The Crisis Cult Delusion

A Requiem for Insects and a Wake Up Call

Let me get straight to the point: the idea that concern about collapsing ecosystems, vanishing insect populations, and the existential threat of climate change is nothing more than a "Crisis Cult" is one of the most dangerous delusions of our time. It's not just uninformed; it's wilfully reckless. It's the intellectual equivalent of fiddling while the planet burns—and what's worse, the deniers are trying to convince the rest of us to join their orchestra of complacency. This isn't healthy scepticism—it's sabotage dressed up as critical thinking, a deliberate poisoning of the well that makes constructive dialogue impossible.

Let's start with the insects. You know, the tiny creatures most of us barely notice unless they're buzzing around our heads or ruining a picnic. Here's the reality: insects are the indispensable workers of Earth's ecosystems. They pollinate over 75% of the crops we eat. They recycle nutrients, break down organic matter, and form the base of food chains that sustain birds, fish, and mammals. Without them, ecosystems collapse. Period. Yet, here we are, presiding over an insect apocalypse—40% of species in decline, with some teetering on the brink of extinction. Bees are dying in droves, butterflies are vanishing, and even once-abundant species like beetles and ants are disappearing. This is not hyperbole. This is hard, peer-reviewed science documented in studies from Germany's nature reserves to Puerto Rico's rainforests, where researchers have recorded insect biomass declines of up to 98% in some areas.

But according to some, this isn't a crisis. No, it's just nature doing its thing. Or, better yet, it's all a hoax cooked up by hysterical "crisis cultists" desperate to scare people into submission. Let's unpack that nonsense, shall we?

The term "Crisis Cult" is a rhetorical weapon wielded by those who can't—or won't—confront the evidence. This smear is the denialist's last refuge, a way to pathologise legitimate concern rather than engage with inconvenient truths. It's lazy, it's dishonest, and it's deeply ironic. Why? Because the real cult here is the cult of denial—the people who cling to their comforting illusions while the natural world unravels around them. They're like passengers on the Titanic arguing about whether icebergs are really that dangerous while the ship takes on water.

Let me be crystal clear: there is no "cult" in acknowledging that insect populations are collapsing, that climate change, whatever its cause, is accelerating, and that these patterns are interconnected. This isn't ideology; it's reality. And dismissing it as alarmism will not make the problem go away. It just ensures that when the consequences hit—and they will hit—they'll be far worse than they needed to be. We're already seeing the first waves: farmers in California paying up to $200 per hive to pollinate almond orchards because wild bees have vanished, or entire regions of China where people now hand-pollinate fruit trees with paintbrushes. These aren't hypothetical scenarios—they're today's headlines.

And then there's the claim that this so-called "Crisis Cult" is losing popularity. Really? Is that why climate marches are drawing millions of people around the world? Is that why young activists like Greta Thunberg have become global icons? Is that why businesses, governments, and even financial institutions are scrambling to address climate risk? The truth is exactly the opposite: what's losing popularity is the tired old denialism that pretends everything is fine. The world is waking up—just not fast enough.

Now, let's talk about what's actually happening. Insects are dying because of us. Climate change is part of the story—rising temperatures, extreme weather events, and shifting seasons are disrupting habitats and lifecycles. But it's not the whole story. Habitat destruction, industrial agriculture, pesticide use (particularly neonicotinoids that scramble insect nervous systems), and light pollution are all playing a role. And here's the sting in the tail: we're not just killing insects. We're killing ourselves. Think about it: no insects, no pollination. No pollination, no food. No food, no future. It is that simple.

This isn't some abstract, far-off problem. It's already happening. Farmers are renting bees to pollinate their crops because wild bee populations have collapsed. Entire ecosystems are destabilising as insect populations plummet. And if you think this is just a problem for scientists and environmentalists to worry about, think again. The collapse of insect populations will affect every single person on the planet, whether we realise it or not—from the coffee in your morning cup to the cotton in your clothes to the stability of entire agricultural economies.

But here's the most frustrating part for someone like myself who relies on the science rather than misinformed reports in the popular press: presenting validated facts to someone with an inbuilt bias won't sway them one iota. It's like trying to explain calculus to a brick wall—no amount of logic, evidence, or impassioned argument will penetrate the fortress of their denial. Why? Because denial isn't about facts. It's about psychology. It's about clinging to a worldview that feels safe, even when it's demonstrably false.

For many, admitting that insect populations are collapsing—or that climate change is a crisis—means admitting that their way of life is part of the problem. It means confronting uncomfortable truths about consumption, capitalism, and their own role in the destruction of the planet. And let's be honest, that's a hard pill to swallow. So instead, they double down. They call it a "crisis cult". They dismiss the science as alarmism. They attack the messengers rather than face the message. It's not rational; it's emotional. And until we address the emotional roots of denial, no amount of evidence will change their minds.

So why does this matter? Because denial isn't just a personal failing—it's a collective threat. The longer we ignore the insect crisis, the closer we inch toward ecological collapse. The longer we dismiss climate change as a "non-crisis", the more irreversible the damage becomes. This isn't just about facts. It's about survival. And denial, no matter how consoling, is a death sentence written in pesticide runoff and greenhouse gas emissions.

Let's not mince words: the cost of inaction is catastrophic. If we don't address the insect crisis, we're looking at widespread food shortages, economic collapse in agriculture, and the unravelling of ecosystems that have sustained life on this planet for millions of years. And if we don't address the impacts of a changing climate, it's game over—not just for insects, but for us. The window for action is closing faster than we think—the latest research suggests we may have already passed crucial tipping points in several ecosystems.

So what do we do? First, we stop pretending this isn't an emergency. We listen to the climate scientists, the farmers, the financiers, legitimate researchers, and the activists who are sounding the alarm. We push for policies that protect habitats, reduce emissions, and transition to sustainable practices—not just token gestures, but real systemic change like France's ban on bee-killing neonicotinoids or Costa Rica's payment programmes for ecosystem services. And we hold the deniers accountable—because their complacency isn't just misguided; it's dangerous.

And to those who dismiss this as alarmism, I have one final question: What's your plan? If the insect apocalypse doesn't matter, if climate change isn't a crisis, if the "Crisis Cult" is just a bunch of hysterical fools—what's your alternative? Because here's the truth: you don't have one. All you have is denial. And denial isn't a plan. It's a suicide note for civilisation.

The time for excuses is over. The time for action is now. The insects are counting on us. The planet is counting on us. And if we fail, the only cult left will be the Cult of Collapse—a grim congregation presiding over the ruins of a world we once shared. Wake up. Fight like your life depends on it—because it does.