Marcus Coetzee

Alongside the Loch Ness Monster, the disappearance of several great industries is one of Scotland’s most intriguing mysteries. This mystery has puzzled me since I moved to Scotland in 2021. I did not expect this long-form essay to emerge from my investigations, nor did I expect it to reach around 25,000 words. Neither did I expect that the factors behind Scotland’s industrial decline over the past two centuries are still in play today, still undermining any attempts to revitalise industry.

Scotland was an industrial giant during the Industrial Revolution and the early 20th century, but now manufacturing contributes only one-tenth of Scotland’s economic output. The Scottish economy is now built on whisky, hospitality, tourism and other services. Traditional industrial activities seem viewed with suspicion.

Yet everywhere I visit – towns, villages, heritage centres, museums – I find the same thing: the memory of great industries and the nostalgia of people whose parents and grandparents worked in them. The question that kept nagging at me was why Scotland had built something so remarkable and then let it go. This makes no sense from an African perspective, where governments are desperately striving to achieve what Scotland had.

I wrote this essay the week after the Defence Secretary revealed that the Royal Navy had spent over a month tracking three Russian submarines in the North Atlantic, specifically designed to survey undersea infrastructure in peacetime and sabotage it in conflict. This news finally pushed me to write something I had been contemplating since the Nord Stream pipelines were blown up in 2022.

The UK depends on approximately 62 fibre-optic cables, six gas pipelines and ten electricity interconnectors running along the seabed to connect it with the rest of the world. More than 95% of our internet traffic, three-quarters of our gas, and a significant share of our electricity all arrive this way. This essay maps that infrastructure, examines a series of real incidents where cables and pipelines have been damaged or threatened, considers how drone warfare is changing the threat picture, and asks what the UK government is doing in response.

My biggest concern, having done the research, is not the threat itself but the gap between the scale of the risk and the seriousness of the response. The UK owns no cable repair ships. It has one dedicated ocean surveillance vessel. Churchill worried about U-boats. The modern equivalent is already here, and we are not yet taking it seriously enough.

I wrote this essay because I kept hearing the same conversation everywhere I went. Charities complaining about local government. Local government complaining about the Scottish Government. The Scottish Government complaining about Westminster. Everyone arguing about their share of the pie, and nobody asking how to make the pie bigger. I wrote the outline one evening at my gym in Paisley, on my phone between exercises, because I couldn’t get the subject out of my head.

This essay is my attempt to explain where government money actually comes from and how the UK might get more of it. I work through the four sources of government income, trace how money cascades through the different tiers from Westminster down to local authorities, and then set out six strategies for growing the overall supply. I also examine the risks that could significantly reduce the money available, from cyberattacks and energy shocks to demographic decline and a loss of investor confidence in UK government bonds.

This is not an essay about balancing the budget. That conversation is already happening elsewhere. This is about the less discussed question: where does the money come from, and what does it take to grow it? My perspective is shaped by 25 years of economic development consulting across the UK and Africa, and by the lived experience of emigrating from a country where these are all very real problems.

In the middle of 2025, facing a career at a standstill and doors closed on all sides, I reached a place of despair and decided to reinvent myself and train as a cybersecurity professional. Over the following months, I completed two qualifications and was well into a third before a family health crisis and an honest conversation with a career counsellor brought me back to my senses.

This essay is my attempt to make sense of that detour. It is not a technical guide, though it contains practical advice. It is an honest account of what motivated a strategy consultant to pivot towards cybersecurity, why that pivot was ultimately misguided, and what I learned along the way that has genuinely stayed with me.

The 10 lessons I describe cover the cybersecurity threat landscape, human vulnerability, online privacy, backups, passwords, safe browsing, external standards, phishing, home network security and the growing role of AI. They are written for anyone who wants to adopt a cybersecurity mindset and implement some practical basics.

Over dinner with some young friends, the conversation turned to a question that has been nagging at me: who will mentor the next generation of professionals if their managers are all using AIs to do the work that junior staff once did?

This essay reflects on the mentors who shaped my career and the younger people I’ve had the privilege of mentoring in return. It explores the types of professional mentorship I received and the contexts where this took place. I also highlight why the consulting model that underpinned my career for decades depends on a two-way exchange between humans – something that AI cannot replicate.

I don’t have answers, but I’m convinced this is one of the more significant and underappreciated consequences of AI in the workplace. I believe it will affect all of us

I wrote this essay over a one-week frenzy in early 2026, in early morning sessions before work and at my local cafe in the afternoons, and in the evenings. Energy policy isn’t my professional speciality, but having lived through almost a decade of scheduled blackouts in South Africa, and paying for expensive energy in the UK, I’ve been paying close attention to how the UK manages its energy.

What follows is an attempt to think through UK energy policy as a systems thinker and strategic-minded observer rather than as a technical expert. I explore the full environmental cost of renewable energy across the entire value chain, the geopolitical risks of depending on China and Russia for critical minerals, why UK energy prices are so high and what drives them, the case for significantly more nuclear power, and why community and state ownership of energy infrastructure matters. I also draw on comparisons with South Africa, France, Norway and South Korea throughout.

This is my honest assessment of the UK’s energy policy and where it needs to invest aggressively before it is too late.

I can’t stand AI writing anymore. I immediately skip over any blog post, LinkedIn post or Substack articles that appears to be written or illustrated by AI. My resolve is much greater if the post shouts, “Look at me. See how clever, wise, successful or virtuous I am.” I quickly skip past these. My strict reading filters no doubt produce false positives, but that’s a risk I’m prepared to take.

This type of AI writing is easy to recognise. There are so many clues. Once it’s seen, it can’t be unseen.

My view is that if I want to read deeply human insights, then I’m going to prioritise those written by humans without the assistance of AI. I’m going to accept the human flaws, knowing that I’ve read something entirely human-made. But if I’m after technical or academic knowledge, then I’ll use AI myself to extract and package that knowledge first-hand. This polarised approach works well for me.

The principle of diversity has been on my mind recently – of beliefs, views and skills that emerge from different demographics, political allegiances, neurological types and behavioural traits.

As one might expect, the subject of diversity lends itself to various interpretations, often with opposing views like those I encounter online and in discussions. It is notable how hard it is to reach any consensus on why diversity actually matters, as debates tend to break down into polarised positions.

I prefer a more nuanced and contextual approach to thinking about diversity at the levels of countries, organisations, teams, families and relationships. This article proposes the conditions where diversity is an asset to any system, organisation or team, and describes what tends to happen if these conditions are not met.

Organisations need good governance to stay on track and fulfil their purpose. Good governance involves a group of people, such as a board of directors or trustees, providing strategic oversight and ensuring that an organisation makes sensible strategic decisions and operates ethically. Such governance structures function effectively when they consist of the right people having the right conversations. These are the two key ingredients for successful governance.

In this context, the “right people” means capable individuals with a diversity of knowledge, experience, and mental models. The “right conversations” include a willingness to invest time and effort in thoroughly exploring the matter at hand with fellow directors.

Organisations should therefore be mindful and intentional about the types of people they wish to recruit for their boards, the types of conversations they want to encourage, and the type of governance culture that would be a strategic asset.

This article pulls together some ideas that have been floating around my mind for a few decades and also tackles the relationship between thought diversity and demographic diversity.

Here are some thoughts about upstream versus downstream problems, especially in the context of the social, economic and environmental challenges that charities and governments face.

Upstream problems are the root causes and conditions that slowly emerge and eventually lead to the more visible, urgent problems that appear downstream. These often form part of a vicious cycle where the deeper causes are obscured by the fallout they produce.

By contrast, downstream problems are more tangible. They are loud, visible and easier to rally around. This makes them politically and practically more attractive to address, even when it’s too late to avoid the damage. The austerity measures in the UK have made this tension between upstream and downstream activities even more apparent.