I sat with the book, my back to the wall, the spines of other books pressing into mine. There were italics at first. A footnote said it was from his acceptance speech.

There’s a conversation happening as we sit here today. You’ve heard it yourself. You’ve had it yourself. Today, as I accept this prize, it is clearer to me than ever we have no choice but to make our voice louder. These conversations must emerge from darkened rooms. They deserve the light. They are, after all, the only thing that will save us.

By now, it is clear to scientific communities at large that we are far too many, and thus, our days remaining on this planet too few. But what can be done, they ask? What actions can be considered ‘humane’? Who, they ask, has a right to play God?

They are making a mistake: It is not a right. It is a duty.

I turned the page. I read the essay in bursts, my finger following the lines.

We stand in a world facing a catastrophe the likes of which history has never seen. Lacerating, unpredictable weather patterns due to climate change. Food shortages across the Americas reminiscent of the dust bowl. Africa’s growing desert shifting the patterns of human settlement that have existed for millennia. The ever-hovering threat of more, and more deadly, pandemics; social unrest, or even war due to dwindling resources. The public demand for solutions has never been more acute.

And yet politicians stand idle. The failure to respond is down to our refusal to look, with clear eyes, at the root cause of the problem: devastating overpopulation and, most importantly, its culprit.

Many of us have understood this crisis, and acted accordingly. In the past 20 years, birth rates among educated Britons have dropped by an estimated 41 per cent. Foster and adoption rates are on the rise. The picture of a British family has changed drastically in many parts of the country – we have taken action.

Some brave leaders have gone even further, pushing forward the politically sensitive but ultimately necessary decision to make it easier for those nearing the end of their lives to choose their departure from the earth. The work of End-Life has made impressive progress in making it possible for people to give the gift of the last few years of their lives, and the resources they would consume, to future generations.

But it is not enough.

Those economically active citizens among us who have made countless sacrifices – perhaps the large family they’d imagined as a child, a single infant of their own, or the last few years with a grandparent – continue to fall prey to the poor decisions of some segments of society. These segments of society ignore the research, refuse the family-planning services offered by our government and, ultimately, put the future of humanity at risk.

Let me paint a picture of this segment of society that I’m describing. Offered a free and comprehensive education by the state, they fail to make use of it; pregnant with or ‘fathering’ their first child at sixteen, with no plan, no income and no stability, they choose to see the pregnancy to term. Thus begins the process of generational dependence on the state. Offered the open arms of our NHS and the gift of free education, they take without giving – and teach their children to do the same.

We can no longer afford to be hamstrung by the Marxist demand to accept, embrace and support all ways of life. In the past, we may have felt pity for the segment of society that I’ve just described. Indeed, over the years ‘pity’ has elicited increasingly elaborate fiscal responses. But, if anything, what initial governmental responses to SARS-CoV-2, for example, made clearer than ever is that a profligate welfare state is merely a recipe for self-destruction – a recipe for increased reliance, pitch-black apathy and a soaring debt shouldered by the rest of us.

These matters are, as we know too well, interconnected. Population density puts us all at greater risk. And yet, this selfish behaviour continues unabated.

This blinkers-on approach which has defined public policy for years is no longer morally acceptable. Ultimately, our responsibility is to our own children, and to our children’s children – should there still be a world left for them. It’s time for bold thinking and the courage to act in the best interests of humanity as a whole. We can see what the problem is – we now have a moral obligation to solve it.

I therefore propose the following steps to immediately and significantly address the crisis of overpopulation:

1. Differentiate segments of society to enable targeted policy responses. This is not a question of class, or wealth, but of decisions: are these citizens making decisions in the best interests of society as a whole, or are they making decisions based on their immediate personal interest? Technology allows us to look at predictors of family size. Such assessments should be used to identify high-risk households for population contribution and dependence on shared resources. This would give us a unique opportunity to offer heightened medical measures, such as selected sterilisations and alternatives, in anticipation.
2. Remove the state support that enables high-risk segments of the population to reproduce unabated. Regarding the previous statement, in incarceration zones, for example, sexual neutralisation programmes would likely have myriad positive effects.
3. Empower at the earliest opportunity local management of resources. People will only make decisions in the best interests of their communities when the consequences of their actions are felt. Today, London and the home counties provide tax wealth that is distributed throughout the country. Those on the outer edges of society reap the benefits, without contributing in a meaningful way to the financial cost. A locally managed tax system would allow people to be more directly involved in the political decisions that affect their lives.
4. Take steps to protect those who have the best interests of society at heart. Ambitious social organisation programmes, identification systems and new infrastructure protecting our principal cities can help pave our return to the order which correctly dominated previous societies for millennia: natural selection favouring intelligence, talent, aspiration, character.

There was more and more and more. I turned the page to the last paragraph.

It can no longer remain the ‘un-sayable’. It must no longer be the ‘un-doable’. It is, in fact, a unique opportunity. Both to save the ecosystems we live in, and in doing so, reverse the cognitive decline which has held our planet and its societies to ransom for too long. Measures must be taken to eliminate the spiralling reproduction of those who contribute the least to society, yet take the most from it. They must be taken without delay.

I wondered if I would be sick. As I read it, I felt a finger pressing at the back of my throat. I thought about what the man at the Sands had said. ‘It will save lives. Lives that need to be saved.’

I took the book back downstairs to the living room, where Caleb was. ‘Can I take this?’ I said, and as I said it, the book fell open in my hand to the back page.

Meyer’s author photo. He was much younger, wearing a crewneck jumper. He was smiling, and even though it was black and white you could tell he was standing in front of a sunset.

Edwin Meyer PhD MSc Oxon was educated at Harrow, Oxford, and Columbia, where he graduated summa cum laude, and received the Nelson-Wright Prize for Excellence. A regular contributor to various acclaimed publications, he lives in London, with his wife, fellow academic Dr Jane Meyer, and their young daughter Francesca.

It took a moment to understand. I read the last sentence twice.

I looked at his picture again. It was his nose, it was something in his eyes. It was his confidence.

Francesca. Their young daughter Francesca.

‘No,’ I said. The word fell out of me, it spread like ink in water. You’d said your mum was a doctor. ‘My dad is…’ you’d said. ‘My dad is…’ I should have let you say it. I saw it now.

‘He has a daughter,’ I said. ‘He has a daughter. I think I know her,’ I said. ‘She was here.’