We might say that the most pessimistic predictions about the effects of the computer and internet age are being borne out in real time. Welcome to the future, where a belligerent US president works hand-in-hand with white supremacist tech moguls, using trade policy and threats to crowbar US-centric technology across the globe; AI-enabled slop, untruths and fakes are coming soon, to an energy-guzzling, climate-destroying data centre near you. Take a look at a description of Starlink satellites, as seen in 2023 from the Matukituki Valley in New Zealand, from 1964 Mountain Culture Aotearoa:

… twin lines of somethings in outer space, marching like ants across the celestial dome. Could this be real, and if so, what the hell was it? A feeling of horror descended as we realised these bands of light were gonna be there for the rest of time, expanding and interlocking until the entire starscape was obscured by a web of satellites. It was unfolding in front of our eyes.

Clearly, there needs to be an unprecedented political and societal mobilisation against the imposition of techno-fascism — something that was further underlined by the way Big Tech assisted Israel’s genocidal campaign in Gaza. Defending the environment and human-centred values is naturally best done by those who understand the value of a forest or natural space, and those who have been exposed to nature. It is critical to think about the future as a place in which ecology is protected as praxis, not only as a theoretical conceit.

Sometimes existing answers, even perhaps youth organisations which have been around for a century, can offer pointers as to how to think ahead for the future, and though it is, of course, a cliche, children are undoubtedly The Future. The Woodcraft Folk are celebrating their centenary at this critical juncture in politics, and, as its CEO and General Secretary Lloyd Russell-Moyle would argue, they have never been so relevant, offering an antidote to a society that is increasingly drenched in digital (mis)information. In its 101st year, the Woodcraft Folk comprises 200 groups across seventy-one districts around the UK, having weathered the pandemic, which resulted in an overall shrinkage in local leadership.

At this point, explains Russell-Moyle, a British politician who served as an MP for Brighton between 2017 and 2024, there is a drive for growth:

There are three main factors that we hope will realise our ambitions for growth. Firstly, there is widespread disillusionment with existing organised politics and political parties. We offer a place where children and young people can make a positive contribution politically, beyond political parties. We offer the possibility to see the world differently.

Secondly, accompanying the rise of technology is a sense of anxiety about the future, combined with fatalism — a sense of fragility and precarity, which means, in some ways, children are much more constrained by wider fears. The origin story of the Woodcraft Folk is taking children on excursions away from the polluted cities of the early-twentieth century. In a comparable way, we offer to take children on excursions away from the technological pollution of contemporary life and the pervasive nature of screens, which has, at the very least, contributed to the growing sense of a mental health crisis. In this we have fundamentally the same aim as previously — to not raise children with their parents’ anxieties.

Just as Elon Musk’s Starlink has penetrated the previously inaccessible wild areas of Aotearoa, the Woodcraft Folk’s previously remote residential centres all now have some degree of mobile phone signal, meaning that children might now need to surrender their devices for the duration of a visit. But Russell-Moyle emphasises that this is not just a ‘forest school’ as an escape. ‘We don’t want to — and can’t — take people out of the world’, he continues. ‘We want to also use these times to provide children with the skills and confidence when they go back into the world.’

As well as the nature-based activities already connected with the non-profit organisation in the popular imagination, such as den-building and birdwatching, the Chair, Eddie Moriarty, points out that there are possibilities to learn skills such as soldering. This is arguably critical to the technological environment in which we live, and yet is notably underrepresented in mainstream pedagogy.

Russell-Moyes describes the aim as encouraging young people to be ‘more intentional’ in how they use technology:

Thirdly, as an example, we would draw a contrast between ourselves and the Scouts. Ultimately, the Scouts intend to teach people how to fit into society by moulding them according to society’s current demands. The Woodcraft Folk are looking for a genuinely alternative way, and part of that is that society should fit into them, as human beings, and that means the Woodcraft Folk explore different scenarios, allowing young people to discover themselves.

Russell-Moyle is clear that such a humanist philosophy has a functional basis in Latin American pedagogy. ‘The strongest of the aims and principles is the cause of peace and world disarmament,’ he explains, reflecting the Woodcraft Folk’s origins in the turmoil following the First World War. Although the question of pacifism is not entirely agreed within the organisation, he is able to draw an especially clear contrast with the cadet forces of the armed forces, which actively contribute to children’s later involvement in the armed forces. ‘The Ministry of Defence is investing millions of pounds in school cadets,’ he says. ‘This is described as help for civil society, but it is ideological, and intends to wash the image of the military, which until this year was actively involved in training the Israeli Defence Force.’

The educational movement originated in opposition to imperial expansion, in contrast to the Scouts, but in contemporary Britain, equality should be reflected in a variety of ways. ‘We can’t believe that one family is more important than the rest of us,’ is how Eddie Moriarty describes the Woodcraft Folk’s approach to republicanism. There never has been and never will be a pledge of allegiance to ’king and country’. ‘In a situation in which a lot of young people now struggle,’ says Moriarty, ‘it is increasingly hard to justify the existence of a monarchy.’

Through the years, I have wondered if the group’s connection to the co-operative movement has been a kind of impediment — a movement affected by economic transition in much the same way as the trade unions, and often apparently lacking in political cohesion or direction. Other socialist youth movements, such as the Rote Falken in Austria, which are also celebrating their centenary in 2025, were more directly linked to social democratic political parties — though, interestingly, these relations have recently become more distant.

‘Most organisations are completely independent but share similar progressive, internationalist and anti-fascist values,’ responds Shesica Paez, President of the International Falcon Movement-Socialist Education International, to which the Woodcraft Folk are aligned. ‘So yes, there are political links in some contexts, but the movement as a whole isn’t party-political. What unites us are our shared values: democracy, equality, solidarity and peace, rather than any specific party alignment.’

On the question of mainstream political links, Russell-Moyle responds especially sharply. ‘We have no direct connection to the Co-operative Party, for example. We need to rediscover our boldness,’ he argues. ‘Young people are politically engaged, and there is a loudness that we need to reflect. We are a charity out of convenience, not ideology. We are not here to relieve the guilt of rich people.’

It may be the case that the relative insulation of the Woodcraft Folk from the travails and misfortunes of the Labour Party may well protect it from the latter’s travails, alienating exactly the young people it would need to rebuild. However, it might also be true that, culturally, the co-operative might not either be especially aligned with societal trends. This might impact, for example, the gender balance of Woodcraft Folk groups, with the organisation appearing to have less general appeal to boys.

This tendency is also discernible internationally. ‘Across the world, women have historically been more active in education, social work and community organising, and those same dynamics are visible in our movement too,’ Shesica Paez comments. ‘We see this gender distribution as a strength for the movement. The active participation of women and the inclusion of non-binary and gender-diverse people bring a wider range of perspectives and experiences to our work, enriching decision-making and strengthening our community. Women and gender-diverse people have historically been more active in areas that are central to IFM-SEI, so their strong presence supports our core mission.’

This is one of those cases where it isn’t immediately clear what could actually be done; a wholesale rebranding of youth organisations could do more harm than good, and, for what it’s worth, the Woodcraft Folk activity list comprises a balanced set of recommended activities. Yet it is also true that the historical mission of the Woodcraft Folk — if we can reduce this to the basics — to take children from working-class backgrounds into the countryside, to teach them new skills and to introduce them to socialist and collectivist ideals could be adversely affected by a failure to appeal to boys of different classes and ethnicities. One only needs to think of the various activities to which children from less advantaged backgrounds are not generally exposed to: traditional Woodcraft Folk activities such as hiking and crafts, but also canoeing, kayaking, climbing, and sailing. With the evaporation of most working-class sports associations in the UK, and the growing power of male influencers on different online platforms, the charity is perhaps the last bastion of left-wing associationism, and its handling of these questions therefore feels of wider critical importance.

Though the Woodcraft Folk faces certain challenges (for example, in relation to its politically sensitive charitable status), it currently seems to be well-placed to benefit from parents and volunteers who envisage some kind of post-technological future — a future which directly contradicts the dreams of the current crop of billionaire oligarchs. At this point, it seems particularly apt to reflect upon Ursula Le Guin’s thoughts on technology: ‘Ask yourself of any manmade object, Do I know how to make one? Anybody who ever lighted a fire without matches has probably gained some proper respect for “low” or “primitive” or “simple” technologies; anybody who ever lighted a fire with matches should have the wits to respect that notable hi-tech invention.’

Arguably, the Woodcraft Folk now finds itself in the vanguard of a ‘hi-tech’ movement for resilience and autonomy, advocating for human-centred adaptation to a changing world, climate, and society. Establishing a basis for what we might call ‘degrowth’ — and specifically what the academic and tech commentator Dan McQuillan calls ‘decomputing’ — is going to be a hard, long path, but maybe, despite some of the limitations, the Woodcraft Folk has some markers for a way forward.