The price of progress

The price of progress | Photo: British Library

Sometimes I sit and observe how the modern world operates, the lights, the transport, the connectivity, the abundance of goods, and I cannot help but reflect on its origins. It all began, at least in a structured sense, with the Industrial Revolution. In the mid-18th century, in Britain, a series of inventions permanently changed how we produce, work, and live.

James Watt’s steam engine, Arkwright’s spinning frame, and the coke-fuelled blast furnace enabled a scale of production never seen before. The railway shortened distances, the textile industry boomed, and iron and steel construction paved the way for new cities. The telegraph, and later electricity, laid the foundations for the interconnected world we know today.

From a technical perspective, the Industrial Revolution marked the shift from a rural, local, human-powered economy to a mechanised, urban, and globalised one. The GDP of industrialised nations grew exponentially. In 1760, the productivity of a British worker was five times lower than it was by 1830. Today, production chains are multinational, controlled by automated systems, artificial intelligence, and robotic logistics.

But alongside that explosion of innovation came notable setbacks. And I’m not speaking from nostalgia for the countryside or romanticising the rural life. I’m referring to tangible, measurable impacts that still affect us. During the 19th century, industrial cities expanded without proper planning, London, Manchester, Paris, Bilbao. Life expectancy in the most polluted zones plummeted. In 1842, a British report by Dr Edwin Chadwick revealed that a labourer in Manchester might live only 17 years, compared to 38 years for a rural landowner.

Children worked more than twelve hours a day in textile mills. Women were underpaid. Working-class housing was overcrowded, unsanitary, and poorly ventilated. And today? Despite labour rights and improved welfare in many countries, over 160 million children are still in the workforce, according to the ILO. The fast fashion industry, a direct descendant of the British textile model, thrives on the exploitation of labour in the Global South, with meagre wages and dangerous working conditions.

Environmentally, the Industrial Revolution is the root of many of our current crises. The first coal chimneys didn’t just blacken Europe’s skies, they triggered the massive accumulation of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Burning fossil fuels has led to global warming, polar ice melt, and increasingly extreme weather events. Today, over 70% of accumulated CO₂ emissions come from industrial activities that began after 1750.

Progress is undeniable. But it is not without cost. Digitalisation, modern medicine, transport systems, engineering, even our contemporary educational model, all owe a great deal to the momentum created by the Industrial Revolution. Yet that same process left us a growth model that defines success in terms of accumulation, not distribution. As of 2024, the richest 1% of the planet controls nearly half the world’s wealth. Inequality has not disappeared. It has merely changed form.

We live in a society capable of 3D printing human organs and launching satellites into space, yet millions still lack access to clean water or adequate food. How do we reconcile that contradiction without addressing the system that brought us here?

In this context, the implementation of the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) becomes not only desirable but essential. These seventeen goals, ranging from ending poverty and ensuring quality education to combating climate change and promoting peace, are a comprehensive response to the very injustices rooted in our industrial past. The Global Society, as a collaborative and inclusive vision of human progress, plays a crucial role in mobilising citizens, governments, and institutions towards this transformation. Without shared responsibility and global cooperation, any notion of equitable development will remain a distant ideal.

I’m not offering a manifesto. I don’t reject the benefits of industrialisation. That would be naïve. But nor do I wish to join the chorus that applauds every advancement without asking who is paying the price. History teaches us much, but only if we are willing to listen attentively.

In the end, each reader must draw their own conclusions. I simply pose this question, can we truly call it “progress” when a model produces abundance for some and scarcity for so many others? Inequality, then as now, is not a side effect. It is a structural part of the legacy we carry. And perhaps, if we want a fairer future, the time has come to examine that legacy with more honesty than pride.