Reflecting on the People’s Emergency Briefing at Ullet Road Church

21 Jun 2026

On Friday 19th June 2026, at 7pm, Ullet Road Church hosted a screening of the People’s Emergency Briefing, a 50-minute film exploring the climate crisis and the ways in which our world is changing. The film brought together expert voices, personal reflections, and a call for this briefing to be shown more widely, including on national television platforms.

I opened the evening, and Annette facilitated the discussion afterwards. We were given clear guidance for the event: this was not to be a Question and Answer session, nor a debate in the usual sense. It was a space to watch, listen, reflect, and ask what the film stirred in us.

I had not seen the film before. So, like everyone else in the room, I watched it for the first time that evening.

Also present was Paula Barker MP, who is one of only two MPs who has called for the film to be given parliamentary attention. Her presence was appreciated, though, as often happens in public life, the response beyond the room was mixed. When a photograph from the evening was later shared on Paula Barker’s Facebook page, some responses were suspicious, even conspiratorial. Some suggested that MPs attend such events for publicity. Others dismissed climate change itself as a scam.

Within the church, too, there were a range of views. Some people felt hopeful. Some felt cynical. Some wondered whether those behind the film might have investments in environmental energy and therefore a vested interest in change. These were not necessarily my own views, but they were part of the atmosphere I sat with and listened to.

And perhaps that is important.

A church, at its best, is not a place where every difficult question is flattened into agreement. It is a place where we learn to listen more deeply, especially when the subject is frightening, complicated, and touches the future of our children and grandchildren.

The responses in the room were powerful. People spoke of sadness, numbness, anger, frustration, and helplessness. There was despair for the world our children may inherit. There was concern about capitalism, profit, plastic waste, polluted waterways, immigration, public transport, and the extraction of minerals from poorer countries to support the technologies of richer ones. There was a recognition that any green future must not simply become another version of the old injustice, dressed up in solar panels.

But there was also hope.

People spoke about community energy, local action, better public transport, pressure on institutions such as the NHS to move towards green energy, and the need for councils, churches, community groups and ordinary citizens to take this seriously. There was a strong feeling that the film needed to be shown more widely, not only in activist circles, but across the country. One person asked, quite simply: what is the objective? The answer that emerged was this... to help create a national conversation.

That phrase stayed with me.

A national conversation.

Not shouting. Not shaming. Not reducing everything to party politics. Not retreating into despair. But a genuine conversation about the world that is already changing around us.

For many of us, this is no longer theoretical. The seasons feel different. The rains are heavier. Flooding is more frequent. The weather feels less stable, less familiar. The natural rhythms that once seemed dependable now seem unsettled. And perhaps that unsettles something in us too.

During the discussion, I found myself thinking of a friend from Iran. She longs for her country to be free from the grip of theocracy. She longs for women to be treated equally and for her people to live without religious dogma controlling their lives. When recent military action raised the possibility, in some minds, of regime change, she spoke not with simple political certainty, but with the weary realism of someone who understands power.

She said something like this: the oil is currently in the hands of the religious leaders, and ordinary people do not see the benefit of it. If democracy came, perhaps the oil would simply pass into the hands of other leaders, and still ordinary people might not see it. But, she said, there would be freedom. There would be liberation from dogma.

That conversation came back to me as I listened to people’s doubts about the climate film.

What if some people involved in environmental change do have investments? What if some will profit from the transition? That is a fair question to ask. But another question follows. If the result is cleaner air, safer communities, less dependency on fossil fuels, and a more liveable world for our children and grandchildren, is that not still worth pursuing?

We must be wise. We must be sceptical when scepticism is needed. We must ask who benefits, who pays the price, and whether the poorest are again being asked to carry the burden of the wealthiest. But cynicism alone will not save us. Cynicism can become its own kind of paralysis. It can leave us standing still while the waters rise.

The most moving part of the evening, for me, was not simply the film itself, but the mood in the room afterwards. People were not pretending everything was fine. They were not naïve. They were not all in agreement. But they were engaged. They were thinking. They were imagining.

And imagination matters.

Every meaningful change begins with imagination. Before anything can be built, it has to be imagined. Before a community can act differently, it has to believe that a different way of living is possible. Perhaps that is where churches, chapels, and communities of conscience have a role to play. Not because we have all the answers, but because we can create spaces where people sit together, listen together, and face difficult truths without giving up on one another.

The climate crisis is not only an environmental issue. It is a spiritual issue. It asks what we value. It asks what we worship. It asks whether we are content to live as consumers, or whether we are willing to remember that we are part of nature, not separate from it.

One of the comments from the evening was that the film balanced terror and hope. I think that is right. We need to be disturbed enough to act, but not so overwhelmed that we collapse. We need realism without despair, hope without fantasy, and action without self-righteousness.

The evening ended not with easy answers, but with a sense that something had begun. People spoke of showing the film elsewhere, using community networks, contacting MPs, signing petitions, and gathering again. 

Perhaps that is how change begins. Not with one grand solution, but with a room full of people willing to pay attention.

And maybe, in these uncertain times, paying attention is already a sacred act.