Archive for category Life

A street. Celebrating a multitude of stories

Last Sunday, we held our third annual Sudbourne Road Street Party. As ever it was a personal, neighbourly and community affirmation of the simple power of human connection (http://www.shanepcarmichael.com/2010/07/the-big-lunch-2010-and-the-importance-of-social-capital).

Place and our association with it is a funny thing. The two places I tend to speak of most often are Belfast and Brixton. I’m always interested in how others respond to my stories of these two extraordinary places and how they (among others) shaped and continue to shape me.  The stereotype is of course of two troubled places; gritty, associated far too often (and always sadly) in the minds of others with division and decay (social, economic, political, economic). And yet, for those of us lucky enough to call either of these places home, that is just one story from among a multitude. And one which denies both them and us the glory of their true, complex, gritty, divided and yes, in parts decaying, selves. And in doing so the stereotype prevails, grows stronger, pushes out the possibility of another reality, an alternative narrative.

The danger, the limitations, the challenge of these “single stories” is articulated in this wonderful talk by Chimamanda Adichie: http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html 

And last Sunday as I watched neighbours and friends come together in a simple celebration of shared place I was struck by the limitations and distorted reality of Brixton’s oft told “single story” and the possibility in the alternative story we – in a simple act of gathering to celebrate our physical communion in SW2 – were (and are) writing. As I watched friends and neighbours come and go I wondered at the multitude of stories that made last Sunday what it was and our street what it is and Brixton what it really is more often than it is not……and in doing so we too regain(ed) a kind of paradise.

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A “bucketlist” and the last of human freedoms

To-do list book.

I’m conscious the last few posts have been focussed on human mortality – though I prefer to think of them as a celebration of life if you read more closely. But at the risk of distressing still further…..

You may have heard of Alice Payne. And if not then you need to: http://www.alicepyne.blogspot.com/

I tweeted (a little tearily I admit) about Alice’s inspiring (if a little heartbreaking) blog on the morning of 8th June and then again that afternoon.

And so, it transpires was everyone else. And so by this morning Alice was tweeting about how the twittersphere was making a series of wishes come true….while newspapers as far aways as Sydney were running her incredible story.

There are a few lessons in Alice’s story. One being the power of the Internet to spread news/share stories/inspire action among many. Another being of course the power of connected consciousness – when harnessed - in the service of good. But the most important is a very human one….

The most important lesson perhaps that Alice has taught us all is that we should never underestimate the ability of one person – even in the face of the most insurmountable of all human obstacles – to affect many for the greater greater good.

I doubt Alice has heard of Victor Frankl, the celebrated psychiatrist and of course, holocaust survivor. And why should she. But in his famous book: “Man’s Search for Meaning”, Frankl wrote something that I recalled as I read Alice’s blog the other morning.

Frankl wrote of the lesson he learned from simple acts of courage and humanity he observed among the devastation of the internment camps,  in the face of the most insurmountable of all human obstacles, death itself:

“Everything can be taken from a man or a woman but one thing: the last of human freedoms to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way”

In Alice, Frankl finds the modern embodiment of that sentiment. She is choosing her own way, her own – incredible – attitude in the face of her given set of circumstances.

I hope Alice completes her buckletlist. I hope she outlives her diagnosis. I hope. But whatever transpires she has served many of us in a more profound way than she might ever imagine….a 15 year old girl, writing with such gentle sadness and wonder reminding us and perhaps challenging us to ask the question….do we truly appreciate and exercise that last (and maybe the greatest) of all human freedoms….the ability to choose how we might live. Even in dying.

Alice. Thank you.

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Gil Scott-Heron (1949 – 2011)

Gil Scott Heron smiles while on stage in front...

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On 27th May, the celebrated ”bluesologist” Gil Scott-Heron sadly passed away, aged 62 years old, to what he might allow us to refer to – in a nod to one of his most notable works - ”The Other Side”.

Gil Scott-Heron was many things to many people: writer, composer, poet, recording artist, long time drug-addict, son of Chicago (and an ex-Celtic footballer!), resident of Harlem, father, convict, cultural critic, “voice of Black protest culture”, husband, anti-apartheid activist, friend, inspiration….to quote Chuck D, the leader of Public Enemy, speaking in The New Yorker in 2010, “You can go into Ginsberg and the Beat poets and Dylan, but Gil Scott-Heron is the manifestation of the modern word”.

I came late to Gil Scott-Heron. While aware of his early work and influence on the music and social culture of the 1970′s, I hadn’t engaged at any real level with his music. I picked up his last album, “I’m New Here” in early 2010 just after it’s release. It was a crucially important time for me personally and perhaps as a consequence of that, something in him and this album, at this moment deeply affected me. In particular the title track struck a deep chord. When you understand Gil Scott-Heron’s own life story, what he achieved and lost; what he succumbed to, suffered and ultimately overcame (however briefly in the end), the lyrics take on a genuine power and for me, at that time, a deep and important resonance. From opening with a searingly honest two line admission of personal responsibility (or at least complicity) for what we may each become,  it plays out ultimately as a celebration of and a testament to the ability to change; to redeem oneself; to renew and redefine a life, however late, in the face of any adversity; in spite of any past.

Gil Scott-Heron has come full circle in this life. And wherever he is now, I’m sure he’ll find someone to show him around. But I’ll always feel sorry that I never got a chance to express to him that while our respective challenges were, of course, very very different, he reminded a fellow seeker in this life that whatever we face, however daunting the road ahead, whatever we carry with us from the past – in an echo of the great Invictus - we can always, always, turnaround.

And so thanks, at least in part to Gil Scott-Heron, as the first hour of my 36th birthday rolls past, I truly feel that after a long long time….with a voice of reason….I am new here again. 

Gil, RIP.

I’m New Here lyrics
I did not become someone different
That I did not want to be
But I’m new here
Will you show me around

No matter how far wrong you’ve gone
You can always turn around
Met a woman in a bar
Told her I was hard to get to know
And near impossible to forget
She said i had an ego on me
The size of Texas

Well I’m new here and I forget
Does that mean big or small

No matter how far wrong you’ve gone
You can always turn around

And I’m shedding plates like a snake
And it may be crazy but I’m
the closest thing I have
To a voice of reason

Turnaround turnaround turnaround
And you may come full circle
and be new here again

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Is iníon, deirfiúr agus máthair mé

For my Mother.

On this date….still hidden among the stars.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

~ Song of Myself, LII by Walt Whitman

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Scars healed

The signature of Haruki Murakami

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Last night I saw the much anticipated film version of Haruki Murakami‘s famous novel, “Norwegian Wood“.

Anyone familiar with the novel will probably suggest it isn’t the most obvious choice for Saturday night “entertainment” and true to the original work, while beautifully shot, it undoubtedly makes for bleak viewing. However, while watching it I was most particularly struck that it comes to cinema’s here precisely as a larger, albeit also very human, tragedy unfolds in Japan where the book and film play out and the parallels one might draw between two apparently very different stories.

For while the novel and film are dominated by the themes of unfulfilled promise, love, loss, death, regret and displacement it seemed to me that at it’s heart it is really a story of survival, of human endurance, embodied in the experience of and ultimate commitment to living of the protaganist, Watanabe.

And while the loss of so much life, in such shocking circumstances, can never be measured nor made right, it is the struggles of those left behind in today’s post earthquake Japan that I kept thinking of last night; people who’s lives, loved ones and therein very meaning for (and proof of) being has been stripped from them. The same people who are now faced with the task of recovering, rebuilding, reclaiming, reinventing, remembering, regretting, restoring….

I’ve often felt those who are left behind suffer as much – if not more – than those who have departed. And yet what is there to be said? What words can ameliorate such pain associated with the loss of one loved one, or the loss of thousands?  And as I watched the film last night and thought of those coming to terms with what has happened in Japan today, I kept running the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald over in my mind:

“One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it”.

It seems a rather cold and unsettling contemplation and it doubtless offers little comfort to those suffering in the towns and cities of NE coastal Japan today but it goes to the very heart of what it means to be human and to inevitably experience the suffering that entails. Most importantly it reminds us that “to forget” or “try to forget” is futile and indeed to remember is exactly what we must do.

Some scars run deeper than others but they are scars nonetheless. And it is these which enable us to understand – at some level – what others experience in the face of loss and tragedy; it is what helps us to empathise; it is what reminds us to reach out, to offer ourselves in whatever way we can to those whose time it is to suffer and it is what propels us forward as individuals, as families, as communities, as countries, as a population….helps us to evolve, to learn from (and not forget) what has gone before so that we might look to and prepare for the future with greater understanding, readiness, hope and indeed, as we are reminded of the fragility of life itself: humility.

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What it means to live. And Die.

WASHINGTON - JULY 28:  Elizabeth Edwards, a se...
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Earlier this week I tweeted a link to this piece by Joan Bakewell entitled: “Do you really want to live forever?”. I thought it was a beautiful reflection not just on the aging process, or our human mortality, but on what it really means to live; to be alive.

Sadly, I was offered another reminder of just that question this week with the untimely passing of the indomitable Elizabeth Edwards. I never met her directly but, like many, I always admired her from afar. Here was a woman who has known real pain, loss, hurt – much of it experienced in the public glare – but refused to be bowed or defined by it. A woman who kept her head held high and focused her energies, however diminished in the end, on making a positive contribution to others. Who saw her own mortality not as something to rail angrily against but as something to shape how she chose to live in the time – the finite time – granted to her; something she ultimately was grateful for.

Her final Facebook post read:

“The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered. We know that. And yes, there are certainly times when we aren’t able to muster as much strength and patience as we would like. It’s called being human. But I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful.”

As a reflection on mortality, human imperfection, aspiration and mindfulness it is as powerful as I have read. It is a reminder and a challenge to each of us. 

And for that, we should all be grateful. 

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Dante, Frank O’Hara & this human journey

To the Harbormaster

BY FRANK O’HARA

I wanted to be sure to reach you
though my ship was on the way it got caught
in some moorings. I am always tying up
and then deciding to depart. In storms and
at sunset, with the metallic coils of the tide
around my fathomless arms, I am unable
to understand the forms of my vanity
or I am hard alee with my Polish rudder
in my hand and the sun sinking. To
you I offer my hull and the tattered cordage
of my will. The terrible channels where
the wind drives me against the brown lips
of the reeds are not all behind me. Yet
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.

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David Cameron – in the footsteps of Marco Polo

Statue of Marco Polo in Hangzhou, China, near ...

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As David Cameron prepares for his two day visit to China (commencing tomorrow, Tuesday 9th November) at the head of the largest-ever official UK delegation to the country, I thought this might be a timely post.

See below for a short insight into how the 24 year travels around China by Marco Polo (as well as his lesser reported father and uncle) changed the very nature of life itself in Europe.

I wonder if DC (or we) dare expect his visit to prove just as seminal?! I’d personally doubt it though given his Bullingdon Club background, the odds on him too returning with a Mongol servant called “Peter” are probably quite short. Could make an interesting addition to the historical catalogue of PM gifts. Certainly better than a box set of 25 American films and certainly more useful around the house.

Anyway, hǎo yùn Mr Cameron.

“[Upon their return from China], the three Polos received respect from their fellow citizens, with Marco singled out for special attention. ‘All the young men went every day continuously to visit and converse with Messer Marco,’ Giambattista Ramusio claimed. ‘who was most charming and gracious, and to ask of him matters concerning Cathay (China) and the Great Khan, and he responded with so much kindness that all felt themselves to be in a certain manner indebted to him.’

“It is easy to understand why Marco attracted notice. The significance of the inventions that he brought back from China, or which he later described in hisTravels, cannot be overstated. At first, Europeans regarded these technological marvels with disbelief, but eventually they adopted them.

“Paper money, virtually unknown in the West until Marco’s return, revolutionized finance and commerce throughout the West.

“Coal, another item that had caught Marco’s attention in China, provided a new and relatively efficient source of heat to an energy-starved Europe.

“Eyeglasses (in the form of ground lenses), which some accounts say he brought back with him, became accepted as a remedy for failing eyesight. In addition, lenses gave rise to the telescope – which in turn revolutionized naval battles, since it allowed combatants to view ships at a great distance – and the microscope. Two hundred years later, Galileo used the telescope – based on the same technology – to revolutionize science and cosmology by supporting and disseminating the Copernican theory that Earth and other planets revolved around the Sun.

“Gunpowder, which the Chinese had employed for at least three centuries, revolutionized European warfare as armies exchanged their lances, swords, and crossbows for cannon, portable harquebuses, and pistols.

“Marco brought back gifts of a more personal nature as well. The golden paiza, or passport, given to him by Kublai Khan had seen him through years of travel, war, and hardship. Marco kept it still, and would to the end of his days. He also brought back a Mongol servant, whom he named Peter, a living reminder of the status he had once enjoyed in a far-off land.

“In all, it is difficult to imagine the Renaissance – or, for that matter, the modern world – without the benefit of Marco Polo’s example of cultural transmission between East and West.”

Extract taken from Laurence Bergreen‘s excellent book ”Marco Polo” (2007)

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Let the Great World Spin (and Tweet)

169. Let the great world spin
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I’m becoming a compulsive Twitter user – a “Twitterite” (clumsy but preferable if you will to David Cameron‘s proposed nomenclature – “Too many Tweets make a….”).

It’s becoming something of a love affair, albeit late to bloom and against my better judgement. Twitter really (really) works for me. It’s my intellectual, social media shaped, hit of KFC.  And like the Colonel, it’s a cunning beastie – because it appeals to my unabated curiosity and inferiority complexes in equal measure. This is both good and bad.

It’s good in that I feel more exposed and connected to the possibilities of the world courtesy of the genius of many of my fellow inhabitants – which is exhilarating and empowering.  It’s bad in that it’s hard to turn the tap off, to look away for fear of missing ‘the next thing’, to accept that there will always be more. That ‘This is Enough’.

Just now I had a slightly different but equally uneasy realisation about how my relationship with Twitter – like all good love affairs – was filling me with just a little more melancholy than an almost fully grown man should be feeling on a Friday evening.  For it occurred to me that although Social Media (in its many guises) oft gives us a sense of  unfettered access and untempered reach, on occasion it can also cruelly remind us of our all too real limitations (and frailties) in the face of  the sheer scale of our world and all that sails in her – most of which we can never hope to know, see nor understand.

And yet hasn’t this forever been a universal truth? Perhaps; but unlike the generations that have gone before us, whose aspirations for universal enlightenment (and connection) were naturally constrained from the outset by the dull facts of time, space and technological limitation, today the tools at our disposal create – every now and again, however fleetingly – the illusion that connection to all human knowledge and experience is truly within our grasp. That we might in fact one day, “slip the surly bonds of earth” to “touch the face of God“.

The reality of course is somewhat different. And potentially challenging to accept as such.

The epigraph from the wonderful Colum McCann book – Let the Great World Spin – sprang to mind as I pondered this. It’s a quote from Aleksandr Hemon’s The Lazarus Project:

“All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere.  That is what the world is”.

At first reading there is a deep sadness in these lines. An inevitability of experiential poverty; of denial and regret.  But in the context of McCann’s book in particular they are presented at the outset (in hindsight) as a challenge to us. A challenge which evokes the central tenet of interdependence (a concept made live for me by my unwitting spiritual curator Rohan Gunatillake) – which lies at the heart of many religious traditions and faiths, not least Buddhism, and is the reality of human existence.

For having opened with these lines McCann then sets about ripping them (and their gloomy sentiment) apart by weaving a set of stories which capture the very real human possibilities and hope which our inherent interdependence make available – and inevitable (when we are truly awake to it) – to each of us. Possibilities in and hope for this life, this person, this moment.

And in doing so McCann in fact offers us a reminder and extends an invitation: to disavow the chase (and regret) for what must necessarily be a constructed reality of what might have been or never will be and instead embrace (and cherish) the sometimes challenging but ultimately organic reality of the lives we are/can live, the people we/will do know, the person we are and can become.

So what’s that got to do with Twitter or “social connectivity” tools? I’ve probably failed to articulate this at all well, but for now what I think I mean to say is: yes, these tools can amplify the sadness that accompanies the recognition that in the finite course of a human life there will be many experiences, ambitions, realisations and relationships we shall never know. However long we remain online. But to regret these many imagined illuminations which Twitter and her social media kin could have/should have/may have bestowed upon me is nothing less than to regret all of the very real illuminations they already have. Illuminations for which I give thanks and which remind me of the need to remain awake and mindful in and of my own incredible reality.

I think this is an important challenge for our age – one I touched on previously here: the ability to remain mindful and conscious of the potential (and related interdependence) of the here and now in the face of almost limitless connectivity and the perceived alternate (and often idealised) realities which that exposes us to.

This is an ability we (and I in particular) must strive to master otherwise these social connectivity tools can – at their worst – become sources of suffering and regret, not liberation. And that would be a terrible tragedy.

When I had my moment of “Twitterite sadness”, an image of the connected “social-sphere” sprang to mind. Anyone with an interest in Neuro-Linguistic Programming would be unsurprised to learn that the subconscious had depicted a vast sphere of connections, with myself represented as a tiny orb, far flung and remote from the “centre” – the perceived heart of things, the place where this idealised view of my universally connected and enlightened self should/would ideally reside. Cognitive Behaviour Therapists or an enlightened mind would of course point out that how we see the world determines how we respond to the world. If I hold that image too long, allow it to become my reality then of course I’ll feel sadness at my perceived  inconsequence in the great scheme of things.

But thankfully I have the words of Marge Piercy to hand to remind me that:

“No one is at the centre, but each is her own centre”

I love that sentiment. It is empowering. And a reminder of the challenges, possibilities (and responsibilities) for each of us in a connected world.

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A little bit of “nudging” on London’s South Bank

Image of the human head with the brain. The ar...
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Regular readers of this blog (?!?!?) will be well aware of my interest in all forms of human/social psychology and in particular my interest in the role of behavioural and social psychology in managing change.

It’s an area of study that’s become quite sexy of late, perhaps with the poster child being Steve Hilton himself, stripped bare and holding a well thumbed copy of “Nudge” in a strategic position for the annual Conservative Party’s WI calendar.

It’s all rather simple really. Just a recognition of what psychologists have been telling us for some time. How we make decisions/choices is a much more subconcious and often malleable process than we might like to imagine – a process which might be influenced (deliberately or otherwise) by a myriad of  subtle (or not so subtle) factors including deliberate commercial or political “nudging”.

No point in me regurgitating a century of study here. Just pick up an one of: “Nudge”, “The Tipping Point“, “Blink”, “59 Seconds: Think a little Change a Lot”, “Freakonomics” or “How we Decide (the list is potentially enormous) and indulge yourself.  In my opinion anyone embarking on a career in advertising, political policy, sales, marketing, change management, branding or religious outreach (Amen) should be forced to read all of these tomes and a few others besides before they darken the door of any self respecting employer in any one of those “industries”.  An interest in and understanding of the psychology and subtlety of human behaviour should be de-rigour for all.

I’ve been interested in the varied work of the http://www.theenginegroup.com/ in London for some time. Not least because I get to spend hallowed time most weeks in the company of one of it’s leading brand thinkers – Sean McKnight. At the end of last week The Engine Group (EG)  had this little piece on their web-blog: http://www.theenginegroup.com/news-and-blog/?p=1985&cat=-3 on the subject of behavioural psychology (or behavioural economics if you will). I thought it was good that EG are exposing more of their disparate teams to this discipline (although I’d blithely assumed they’d all be light years ahead in their public reflections) but more importantly it did make me think about a lovely example of behavioural nudging in action which I saw on Friday in London.

Opposite Gabriel’s Wharf on the South Bank, you will, during the course of the year, find a group of folks who use the small sandbank there to sand sculpt. They’ve been dong this for years. I’ll occasionally throw 50p down into the circle they’ve drawn in the sand to collect tips but never more. But of late they have adopted a new tactic to nudge us into giving “more generously”. They have set up two yellow buckets with a small portable bicycle bell set inside each one. There is a little note beneath each bucket inviting onlookers to throw some tips and “See if you can ring the bell”.

I invite you to pop along and watch what happens. Based on the last two five minute visits I’ve made, I  predict their tips are up maybe 300% minimum.

But why?

Because now not only are people throwing coins (tips) to reflect their appreciation of the sand sculptures; they are throwing coins to – much more importantly (and in some cases it seemed, exclusively) - see if they can make a small bell, in the bottom of a yellow bucket go ‘Ding’. It is a nudge to one of our strongest instincts and motivations – to succeed in a task that should be eminently achievable but is often frustratingly not. Add the public setting (no one likes to look bad in public and the ‘herding’ influence of others on our behaviour is more powerful than we may accept!), the fun atmosphere created as we try (and try) and the satisfactory feedback/reciprocation provided by the simple “ding” of a bell in the bucket and you have the ingredients for the perfect nudge.

I watched today as one lady asked “What happens if I hit the bell?”.  Having been told – “nothing, it makes a “ding”", she spent 3 minutes throwing coin after coin at the bell in the bucket to no avail; I threw a sum total of £1 in coins trying to hit said bell, as did my lowly paid companions.  Even more interesting was watching how a group of 6 people, who had almost walked past the sandbank, turned on hearing a faint “ding” (followed by great cheering from the friends of the aforementioned lady who, £5 down I reckon, had eventually hit the “jackpot”). Said party then each proceeded to throw coins at the yellow bucket with barely a glancing appreciation of the sand sculptures and so on until we decided to leave.

I bet if you asked 50% of those people 5 minutes after they’d left the scene what the two sand sculptures were that day, they wouldn’t even be able to tell you*. It was one of the most simple and stunningly effective applications of behavioural nudging that you’ll see in a social context in London today. For any male readers – it’s bit like those little flies on the back of certain “progressive” urinals (a subliminal target for you to aim at to reduce the amount of “splash-back”)…simple, yet deadly effective.

All those industries I listed, but most importantly, political policy, are (it would seem and we should hope) learning much from moving behavioural psychology and economics to the heart of what they do in both Policy formulation and execution. In an era when we have scarcer resources with which to encourage, facilitate and deliver some Big Society shaped national scale behaviour change then every arsenal in our weaponry much be drawn down.

There is of course more, much much more, to facilitating large scale human change than dropping a few bells in the bottom of a bucket (another blog on that subject is due) but it does demonstrate that for all our self congratulatory sophistication, we are simple animals in so many ways, driven by a few fundamental primitive instincts. The challenge is to harness that simplicity and those instincts to assist society in making smarter decisions about our health, wealth and happiness. In all those industries a fundamental question we must ask in shaping products, offerings or policies is this: which of our basic human instincts/longings/aspirations does this play to and therefore how best shall it be framed to lead “customers” to the most “appropriate” response.

There is a fascinating debate to be had about whether subliminal nudging is enough (or even immoral) or whether “customers” need to be granted a more active understanding of and participation in how certain choices impact both ourselves and others if behaviour change is to be sustained (and moral) but that’s for another day. For now, I’m off to sort out my bell and yellow bucket. You can find me outside the Ritzy in Brixton between 10am – 4pm; making daisy chains for tips….

*A rather fetching lady’s face and a starfish like creature were the order of the day….once you saw past those yellow buckets.

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