A FEW weeks ago, I found myself listening to the radio, a French show called En quête de politique, which loosely translates to “in quest of politics”.
The idea is simple – instead of reacting to the latest headlines, the show takes a step back. It explores older, deeper political ideas, where they came from, what they meant, and why they might still matter.
That night, the episode was about mutualism. It’s not a word I hear often. But when I heard it, something clicked. Mutualism was part of my life growing up in France, even if I didn’t always name it as such.
It was there in the health insurance my family used, the structure of certain banks, the way some systems just quietly worked without profit as the end goal.
The guests on the show, including Nicolas Théry – a former president of Crédit Mutuel, a major French customer-owned bank – and essayist David Djaïz, weren’t nostalgic. They were arguing something very contemporary: that this old model, rooted in solidarity and self-governance, might be one of our best tools for the future.
Especially now, in an age of climate instability, economic anxiety, and a growing sense that the systems we rely on are no longer working for us. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
Because let’s be honest: it does feel like everything is harder right now. More expensive. Less reliable. Rent, childcare, groceries, healthcare: it’s not just that prices are rising, it’s that the logic of the systems seems off. As if services have stopped being about care or need, and started being about margins. And no-one seems accountable. It’s exhausting.
This is what people mean by “financialisation” – not just a technical term, but something we live. Services become assets; prices go up and quality goes down. And decisions are made far from those who feel the effects. In France, for instance, financial firms have recently been buying up medical labs, dental centres, and outpatient clinics. It’s not about improving healthcare. It’s about extracting profit.
Patients pay more, doctors are pressured to “perform”, and trust evaporates. The same pattern plays out in housing, childcare, even social care. It’s not a broken system, it’s a system working exactly as designed – just not for us.
So where do we turn? Some argue for more state control. Others say the market will correct itself. But what I find compelling (and honestly, hopeful) is this third way: mutualism.
Mutualism says let’s organise together. Let’s pool risk, share responsibility and govern the systems we rely on, not as consumers or clients, but as members, not just because it’s utopian, but because it works.
In France, mutualist institutions are everywhere. Growing up, my family was part of a mutuelle — a non-profit health fund. We paid monthly contributions, and when we needed care, we were reimbursed. It wasn’t the state. It wasn’t a private insurance company. It was us, people collectively managing risk and supporting one another. It felt normal – it was normal.
Take the Mutualité Française, the umbrella federation that brings together around 400 mutual health organisations across the country. Together, they cover more than half the population.
And they don’t just reimburse medical costs. Many also run hospitals, dental clinics, retirement homes, even childcare settings and care homes. Members pay monthly contributions into a shared fund. Those with high medical costs one year are supported by those who had none.
Surpluses aren’t paid out to shareholders (there are none), but reinvested in lower fees, better services, or new care centres, especially in rural areas where the private sector won’t go. Governance is democratic. Decisions are made by elected representatives of the members. It’s not a charity, and it’s not the state. It’s an institution run by and for its people, and it works.
What’s odd though, is how quiet mutualism is in public debate. As David Djaïz puts it, mutualism has become an economic fact, but not a political proposition. And that’s a loss. Because in a moment when people are looking for alternatives, mutualism could be a powerful narrative: a way to rebuild trust, and reclaim agency.
It's worth remembering how it all started. Mutualism came not from technocrats or politicians but from workers, peasants, ordinary people, often at times when they had no political rights.
In 19th century France, trade unions were banned and workers couldn’t organise politically. But they could organise to help one another. So they did. They built mutual aid societies to cover illness, accidents, funerals, even support for widows and orphans. These were democratic, member-run, and funded by regular contributions. They were about dignity.
Over time, these associations grew more structured. Many eventually fed into the creation of the French welfare state but they kept a sense of autonomy, of belonging. The mutualist spirit isn’t foreign to Scotland. From the early friendly societies and burial clubs to Robert Owen’s co-operatives in New Lanark, there is a rich tradition of collective self-help and solidarity.
What France called mutuelles, Britain called co-operatives. The language may differ, but the principle is the same: organising collectively to meet shared needs. And in today’s world, that philosophy feels more relevant than ever.
Look at housing. In France, mutualist banks like BPCE, Crédit Mutuel and Crédit Coopératif are major funders of social housing, supporting projects commercial banks might deem too risky or too slow. They prioritise long-term stability, not short-term returns.
In a country such as Scotland, where public housing is underfunded and rents are out of control, that model isn’t just interesting, it’s instructive. It shows us that finance can be structured for public good, not private gain.
It offers something else too: power. In a world where so many feel powerless, mutualism gives people a way to act collectively. It doesn’t claim to solve everything. But it says: we can take part. We can build things. We don’t have to wait for someone else to fix it.
Of course, it’s not perfect. Like any institution, mutualist bodies face temptations of power, complacency, of turning inward. As Djaïz notes, they can become technocratic and self-protective. Some mutualist banks now behave just like commercial ones. Others risk becoming too insular, serving only their members and losing sight of the broader social mission.
But that’s why mutualism – like Scottish independence, I would argue – should be seen not as an end, but a means. A tool. It can drift toward conservatism or corporatism if it forgets its deeper purpose.
But it can also help us rethink how we live together – how we organise care, distribute risk, and make decisions. It can widen the circle of trust and control.
There's a deeper parallel here. The late Scottish theorist Tom Nairn once wrote that all nationalist movements carry a dual possibility, They can be emancipatory and democratic, or self-serving and closed. The same is true of mutualism. It can be a fortress or a bridge, it depends on how we shape it, and to what ends.
Both mutualism and independence ultimately ask the same questions: Who governs? And for whom? Are we creating institutions that empower people, or that protect insiders? Are we replicating distance and hierarchy or dismantling it?
In Scotland today, amid crises in housing, care, and trust, we need more than policy tweaks. We need imagination. Mutualism isn’t the only answer but it’s a starting point. It reminds us solidarity can be built, not just declared.
It’s not about going back in time. It’s about reclaiming control not through markets or ministries, but through each other. And it’s not just theorists who are saying this.
In France, the current and former leaders of Crédit Mutuel recently published a book called Pour une société plus mutuelle (“for a more mutual society”), a call to business leaders and public actors to reclaim this tradition as a roadmap for resilience, justice, and sustainability. In their words: everyone gains from a long-term, collective vision.
Maybe that’s the most radical idea of all: that we don’t have to choose between being cared for and being in control. Democracy can be economic, not just electoral. We don’t just need better services, we need better structures. And mutualism, this old and quietly powerful idea, is one of them.
