From numbness to fear: emergencies, conflict, and war – do we feel ready?

What would you do in a national emergency? In this age, conflict seems like it’s everywhere. Russia’s illegal invasion of Ukraine is in its fifth year. The Peace Research Institute Oslo recorded sixty-five active conflicts in the world in 2025 – the greatest number of conflicts since 1946. The UK government has ramped up defence spending, attempting to match policy with rhetoric. While looking at state policy is all very well, how do we experience and perceive threats?

Of the five students I interviewed, all from a range of degrees and backgrounds, none of them had heard of the UK Government’s ‘Prepare’ campaign. Not that I blame them – I only encountered it when researching for this article, and strictly speaking, it’s set to be launched later this year – but the website is in place. If there were a national emergency, two students told The Boar they’d try to leave or run away, “I feel like I’ll get my inspiration from movies … rather than actually knowing what the government … told us to do”, says Zuzanna, a PAIS and French student.

I remember seeing buses with ‘Join the army’ plastered on them around campus last year. But now? The sight seems much rarer. One student described to The Boar that “last year”, with “Iran and the USA”, there were “adverts by the UK government hiring for the army … that’s when it felt like they were preparing for something. Right now, it doesn’t feel like that.”

‘Death, pain, destruction’, conventional warfare, conflict between two sides: this was the understanding that seemed to dominate

‘Death, pain, destruction’, conventional warfare, conflict between two sides: this was the understanding that seemed to dominate. World wars, troops on the front line. The Russian invasion of Ukraine, Israel-Gaza, however, no student mentioned hybrid warfare. Increasingly, the UK is in the ‘grey zone’ of war, not outright conflict, but not outright peace. You need only look as far as various Russian sabotage operations in Europe. Similarly, Prime Minister Andy Burnham said in a speech to the UN that Russia spends an estimated £1.3 billion per year on manipulating information.

The UK government reported that they want to bolster civilian resilience, but there seems to be a mismatch between government rhetoric, policy, and the experience of citizens on the ground. Investment in the military and new technologies should be coupled with clear, more resonant information campaigns. But the changing nature of conflict – which the UK government has itself recognised – complicates this.

“Modern conflict is also often much harder to recognise”, say Olena Orlova (Research assistant on the Research England project “Improving the lives of disabled Ukrainians following the Russian invasion”) and Professor Robin Goodwin, of the Department of Psychology. Hybrid warfare “can make it harder for people to recognise when a threat is becoming serious, or to know what level of preparedness is reasonable.” We may succumb to “fatalism” which makes it seem like there’s nothing we can do.

As a Politics student, I read frequently about conflict, about theories of war. My heritage is in Poland, where the threat of Russia looms. To me, war feels half-remembered, embedded in the memories of my great-grandparents, the country I was born in and a reason for my viscerally pro-NATO, anti-Russia stance. But I have never experienced war firsthand. I, like I suspect many Warwick students, know only of headlines, articles, and stories.

But attention has faded. Conflict becomes normalised. Not mundane, but in the background

Naturally, geography and proximity to threats can influence perspectives. For example, for the countries bordering Russia, the fear and the sense of existential threat, has arguably been much more potent. Indeed, “for small states bordering large states, such concerns are perhaps inevitable, especially when sovereignty has been historically intermittent and precarious”, noted Professor Browning of the PAIS department, specialising in International Security to The Boar. Interestingly, he discussed how “Prior to February 2022, few British people knew anything about Ukraine or probably cared too much about it”, but then “their fight had become our fight”. However, attention has faded. Conflict becomes normalised. Not mundane, but in the background and “As the war has gone on, it has become much less fun”. Professor Browning added that though it might “sound crass”, there was “a sense of enjoyment and fulfilment out of Ukrainian successes in the earlier parts of the war”. Additionally, the war “has had to compete for attention.”

I would argue that it is a luxury to feel that conflict and threat are normalised, or abstract and distant, is a luxury. Simultaneously, it’s difficult not to be drawn into the battle between urgency and fatalism; between numbness and a near-constant fear, especially in this age of post-truth and polarisation. But we should not let this feeling of distance bleed into complacency.

For example, according to MI5 the current terrorism threat level for the UK is ‘severe’, which means that ‘an attack is highly likely’. This is the second-highest level – the next-highest is ‘critical’, in which ‘an attack is highly likely in the near future’. We return to the gap between policy and rhetoric, and how it is received. What do students feel when they hear about the threat level?

There is “mass desensitisation”, says Zain, a third-year Psychology student, because of “how many terrorist threats are thrown around… I don’t feel as afraid as I should be.” A second-year PAIS student noted: “maybe the bubble I’m living in is quite peaceful… But I don’t feel threatened or directly… influenced.” Similarly, another student, who’s lived in multiple countries, felt “safe overall”, citing security at the border.

The question of information is compounded by the secrecy which shrouds some elements of intelligence

There is a tension here: not just whether threats feel real, but how much information you receive. The pattern for terrorism seems to follow the pattern for more conventional war, the way in which you might not necessarily feel the threat. The question of information is compounded by the secrecy which surrounds elements of intelligence. A “severe” level makes it seem like there “is an attack happening every day” commented Zuzanna, while also considering that this could suggest that “there might be a threat, but we’re just not told about, publicly, what’s going on”.

Preparedness is not just about conventional war. It’s about cyberattacks, disinformation – even some would argue, economic aspects such as weaponising dependence. Interestingly, for at least three of my interviewees, a climate emergency felt like the most ‘real’ threat, even more so than full-scale war. Notably, in a 2026 government report on national resilience, the government also examined past threats, such as heatwaves, and future climate-related issues, including wildfires, drought, and El Niño. Governments, with all their amassed capabilities, can struggle to deal with the multitudes of dangers; how can we, as citizens, as students, hope to cope? Especially with the constant news cycle, balancing between being informed and feeling overwhelmed? This concern is particularly crucial given the impact of social media, both as a hugely potent source of information for my interviewees, but also for the much-discussed risk of misinformation. But does this not put too much pressure on people rather than government, who should lead the way?

I would argue that taking small, manageable steps could be helpful. An anonymous student mentioned  stockpiling food when considering what to do if there were a national emergency, aligning with the news, reported in The Guardian, that the government will seek to encourage the public to stock up on essentials. “Good preparedness … needs to communicate risks realistically while also giving people a sense of agency and practical ways to respond”, recommend Ms Orlova and Professor Goodwin. For the UK, bolstering national resilience “means building trust, improving media literacy, supporting communities” and making sure that emergency planning includes groups that are most vulnerable.

Ukraine is a fascinating example of national resilience, with “horizontal networks between citizens, volunteers, and local organisations” and “decentralisation reform”. The relationship between the state and individuals seems different, yet this is of course due to historic and political variations. Notably, their recent research notes with physically disabled people in Ukraine demonstrate that “not everyone is equally able to cope with a crisis.” That’s also a reason the UK government has cited for the aforementioned stocking up on basic supplies, so that support can focus on most vulnerable. It’s crucial to remember that, in the words of a PAIS student to The Boar, “if you don’t do anything now, you can’t change anything when it happens.”