The world feels restless. The signs are everywhere: rivers that once defined borders are running dry, billionaires are building rockets while public schools crumble, and the internet that once promised connection now splinters reality into weaponized echo chambers. Every morning we wake up to news we deemed straight out of a bad Hollywood movie, only to realize that what we deem certain has been trumped by reality. The belief that progress is linear, that safety is guaranteed, that someone, somewhere, is in control is an illusion that’s starting to crack.

In Amsterdam’s cafés, conversations are quiet but heavy. People talk about inflation, about strange weather, about whether their children will inherit a world worse than their own. In Lagos, young entrepreneurs gather in co-working spaces, sketching business models designed to leapfrog decades of inadequate infrastructure with mobile banking and AI logistics. In Mumbai, construction cranes crowd the skyline as millions of rural migrants flood into cities seeking opportunity. Meanwhile, in the drought-scorched fields of the American Midwest, farmers swap crops, planting varieties hardy enough to withstand temperatures no one thought possible just a generation ago. These stories are not isolated snapshots; they are signals of a world in upheaval, a world that is no longer bending to the logic of the 20th century. The old order—rooted in Western dominance, globalization as gospel, and an unwavering faith in progress and in the belief that democracy will prevail —is not just eroding, it is collapsing. The pandemic tore through illusions of stability, exposing brittle supply chains and fragile governance. Climate disasters, once dire predictions, are now daily headlines. Technology, once celebrated as a democratizing force, has been weaponized for surveillance, propaganda, and profit extraction. Power has shifted, too: China and India set new standards for trade and technology, Africa’s demographic boom is redefining global opportunity, and Latin America is reasserting influence in renewable energy and resources. Europe, long a symbol of integration, is riven by nationalism and economic stagnation, while the United States, though still a superpower, is increasingly consumed by internal division and the fiction that American exceptionalism can bully the world.

We Live in an Age of Fragility

We are entering an era where fragility has replaced confidence. Trust in institutions—governments, media, science—has crumbled. Politicians, tethered to election cycles, govern reactively rather than imaginatively. Corporations, beholden to quarterly earnings, optimize for efficiency at the expense of resilience. Industries built on fossil fuels and extraction still dominate policy, even as the planet buckles under their weight. The very systems we rely on—food, energy, technology—are more interconnected than ever, yet more brittle. A single shipping mishap in the Suez Canal or a regional drought can ripple across continents. And still, innovation is treated as a talisman, invoked as if it alone will save us. But much of today’s innovation reinforces inequality rather than solving it. Billionaires treat space exploration and the public administration of an entire nation as a playground while billions struggle to afford housing or healthcare. Artificial intelligence is hailed as a breakthrough yet accelerates bias and job loss. Globalization promised prosperity, but instead delivered supply chains so fragile that a pandemic left shelves bare and economies reeling.

Change Feels Impossible Because Power Is Entrenched

The barriers to a new agenda are structural, cultural, and psychological. Economically, we are locked into systems that reward extraction, not regeneration. Fossil fuel industries retain vast power, subsidized even as they undermine global climate targets. Technology, far from a democratic tool, is increasingly concentrated in the hands of a few monopolies controlling data, communications, and infrastructure. Culturally, nationalism dominates. Countries cling to old narratives of competition, making true global cooperation almost unthinkable. The pandemic revealed this in stark terms, as vaccine distribution became a geopolitical bargaining chip rather than a collective priority. Migration is politicized, borders are hardening, and empathy is in short supply. Psychologically, people are paralysed by fear and loss. Climate anxiety is widespread, but fear doesn’t always lead to action—it often produces resignation. The security of the known, however flawed, feels safer than the uncertainty of transformation.

Crisis Is Fuelling a Global Drift Toward Control

Crisis has always been fertile ground for authoritarianism, and today’s tools of control are unprecedented. Mass surveillance is no longer science fiction; it’s infrastructure. Authoritarianism doesn’t need gulags when it has predictive policing. Even democratic nations now deploy these tools, justified by security or public health, often with little oversight. Citizens, weary of chaos, accept these measures, believing they are temporary. They rarely are. Yet, authoritarianism isn’t the only danger. Inaction itself is a slow, quiet collapse. Systems don’t always break with a bang; sometimes they rot from within, eroding freedoms and futures until societies become unrecognizable.

Sparks of Renewal Show That Change Is Possible

And yet, the future is not fixed. Cities are quietly becoming laboratories of change. Paris is remaking its streets for pedestrians and bikes, reversing decades of car-centric planning. Kigali has built one of Africa’s cleanest, greenest capitals, embracing both technology and nature. Seoul has pioneered digital platforms that allow citizens to propose and vote on policy initiatives. These are not silver bullets, but they are glimpses of what governance could look like if it was closer to the people it serves. Grassroots movements are also charting a way forward. Indigenous communities in the Amazon are defending their land not only from deforestation but from the logic of extraction itself, reframing our relationship with nature. Youth-led movements like Fridays for Future – despite being affected by Greta Thunberg current political activism – are still refusing to let climate urgency fade from public discourse. Hackers, journalists, and digital activists are building decentralized networks to fight censorship and surveillance. These are acts of resistance and imagination, proof that even in bleak times, humans will always find ways to push back.

A True Transformation starts with your own Mindset

If a new global agenda is to emerge, it won’t come from technology alone or from a few policy shifts. It requires a transformation of mindset. Prosperity must be redefined—not as perpetual economic growth but as well-being, equity, and ecological stability. Nationalism must evolve into a form of planetary citizenship that does not erase culture but acknowledges our shared fate. Trust, the most fragile and most essential currency, must be rebuilt through radical transparency. Governments will need to open budgets, data, and algorithms to scrutiny. Citizens must relearn dialogue beyond their own bubbles. Technology must be governed as a public utility, designed not for extraction but for empowerment. This is not a utopian vision but a practical necessity if humanity is to survive the century with dignity and freedom. This transformation will be brutal. Powerful industries will fight to maintain control. Nations will resist sacrificing privilege. Even climate action, if implemented without justice, risks reinforcing inequality, with the poorest bearing the heaviest burdens. The stakes are not just high; they are existential.

The Future Will Be Written by the Stories We Choose

And yet, history reminds us that impossibility is often an illusion. Universal suffrage, the abolition of slavery, and the welfare state all seemed unattainable until they weren’t. These changes were born not from peace but from turmoil, demanded by people willing to confront entrenched systems. The future is not preordained. The systems we live under—economic, political, cultural—are human creations. They can be dismantled and rebuilt. But this new story cannot be authored by a single leader or a single nation. It must emerge from cities, networks, movements, and collaborations that cross borders. It will require courage to reject authoritarian shortcuts and the patience to build trust where it has been shattered. The illusion we’ve clung to—that progress is inevitable, that safety is guaranteed—has been exposed. What replaces it is up to us. The 21st century will either be defined by collapse or by a renaissance born of collective action. The clock is ticking. The pen is in our hands. The only question is whether we are brave enough to write a different ending.

Postscript: Why I Feel It’s Time to Think Bigger

I became an urbanist because I believed cities could change lives. I’ve stood on half-finished streets in new neighbourhoods, imagining the cafés and playgrounds that would one day bring them alive. I’ve sat in council meetings where a single decision determined whether thousands of people would have a home or stay waiting. I’ve seen how a park can transform a community—and how a lack of investment can hollow one out. But over time, those streets have started to feel like mirrors of something much bigger. A housing crisis in Amsterdam is tied to global finance; droughts in Africa push families into European cities; energy decisions made decades ago are now flooding neighbourhoods they were supposed to serve. Every project I work on feels connected to a web of forces far beyond the edges of a city plan. That’s why I feel the need to think bigger. The skills urbanists bring—connecting people, balancing needs, designing for resilience—are no longer just for cities. They’re tools the whole world needs. And if we don’t use them at a global scale, the streets we design so carefully today may not be livable tomorrow.

Cover image generated with the help of AI