It is a curious thing to watch a nation break a habit. And for decades, Britain has been in a committed relationship with Russian energy. Russian diesel has fuelled our lorries, our buses, our agricultural machinery. Russian jet fuel has powered our planes. But now, with a speed that would have seemed improbable just a year ago, the government is leading a push to wean the country off these imports by the New Year.
On the surface, this is a geopolitical manoeuvre, another salvo in the sanctions war against Russia following its invasion of Ukraine. But dig a little deeper, and you will find a story about people. About the lorry driver who fills his tank and wonders if the price will be higher tomorrow. About the small business owner who has watched her fuel costs double and her margins vanish. About the commuter who simply wants to get to work without feeling the pinch.
The push to phase out Russian diesel and jet fuel is not just a policy decision; it is a social experiment. It tests how quickly a modern economy can pivot when its energy supply chain is disrupted. It reveals the hidden dependencies of everyday life. Every litre of diesel that goes into a delivery van, every gallon of kerosene that lifts a holidaymaker into the sky, has a backstory of global trade and geopolitics. We are asking ourselves: can we rewrite that backstory?
The answer, so far, is that we are trying. Britain has already reduced its imports of Russian oil significantly, down to around 8% of total imports from 12% before the war. But diesel and jet fuel are trickier. They are not just commodities; they are the lifeblood of transport. To replace them, we need new suppliers from Norway, the Middle East, the United States. We need refineries to increase production. We need logistics to adapt. And we need consumers to accept higher costs, at least in the short term.
There is a cultural shift happening here too. For years, the cost of energy was something we took for granted. We flicked a switch, we filled a tank, we boarded a plane. Now, every price rise at the pump is a reminder of our vulnerability. And with that comes a new consciousness: a sense that what we consume matters, that where our energy comes from matters. It is a change in attitude that could outlast the immediate crisis.
The human cost is real. The Office for National Statistics reports that inflation in transport costs has hit 15.2%, the highest in decades. That means less money spent in pubs, restaurants, and shops. It means harder choices for families. And for businesses that rely on transport, it means a constant battle to break even. The taxi driver, the delivery company, the logistics firm; they are all on the front line of this energy transition.
Yet there is also a sense of resolve. The government’s push is being supported by industry, which sees the need to diversify supplies. There are calls for more investment in renewable energy, in electric vehicles, in domestic production. The long term goal is to break the dependency on fossil fuels altogether. But for now, the immediate task is to break the dependency on Russia. By the New Year, British diesel and jet fuel will come from elsewhere. The question is how smoothly this transition will go, and how much it will cost us all.
As we approach that deadline, the cold reality is that energy choices are not abstract. They are felt in the pocket and in the mood of the nation. The hope is that by severing this line, we will begin to forge a new energy identity. One that is more secure, more independent, and more aligned with the values we claim to hold. It is a bold push, and Britain is leading it. But the true test will come not in the corridors of power, but on the streets and in the homes, where the real cost of this change will be counted.
