they want to know how the sausage was made. An unethical investigation powered by rogue tools can easily trigger a massive compliance blowback for a multinational firm.

6. Navigating Divided Tech Nationalism

AI is both the tool used to analyse risk and a massive political risk in its own right.

With the EU AI Act enforcing strict compliance rules, the US relying on a chaotic mix of sector-specific executive orders, and states like China tightly controlling algorithmic outputs, global companies are terrified of getting caught on the wrong side of local tech laws.

Political risk firms are increasingly being hired not to forecast traditional regime changes, but to map out how this fragmented approach to regulating new technology will disrupt cross-border data flows.

7. The Death of the 40 Page PDF

Nobody has ever woken up excited to read a 40-page quarterly political risk report.

Clients now expect real-time engagement: immediate short-form answers over secure channels like Signal or WhatsApp, and live briefs that adapt as a crisis unfolds.

Speed and responsiveness are no longer premium features; they are the bare minimum required to keep a retainer.

8. Decentralized Human Networks Over Fixed Headcount

Because AI makes automated risk indexing incredibly cheap, basic country-risk dashboards have become a commodity.

This has inverted the industry’s pricing model.

The automated feed is now the cheap hook to get clients through the door.

The real margin is made by selling direct access to elite human judgment when things hit the fan. When an asset is seized or an executive is detained overseas, a client doesn’t look at a slick AI chart; they want to call a person who understands the local power dynamics intimately.

To win this market without a massive corporate budget, modern boutiques are relying on a decentralized model: using AI to handle the heavy lifting of macro data collection, while building nimble, on-demand networks of localized human experts.

The Bottom Line

The political risk industry isn’t dying, but it is shedding its weight.

The future belongs to lean, tech-enabled outfits that use algorithms to process the predictable, structural data, leaving humans free to do what they do best: apply ruthless, cynical, real-world human judgment to the unpredictable, and work out how to communicate this to their clients.

About the Author:

Dr. Tom Parkin is a consultant and analyst specialising in conflict communication and post-conflict governance. He holds a PhD from the University of Sheffield. Tom writes on technology and geopolitical strategy at tomparkin.org.

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Objective: To remove the Iranian leadership.

The Challenge: An evolving conflict with no clear exit strategy.

Yesterday, President Trump took to Truth Social to announce the death of Iran’s leader, who had ruled since 1989:

“Khamenei, one of the most evil people in history, is dead… This is the single greatest chance for the Iranian people to take back their country.”

President Trump added:

“The heavy and pinpoint bombing, however, will continue uninterrupted throughout the week or as long as necessary to achieve our objective of PEACE THROUGHOUT THE MIDDLE EAST AND, INDEED, THE WORLD!”

This presidential announcement followed extensive air strikes conducted by the United States, in partnership with Israel, on Tehran—including the presidential compound, airports, nuclear research hubs, and ports. In response, the Iranians struck sites in Israel, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and Iraq.

Though shocking to witness, the idea that the Trump Administration and Iran would engage “kinetically” is no surprise. In June 2025, Israeli forces conducted a series of major air strikes on Iranian nuclear sites. Nine days later, the U.S. followed up with strikes of its own, focusing on Isfahan, Natanz, and Fordow. Two days later, on 24th June, a ceasefire between Iran and Israel was agreed upon. According to Reuters, that exchange resulted in 610 deaths and nearly 5,000 injuries.

In July, the Iranian government confirmed it would refuse to cooperate with the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA). Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi commented on Fox News that Iran would not abandon its uranium enrichment program because it was a matter of “national pride.” By August, UN sanctions on Iran were reimposed.

By December, widespread protests erupted across Iran, voicing anger at the rising cost of living.

Internet access in Iran was switched off.

Why now?

The most recent episode began with the resumption of indirect talks between Iran and the U.S. in Geneva in February, followed by second and third rounds of negotiations. Although representatives from Oman—acting as mediator—said good progress was being made, they admitted a huge gap remained.

Less than two days later, the bombing started.

It is hard to decouple this latest turn in Trump’s foreign policy from other recent activities. In January, Trump ordered airstrikes on Venezuela and the capture of President Maduro.

Now, Khamenei is dead.

Commentators have been right to connect the intense loyalty within the second Trump Administration to its increasingly strident and risk-seeking behaviour. While news cycles during “Trump 1.0” focused on the President’s hirings and firings inside the White House, “Trump 2.0” cycles address his firing of foreign leaders instead.

In many ways, these global conditions represent Ian Bremmer’s concept of a “G-Zero World,” in which no single superpower is ready or willing to police the world. The evidence? See the steady draining of funds from the United Nations and the growing lack of respect traditional superpowers have for international institutions and norms.

Trump’s historic non-interventionist position applies only to the largest superpowers; his administration respects the capacity for countries like Russia and China to conduct themselves as they wish within their spheres of influence (e.g., China taking Taiwan, Russia holding Ukraine, or the United States acquiring Greenland).

Challenges and Opportunities for Other Countries

Clearly, this is a dangerous time. But it is also an opportunity for (1) “pivot states” like India and Türkiye, which can negotiate trade deals with multiple sides of various conflicts, and (2) “midrange” countries that (to us a horrid phrase) “punch above their weight” internationally.

The UK, France, and Germany responded to Operation Epic Fury by releasing a joint statement calling for a diplomatic resolution. Similarly, Canada’s Mark Carney has supported Trump’s political objective of removing Iran’s leadership but has not committed to military action.

Perhaps the most pressing question for midrange countries is how to respond to the Board of Peace—an international body founded by Trump over the New Year.

Ignore it, and midrange countries risk being sidelined by a U.S.-dominated peace process that may exclude local actors.

Engage with it, and these countries risk legitimising Trump’s foreign policy structures, and tying themselves to him as the Board’s Chairman-for-life.

All US presidents, as they approach the second half of their second term, focus on legacy-building. Trump, with his respect for hard power, trade deals and action, seems not to be slowing down.

Removing the Iranian leadership in this manner is audacious, risky and consequential. At present, we have an emerging regional conflict with no real clear exit.

The US and Israel have come to the conclusion that although the Iranians could indirectly disrupt trade flow (and oil prices) through the Straight of Hormuz, the risk is worth it.

A few things to keep in mind though as this story develops:

• The removal of the Iranian leadership does not necessarily mean the removal of the entire Iranian regime.

• There is (at the time of writing) no clear plan of action from the United States should the Iranian regime collapse.

• Although this episode represents a significant display of American/Israeli hard power, the costs to their soft power resources may be significant.

• It is not clear that, with US-Venezuela, Gaza-Ukraine, Israel-Palestine, Pakistan-Afghanistan strikes, and now US-Israel-Iran conflicts all ongoing, the Board of Peace and other (new) international institutions have the capacity to manage this spread of state-level violence.

Tom Parkin is a writer, consultant and PhD candidate in International Relations at The University of Sheffield.

As the ceasefire in Gaza barely holds, the region demands not just a pause in fighting, but a sustainable political exit. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is unique—rooted in occupation, settlements, and competing national claims—but the path to ending protracted paramilitary violence is not. We should look closely at Northern Ireland, where the violent, intractable conflict known as “The Troubles” was largely resolved through the 1998 Good Friday Agreement.

The most critical, yet often misunderstood, lesson from Belfast is this: Disarmament comes from a political settlement; it is not a prerequisite for one.

For years, the peace process in Northern Ireland stalled on weapons decommissioning. Unionists insisted the Irish Republican Army (IRA) must surrender its weapons before political power-sharing could begin. Paramilitaries refused, arguing that giving up leverage before a credible political framework amounted to unilateral surrender. Unionists prioritized security, yet Republicans saw their weapons as the ultimate guarantee that any deal would be honored.

The breakthrough came with the principle of parallel, phased progress. The IRA did not disarm on the day the Good Friday Agreement was signed. Rather, decommissioning was a slow, seven-year process that ran alongside the development of a democratic, power-sharing government. This new political structure, the Northern Ireland Assembly, became the security guarantee, and focus shifted from destroying arms to building institutions that negated the need for them. This realization—that trust is an output, not an input, is vital for the Israeli-Palestinian situation. Only when the Republican movement was firmly embedded in the political arena did the IRA agree to put its weapons “beyond use.”

This lesson must be applied to Gaza. The Netanyahu Government states that long-term security hinges on the total decommissioning of Hamas and other militant groups. But demanding unconditional surrender before discussions of a political settlement or a credible political horizon for Palestinians will lead to perpetual war. Like the IRA leadership, Hamas leaders require a compelling political reason to accept disarmament. The core challenge is finding a mechanism to satisfy Israel’s legitimate security needs without demanding a unilateral surrender from the outset.

Lasting peace takes decades to secure. While President Trump brokered the current ceasefire, the framework for continued discussions cannot continue to centre around one individual. The next task is moving to a broader, regionally-based facilitation of dialogue. A new, credible body is needed to sustain the peace effort irrespective of electoral cycles at home or abroad. This framework must include the long-term support and leverage of key regional players like Qatar, Egypt and Saudi Arabia. A commitment to a viable, if conditional, route toward Palestinian statehood provides the only viable alternative to continued paramilitary struggle.

We must also address the need for dialogue locally. Unlike South Africa, the people of Northern Ireland never had their own truth and reconciliation process, and we still see the effects of this. The Palestinian-Israeli conflict is widely known as a crisis around a lack of state recognition, but it cannot be resolved without the recognition of individual suffering too. Grassroots peacebuilding is vital here. Trauma on both sides is deep and pen on paper alone cannot mend it. Establishing community-led dialogue is a crucial first step. Memorializing victims from Israel and Gaza is key to building an honest and shared narrative.

Overshadowing this task is the great sticking point for Israelis, Palestinians, and the international community: a new security model for Gaza. The challenge is to allow Palestinians to feel safe while preventing the re-arming of Hamas. Addressing this complex issue requires unconventional thinking. Instead of focusing on who holds the weapons, the immediate focus should be on who governs the borders, who manages the ports, and who controls the flow of goods and people. As in Northern Ireland, disarmament in Gaza will be slow, messy, and dependent on trust built over time. Negotiators ought not to start with the most quarrelsome issues. Instead, they should focus on humanitarian aid and infrastructure first.

Only then will the weapons become truly useless.

“We’re going to make trade deals but we’re going to have one on one deals, bilateral”, said President Trump at a packed White House press conference in February 2017.

Eight years later, President Trump told another White House audience:

“For decades, our country has been looted, pillaged, raped and plundered by nations near and far, both friend and foe alike. American steelworkers, auto workers, farmers and skilled craftsmen, we have a lot of them here with us today. They really suffered gravely….For nations that treat us badly, we will calculate the combined rate of all their tariffs, non-monetary barriers and other forms of cheating.”

Trump billed 2 April 2025 - “Liberation Day” - as the great economic reset for his country. Trump argued that “tariffs are easy, they’re fast, they’re efficient, and they bring fairness.” Whilst Canada’s Mark Carney and others warned the US tariffs were “unjustified, unwarranted and, in our judgment, misguided”, China’s Ministry of Commerce gave a typically blunt response: “We do not want a tariff war but we are not afraid of one.”

Since Liberation Day, commentators have rightly focused on the devastating impact these tariffs will have on American consumers. Goldman Sachs recently published a research note which estimates Americans already pick up 55% of the charge. Even Senator Ted Cruz admitted to CNBC that “tariffs are a tax on consumers, and I’m not a fan of jacking up taxes on American consumers.”

More importantly, their greatest threat is permitting China to be perceived by third countries as a more stable and reliable partner. The tariff charges have created an atmosphere of uncertainty, prompting global corporations and states to question the predictability of American policy and its supply chains. In contrast, Beijing has since positioned itself as a constant and a champion of free trade and multilateralism—despite its own restrictive practices.

This narrative shift has created a very weird dynamic.

In 2025, China holds America accountable for its failure to commit to the very political and economic order America constructed eighty years ago.

Smaller economies caught between the big economic heavyweights face a significant challenge: Who do they align themselves with?

The term “friend-shoring” became the buzzword of the Biden Administration as soon as then-Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen used it in a speech on securing America’s global supply trade in early 2022. A new term for an old concept, friend-shoring underpinned Biden’s commitment to the 2022 CHIPS and Science Act (which expanded the US production of semiconductors), and reflects a growing impatience for multilateral partnerships.

As we adjust to this “new normal” of doing business, regional trade blocs will become more influential as venues for high-level political discussions. Expect to hear more of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), The Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), the Economic Community of Central African States (ECCAS), MERCOSUR, and the Andean Community of Nations (CAN). This shift is fuelled, not just by economic stagnation in advanced “Western” economies, but by a global acceptance that economic policy is a valid tool of foreign policy.

The connection between economic and foreign policy narrative was best put by Mark Carney in response to the Liberation Day tariffs: “Our old relationship with the United States, a relationship based on steadily increasing integration, is over.” Similarly, Britain’s Keir Starmer observed in an interview with the Telegraph that “the world as we know it has gone.”

“But while headlines focus on how US tariffs have affected Americans, the greatest danger lies in allowing China to be perceived by third countries as a more stable and reliable partner.” - Tom Parkin

Statements like these, coupled with the fact long-standing norms and international organisations have come under pressure, make it all too easy for cynics to declare that political and economic globalisation is over. But we shouldn’t mistake the rise of friend-shoring and bilateral deals for the end of globalisation—because globalisation is shaped by people, not governments.

As President Trump’s attitude to Ukraine has stress-tested NATO, his economic experiment is an opportunity for existing multilateral organisations to reform and strengthen for the future. Bilateral agreements between regions are likely to continue - especially on tangible resources like energy, weaponry, rare earth minerals, food, and communications and computing equipment. But as bilateral deals mount, so does bureaucracy.

In short, the world is not deglobalising—it is reorganising. The task ahead is to build institutions that reflect the complexity of today’s world—not the simplicity of yesterday’s.

Tom Parkin is a writer, Teaching Associate, and PhD Researcher in International Relations at The University of Sheffield (UK).

Another week, another resignation.

Just twenty-six days after his appointment — and a mere fourteen hours after unveiling his cabinet — Sébastien Lecornu tendered his resignation to President Emmanuel Macron. The President accepted, on the condition that Lecornu attempt to cobble together a functioning government within forty-eight hours. That deadline expires tomorrow.

Lecornu’s exit follows the brief tenures of François Bayrou (nine months) and Michel Barnier (three). Gabriel Attal, once dubbed Macron’s youthful double, now seems an elder statesman.

This revolving door at Matignon is symptomatic of one of the gravest political crises of the Fifth Republic. Two forces are driving the chaos: France’s ballooning national debt — now €3.35 trillion, or 114% of GDP — and Macron’s fateful decision in 2024 to call snap legislative elections. The result: a hung parliament, split evenly between the Left, Centre, and Right.

Three paths lie ahead, none of them ideal in a system that resists compromise and coalition-building:

1. Appoint a Prime Minister who can pass the 2026 budget.
   Macron has so far relied on centrist allies — technocratic, fiscally cautious, and vaguely progressive — to fill the role. He could name another placeholder, someone uncontroversial enough to survive until fresh elections. But who would accept the job? Certainly not anyone with presidential ambitions for 2027.

2. Call new legislative elections.
   A fresh vote might break the deadlock. It would also allow Macron to share the blame if gridlock persists. But his centrist coalition is likely to implode, leaving him to choose between a socialist or a far-right successor.

3. Resign and trigger an early presidential election.
   Macron was re-elected in 2022; the next presidential vote isn’t due for eighteen months. But as former Prime Minister Édouard Philippe warned today, “Another 18 months is far too long and it is damaging France.”

Ever aware of his need to be the dominant protagonist of French politics, Macron took a very public walk along the Seine River today, looking as he has become: an isolated man in a crisis of his own making.

As unlikely as it may seem, I believe at the front of his mind is how to navigate toward a non-consecutive third-term.

The French constitution prohibits Macron from running in 2027. But in 2032, he will only be 55 years old. By the end of a fourth term, he’d be just 65. Last month, Presidents Xi and Putin were recorded joking to one another of the possibility of living to 150. Whilst Macron might not make it quite that far, he’s unlikely to be pushed into a quiet political retirement of painting, like George W. Bush, or reading Shakespeare, like Angela Merkel.

Resign now, and the President forfeits any chance at a third term. Worse, it would leave the door open to a far-right prime minister — or president — in 2027. Macron faces two bleak options: appoint a National Rally (RN) prime minister now, or risk watching one ascend to the presidency later.

The RN, untested in national government, retains the sheen of opposition. Appointing one now could expose their weaknesses. If they refuse coalition talks, they can be accused of shirking responsibility. If they govern and fail, they’re no better than the rest. If they succeed, Macron can claim credit for restoring order.

The choices ahead are not easy. Macron was twice elected to block the far-right from power. Handing RN power would be a stunning reversal. But the alternative — continued paralysis — may be worse.

What if the RN forms a stable government? What if that record becomes the launchpad for a credible presidential bid? What if, by 2027, both the President and Prime Minister come from the far-right?

The least bad option remains a new legislative election. But Macron should not entirely rule out appointing an RN prime minister. The burden of governing could fracture their unity, expose their limits, and clarify the stakes for voters.

France cannot afford inaction. Lecornu now holds the record for the shortest-serving prime minister. Perhaps the RN could beat that?

Thanks to readers of the blog who contacted me with questions on some big global issues. Here are my answers, put as succinctly as possible:

Q: Hi Tom, what happens to the peace agreements the White House is negotiating if Trump doesn’t win the Nobel Prize? Is their success dependent on Trump winning another trophy? - John W., from York (UK).

A: Hello John W. The two are certainly linked and President Trump has made no secret of that - even at the podium of the UN General Assembly. Barack Obama won two presidential terms and a Nobel Prize, and Trump wants the same. Your question asks specifically if Trump will continue to pursue peace deals even if he “loses” the Peace Prize. Assuming you’re referring to Israel-Gaza and Russia-Ukraine, I think he will. Why? Because the Abraham Accords - signed in September 2020 - might be put at risk. What are the Abraham Accords? They established normal diplomatic relations between Israel, the UAE, Bahrain (and later on, Sudan and Morocco). They constitute a major US foreign policy victory for Trump that even his harshest critics struggle to deny. During the 2020 and 2024 election campaigns, Trump took pride in the fact that, as commander-in-chief, he never “put American boots on the ground” abroad or “got mixed up in foreign wars.” That said, I also believe that, with mid-term elections coming up, the White House will want to “wrap up” foreign policy deals that are taking up a lot of its time and focus. As unemployment, food inflation and rent have all increased this year, American voters will expect Trump to truly put “America First.”

Q: You wrote before that Starmer’s foreign policy wins were “substantive and impressive.” What should [the PM] and his new foreign secretary focus on until the next election to have any chance of beating Reform? - Qiang from Sheffield (UK).

A: Hello Qiang. In short, I think the Starmer Government could do more with the European Political Community, which Liz Truss first went to in October 2022. The EPC was set up after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and currently has 47 member states. Rebuilding working relations with European partners has been a clear priority for Starmer – especially on the issue of Ukraine. However, much of the progress here has been kept largely under the radar, no doubt because of concerns about how Reform UK might spin the re-establishment of good/close relations between the UK and EU. The EPC is separate from the EU, and already has the endorsement of the conservative right. All incoming governments have their own buzzwords. The 2010 Coalition had “muscular Liberalism”, whilst David Lammy speaks a lot of “progressive realism”. I’m not sure what Yvette Cooper’s chosen phrase is yet. Starmer clearly has a good working relationship with Trump, though I would caution him not to claim he is “chummy” with the president in the way Nigel Farage does. The real example of how best to manage relationships with America is Mark Carney: polite, serious and defiant. Trump is a transactional person and a transactional president. I’d advise the Labour Government to meet him on these terms.

Have questions for next time? Happy to post questions anonymously if you’d prefer. Email me at tpjparkin1@sheffield.ac.uk, comment on this blog post, or send a message on Instagram @tpjparkin.

Last month, Britain and Australia signed the Geelong Treaty — a fifty year defence pact that sharpens Aukus and strengthens what the British Foreign Secretary called an “anchoring friendship” during uncertain times.

For the UK, the deal is more than a defence upgrade. It’s a bold attempt to reposition itself on the global scene after a lengthy divorce from Europe, and an increasingly mercurial relationship with the US.

During his administration, Boris Johnson cast post-Brexit Britain as a “buccaneering global free trader” that “punches above its weight.” Few then foresaw a land war in Europe or the scale of Gaza’s military escalation and ongoing humanitarian crisis. But recent events have exposed the West’s historic neglect for maintaining its hard power capabilities, leaving British minds more focused on trading torpedoes than Tim Tams.

Since the War in Ukraine, the UK has had four prime ministers, and a commitment to defend Kyiv is one of the few consistent policy areas. Covid and Ukraine left Britain little fiscal headroom, meaning any increases in defence spending were promoted as a strategy to stimulate economic growth. The Geelong announcement was no exception. Defence Minister Richard Marles was quick to emphasise the 20,000 additional Australian jobs created from this pact, whilst the British Government promised 7,000.

The Geelong Treaty marks another major turning point in the Aukus story. Even at the best of times, trilateral partnerships are extremely difficult to co-ordinate and consolidate. None of the governing parties who signed up in September 2021 remain in office, and President Trump’s isolationist “America First” foreign policy leaves little room for complacency. President Biden joined as part of his effort to frame global politics as a contest between autocracies and democracies. London and Canberra, however, have never used such definitive language.

With China growing more assertive and America more absent on the global stage, Aukus seems a wise investment and a useful signal of intent. But to last until 2075, the pact must amount to more than a very expensive job stimulus programme or a blunt counter to China, the latter of which British and Australian ministers were careful not to cite.

Does Aukus expand its membership? If so, what does that mean for the Quad grouping of Australia, Japan, India, and the US? How do Britain and Australia balance support for domestic shipbuilders, whilst guaranteeing timely delivery? How does the partnership incorporate evolving technologies? These are significant questions. Yet, in Britain, few voters could tell you what Aukus stands for.

Despite this widespread ignorance, the Starmer Ministry has, in the midst of a sluggish economy and disastrous approval ratings, managed to sign three major international agreements in as many months — much to the ire of the Conservative Party. In May, the UK agreed to reset relations with the EU by focusing on reducing regulatory friction. July saw a landmark trade and defence treaty with Germany, and last week brought a long-awaited trade deal with India. For a cabinet with almost no foreign policy experience, these achievements are substantive and impressive. The Geelong Treaty represents another notch on Starmer’s belt.

As Westminster seeks to move on from Brexit, attention is finally turning to China, albeit nearly two decades too late. As President Trump continues his work as Disruptor-in-Chief, China’s biggest political export has become the promise of predictable and stable partnership with third countries. This is why Xi Jinping visited Malaysia, Kazakhstan, Cambodia and Vietnam in the first half of this year. With increasing numbers around the world viewing China as the premier economic superpower, this approach appears to be paying off. Even in Australia, a recent Pew study found that 53% of Australians surveyed now value close economic ties with China as more important than with the US.

Those of us who lived in the UK during the Brexit Years will remember how readily the debate became stuck as we sought to discuss how best to get on with our region’s biggest trading partner, only from the basic extremes. The EU was either “good” or “bad”, and we were better off “in”, or “out”. At the same time, Australia’s federal leaders were also debating whether their largest economic neighbour was a partner or a provocateur. By this, I do not dismiss or trivialise the significant challenge China poses to Australia’s national security. Rather, this is no way devise coherent foreign policy. For that reason, I argue the real opportunity of Aukus lies, not in countering China, but in offering another form of stability and predictability in the Indo-Pacific. This is a broader cause, and one that goes beyond submarine contracts.

Looking ahead, Aukus members must decide whether the Geelong Treaty is a show of strength — or simply a signal of survival.

Tom Parkin is a PhD Researcher in International Relations at The University of Sheffield (UK).

“In Britain and America, politicians are falling into two distinct camps: those who break things, and those who know how to clean up. Wrecking is a way of driving change, but wreckers rarely know when to stop.”

Read the full letter HERE.

Tom Parkin (@tompjparkin) is a foreign affairs commentator, former Liberal Democrat candidate and PhD researcher at the Department of Journalism Studies at The University of Sheffield.

A great joy in life is to dig around on YouTube and accidentally hit gold. This happened to me in October 2018 when I discovered Bryan Magee’s BBC series Men of Ideas (1978) and The Great Philosophers (1987).

The power of Magee’s programmes came from their simplicity and lack of funding. The show appears to have been sponsored solely by the colour brown. Magee and his guest sat on a rather lumpy-looking sofa, wore wide neckties, occasionally smoked, regularly adjusted their glasses, and always discussed big questions. Topics ranged from the life of German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer to Marxism, philosophy and literature, Descartes, Spinoza, Plato, and logic. No subject was considered too challenging for viewers at home. Over a fifty minute episode, Magee rarely referred to notes. The dialogue was fuelled by a shared passion for philosophy, and Magee’s knack as a storyteller.

Beyond BBC television, Magee was a historian, Labour (later SDP) MP, music and theatre critic, bestselling author, and even a published poet. In 1983, he lost his seat in parliament and turned his attention to writing The Philosophy of Schopenhauer, which was published later that year. The book was a rich and original contribution on his philosophy. Magee traced Schopenhauer’s Buddhist influences, as well as his own influence on future generations such as Wagner and Wittgenstein. Magee was introduced to Schopenhauer’s work whilst studying at Yale University in the mid-1950s, and committed himself to learn German so to read the original text. Magee wrote about his philosophical development in his (1997) book Confessions of a Philosopher. Here, he successfully blends autobiography with intellectual history, and I recommend this to anyone seeking a serious and accessible introduction to the Western philosophy.

On screen, Magee is our champion, constantly pressing for clarity when needed, and probing the expert to explore a problem, concept, or question a little further. Just as you start to lose track of the argument, he interjects to ask for specific examples, a shorter summary, or a comparison to help us better understand the differences between abstractions. Some philosophers, like Isiah Berlin and Iris Murdoch, were great talkers. Others were distracted by the lights and whirring cameras, and needed a gentle push. Like any good teacher, Magee helped others make their case, and he never sought to show off to his guest or anyone watching.

Today, conflict makes “good” television. Longform content, we are told, is dead. A show’s “impact” is measured by how far we have to turn down the volume on our remotes. Global affairs are covered in three minutes, often by interviewees who are encouraged to become caricatures of the political extremes. Surely viewers don’t want to tackle the great existential questions? Who would prefer to watch a discussion over a fight?

“On screen, Magee is our champion, constantly pressing for clarity when needed, and probing the expert to explore a problem, concept, or question a little further.” - Tom Parkin

YouTube has become the refuge for billions seeking an alternative. The platform has transformed access to education, and gives old television programmes a second, or third cycle. Isiah Berlin, Willard Van Orman Quine, Herbert Marcuse and Noam Chomsky spoke to Magee about their own research. Already leading their fields in the 70s and 80s, the passing of all but Chomsky has made them legends. Magee’s sofa chats strip away the mystique and remind us that philosophy is an essential activity that belongs to us all, and is not owned or performed by a select few in university institutions.

Although YouTube has served as a great educational leveller, it also leaves us vulnerable to “bad philosophy”. Philosophical ideas can blend into spirituality, which itself shifts quite easily into questionable theology. This is a significant issue that any brief search for “Nietzsche” or “Christian theology” makes clear. But this problem is not unique to philosophy, or indeed to YouTube.

Major broadcasters should take note. Philosophy doesn’t need expensive sets, flashing animations and loud arguments to draw our attention and keep us hooked. The Great Philosophers is TV medicine for our current age, and a star lesson in communicating big ideas to a mass audience.

All of us, in our own way, struggle with major questions of faith, being and existence. If we have the capacity to ask these questions, then we are also able to seek some answers. Keep digging – you never know what you may find.

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Tom Parkin (@tompjparkin) is a foreign affairs commentator and PhD researcher at the Department of Journalism Studies at The University of Sheffield.

"The government may well want to talk about anything other than renters and the housing market but, with multi-generational adult households on the rise, do they really think baby boomers don’t notice or care?"

Read the full letter HERE.

Tom Parkin (@tompjparkin) is a foreign affairs commentator, former Liberal Democrat candidate and PhD researcher at the Department of Journalism Studies at The University of Sheffield.

This article first appeared on 2 April 2022.

David Cameron first used the term “muscular liberalism” in an address to a Munich security conference in February 2011. “Frankly, we need a lot less of the passive tolerance of recent years and much more active, muscular liberalism,” he said. The speech was Cameron’s first major contribution as prime minister to debates surrounding radicalization and how the state should tackle religious extremism in Britain.

Ten months earlier, the Coalition launched the “Big Society” initiative. “You can call it liberalism. You can call it empowerment. You can call it freedom. You can call it responsibility. I call it the Big Society”, said David Cameron in Liverpool. For the Coalition, Big Society depended on the three pillars of social action, public service reform and community empowerment and represented “a whole new approach to government and governing”.

Although a PR flop, the campaign was a bold attempt by the Coalition to give charities and communities a greater role in running some of the affairs of state. The Labour Party labelled the campaign “a cloak for the small state” and it quickly faded to become a small part of the Conservative Party’s “decontamination strategy” that came to dominate Cameron’s ten years as leader.

On the domestic stage, “muscular liberalism” has proven unsuccessful in capturing the public’s collective imagination about the potential for change. Setting aside legitimate normative arguments on the limits of state-intervention, the Coalition can at least be praised for its creativity, energy and willingness to try something new in establishing the Big Society. The great issues here were timing and execution. How could the same government celebrate the diversity of the 2012 Olympic Games, only to organise “Go Home” vans to be driven around communities with a high proportion of foreign-born residents one year later?

In his Munich address, Cameron said, “under the doctrine of state multiculturalism, we have encouraged different cultures to live separate lives, apart from each other and apart from the mainstream.” “Muscular liberalism”, “British values” and “Big Society” attempted to pull British people together by diffusing the tension between different value systems. But poor execution in the quality and consistency of government messaging across departments caused many citizens to consider themselves further marginalised and blamed by their government for broader socio-economic grievances.

“During David Cameron’s premiership, “muscular liberalism” was very much a doctrine rooted in Britain’s domestic policy agenda…But what if the doctrine is better suited to the UK’s foreign policy agenda in the 2020s?” — Tom Parkin

During David Cameron’s premiership, “muscular liberalism” was very much a doctrine rooted in Britain’s domestic policy agenda. The central question was how should power in the United Kingdom be restructured by Britons, for Britons and in the interests of Britain? But what if the doctrine is better suited to the UK’s foreign policy agenda in the 2020s? The growing confidence of non-democratic states in international affairs has caused a re-evaluation of major liberal alliances and institutions. Examples include President Biden’s 2021 virtual Summit for Democracy, the D-10 Strategy Forum, the AUKUS military pact and more recently, an increase in defence spending by European states following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. As Anne Applebaum wrote, “for decades now, we’ve been fighting a culture war between liberal values on the one hand and muscular forms of patriotism on the other. The Ukrainians are showing us a way to have both.”

At the time of the Big Society launch, European democracies faced ruin from within following the near collapse of the Eurozone area due to state fiscal mismanagement and rogue leaders in the financial sector. Today, the main adversaries of these democracies are rogue states actively seeking their demise. Images from Ukraine that make us weep can only encourage our citizens to passionately defend our system of government and consider it an essential component of our national security.

Apart from a number of desk flags, the Labour Party’s foreign policy platform under Keir Starmer has been woefully incoherent, indistinct and unmemorable. Lisa Nandy and David Lammy are both skilled and articulate politicians, but so far in this parliament, the disruption of the Covid-19 pandemic and Labour’s new leadership operation has significantly reduced the public role of the Shadow Foreign Secretary.

Since their promise to “Stop Brexit” in 2019, the Liberal Democrats have also struggled to repitch their foreign policy tent. For too many parties in too many elections, the foreign policy agenda is often pencilled in at the last minute and left unintegrated with the rest of the manifesto, or worse, unformed. Oil and gas price rises, the War in Ukraine, Covid international travel restrictions and the yet unsettled post-Brexit settlement have made core international issues, national again. The “muscular liberalism” of the Coalition years had its faults, but if reconstructed with care and sensitivity, its promise of a confident nation, willing and able to assert its Liberal standards and values on the international stage could gain public support and fill a gap on the policy field.

The wellbeing of those in and beyond Britain depends on it.

Tom Parkin (@tompjparkin) is a foreign affairs commentator, former Liberal Democrat candidate and incoming PhD researcher at the School of Journalism, Media and Communication at The University of Sheffield.

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