What Richard Tice could learn from Tshwane

I have an admission to make: the kind of admission you have to think twice about sharing.

I love peering out over the British countryside on the approach back into London.

There, I said it.

Hear me out. The lush green fields usually provide a calming backdrop after a work trip or a holiday. If I am lucky enough to get a window seat, I press my face against the glass, trying to spot every detail—a tractor in a field, or a car winding down a long country lane.

That familiar sense of anticipation rose as we crossed the Channel following a lovely few days with family and friends on holiday close to a couple of weeks back. But this time was different. England’s “green and pleasant land” had been replaced by a scorched, lifeless landscape as we flew over the High Weald. Looking down at the effects of a blistering summer, the painful reality of climate change settled on our shores once again. We live in a world where taking a family trip still relies on high-carbon travel—which is precisely why structural leadership matters.

My young son’s first aerial view of a National Park was marred by that barren sight. Yet at that exact moment, probably a hundred miles from where we were descending, Reform UK’s Richard Tice appeared to be broadcasting from an alternate reality. He claimed the extreme heat would be “good for British sparkling wine” and urged the public to just “enjoy” themselves.

Never mind the devastating toll of heat-related deaths. Never mind the untold damage inflicted on our farmers.

For many readers, his reaction will come as no surprise. At a moment requiring genuine leadership and unity, Mr Tice reverted to the old playbook: if there is no group to blame, many who share his politics are simply not interested. Notable figures rightly criticised the crassness of his comments—especially while firefighters were putting themselves in harm’s way to tackle a record number of wildfires.

Just as concerning, though, was the sense of resignation his words sought to spread. He implied we are powerless, so we may as well just enjoy the weather.

Learning from others is hardly a skill synonymous with Richard Tice and his fellow Reform travellers. Yet if he took a moment to look around, he would see leading global cities naming the impact for what it is—and stepping up with bold, practical action.

After witnessing the impact of extreme heat in Tshwane, the City’s Mayor, Dr Moyo, launched an ambitious project to plant 100,000 trees across the city. Melbourne has taken a similar community-focused approach, introducing ten designated ‘Cool Places’.

In Phoenix, Mayor Kate Gallego speaks passionately about her city’s measures to tackle extreme heat. Despite facing local opposition, her leadership drove the adoption of reflective road coatings and shaded transit stops to reduce surface heat for pedestrians—a pioneering model since adopted by Los Angeles. Meanwhile, London has led the way by creating the first Properties Vulnerable to Heat Impactsassessment to safeguard high-risk residents, and Freetown has introduced targeted community measures, including Heat Pavilions and shade covers for local markets.

The politics of division offers no real answers beyond finding someone to blame. When confronted by one of the defining challenges of our era—where no scapegoat exists—its proponents rely on their second tactic: play it down and pretend it isn’t happening.

The next time Richard Tice answers a question on climate change, I hope he looks at what the mayors of Phoenix, Freetown, London, and Karachi are doing, because fatalism is itself a political choice.

I won’t be holding my breath.