Julie Finch: While you cannot stop technological change, you can decide not to be a sheep

Hay Festival CEO Julie Finch on why we must protect the art of in-person conversation as the ultimate antidote to a digital world of algorithms and isolation.

I have always been captivated by the idea that every single one of us is a “Human Library.” We all have our own stories, our own books, and we come to Hay Festival to reflect on our lived experiences. This wealth of community is an empowering model. Some of the most special moments at Hay Festival don't even happen on the stages; they happen in the queues, over a coffee or in shared cars on the way to the event. Our drivers hear the most amazing stories; it's like a literary version of Carpool Karaoke. You never know who you are going to get in the car with, and suddenly you are best friends, bonding on the way to the station.

However, as we navigate this era of digital saturation, I believe we are facing a critical juncture. Our biggest challenge is not technology, but our own imagination. We are in danger of stopping imagining the possibility of in-person experiences because it is so easy to simply listen to a podcast. It is much harder to get in a car or on a train, travel for three hours to a field in the middle of nowhere at the foot of the Brecon Beacons, and perhaps camp for three nights in the rain. But that act of imagination – the decision to physically move towards an experience – is where the transformation happens.

Online, we are fed by algorithms that seek to affirm our existing beliefs, pushing us into echo chambers. At Hay Festival, we offer the antidote. We provide a space where you are deliberately compelled against what you’ve heard or been led to believe, pushing you to find new meaning. There is a profound power in long-form conversation; something that takes an hour and travels in depth across the world or into space. When you are in a crowd and your neurons are collectively fired up, you aren’t just passively listening; you are reacting to the reactions of others. A collective intake of breath or a shared moment of surprise has more power to change your mind than any solo experience at home. We are, quite simply, in the business of hope and imagination.

I have felt this power personally. I am deeply interested in current affairs, and there is something tangible about sitting in a room with someone like Lyse Doucet, hearing firsthand what the real situation is in Iran. These insights become visceral. In those moments, you realise that we are all connected. 

But this openness is fragile. We are in danger of becoming complacent, perhaps over-privileged in the Western world, taking freedom of expression for granted. There is a growing danger of “cancelling” ourselves because we no longer understand the value of a difficult debate. The moment our stages stop being open to everyone, the moment we stop discussing the broadest range of subject matter in the most diverse way, we have failed.

I have spent the last four years leading the Hay Festival, and in that time, I have watched the very soul of the event evolve. When I first came to Hay Festival, many years ago, I remember feeling a sense of intimidation.

There were all these people who seemed to know exactly what they were doing, incredible figures on stage, and a frantic rush to get from one event to the next. The experiences felt separate, almost siloed. My primary mission has been to dismantle that “elite club” atmosphere and replace it with something far more democratic.

We have replaced listening with the desire to be right all the time

I worry though that we are losing the art of conversation and the art of listening. Technological progress has propagated a polarity of viewpoints. We have replaced listening with the desire to be right all the time, borrowing other people’s causes to self-define. This is dangerous. I have seen places in the world where people are scared of talking, where discussion becomes homogenised and only “nice” things are said. Even in literature, the acceptable genres have become narrow and populist.

As a curator, it has become increasingly difficult to ask a broad spectrum of artists to sit on stage together and have an open debate. We see “self-cancellation,” where people choose not to have conversations so that the issues aren’t heard. But I ask: if it doesn't happen at Hay Festival, where is it going to happen?

The solution begins in our own communities. Tolerance must sit between friends and family. We live in a multicultural world, and the validation of everyone’s experience is key. That is how we programme the festival; we give an equal platform to everyone. It doesn’t matter if you are a global celebrity or a brand-new writer; once you are on that stage, you are treated exactly the same. We remain strictly apolitical in our content, encouraging active, independent thinking.

This brings me to the rise of Artificial Intelligence. I believe this is where in-person events truly triumph. At the Hay Festival, we champion originality. AI is a mass-market issue, and while you cannot stop technological change, you can decide not to be a sheep. I was watching a programme with Grayson Perry about AI in America and there was a statement that anyone mediocre at their job won't have a job anymore. That is a fiery statement, and it should make us stop and think. Massive unemployment is economic torture. Our job is to dig into these challenges and rebel against the trend.

Fiction is more important than ever

The antidote to this digital, algorithmic world is twofold: green spaces and live events. It is the individual’s responsibility to seek out that antidote.

When I look at what audiences are craving right now, I see three distinct parallels. First, people want to escape. Fiction is more important than ever; people want to dive into other worlds as a way of coping with the stresses of modern life. Second, they want to know what makes the artist tick – the personal stories of hope and opportunity. And third, they want a deep dive into the world, guided by people who can shed light on global events through a different prism. 

There is a desperate need for hope. Because of the fast news rate and the short-termism of our digital lives, people can’t keep up, yet they are exhausted by it. They want to be told something they don’t know about the world that actually gives them a reason to be optimistic.

The future depends on this sense of community and belonging. I truly believe there will be a backlash against AI and the frantic, short-form nature of modern news. People will crave the slow conversation, the physical presence of another human being, and the freedom to be challenged. As long as we keep our stages open and our imaginations active, we can continue to build a space where the spine-tingling moments of human connection still happen.

This year’s Hay Festival is taking place 21-31 May. Explore the full programme here. 

This conversation took place on 23 April 2026 and has been edited and condensed for clarity and flow.