Success sells – but is there any substance behind it?

When the New York Times released Trump’s taxes and dire financial losses over decades, the public outcry lay somewhere between “finally, proof for all these lies!” and – rather worryingly – “who cares?”

The latter reaction is worrying, because it reflects what we have become used to. The norm is now to read about multi-billion dollar IPOs that are issued even when companies are making millions in losses. CEOs claim multi-million dollar pay packages even when revenues don’t add up, thousands of staff are laid off, and the rest get paid less than minimum wages. But everyone still wants to join these companies or see them as savvy, because of the allure of success and shine.

As long as it looks like success, or is claimed to be a success, many of us are willing to believe it’s worth something – or buy into the sales pitch that it will become hugely successful later. “Success is what sells”, as Andy Warhol put it. This phenomenon has not only driven art prizes into the sky for decades, but is also how social media frequently works (just try buying a five thousand followers and see how many more you attract).

Success camouflaging is not just a corporate problem

This “success camouflage” (or perhaps it’s just outright exploitation or deception?) is not just limited to the corporate sector. Governments are selling every single change in trade or economic deals as a win to their citizens in the hope that they will be re-elected, even in situations such as Brexit where there are only losers on both sides.

And in the international development sector, every contribution – even if pitiful compared to needs and absolutely disproportionate to available budgets – is trumpeted as transformational (perhaps in the hope that this will attract even more funds). We just need to look at what (little) has been mobilised in terms of funds and equipment for low- and middle-income countries during Covid19, and how this has been communicated as phenomenal.

Something is not adding up.

Fake it, perhaps make it

Every person probably accepts that if you’d see everything at face value and as it really is, you’d rarely support anything, buy anything, recruit anyone, or even fall in love with anyone. It’s rational human behaviour to emphasise strengths, and sweep some weaknesses under the rug in the hope that no-one notices them (at least not when it’s decision-making time).

In slogan terms, you fake it, and hope you’ll convince others enough so that you make it.

But how much under-the-rug-hiding is acceptable? And when is what we show only blatant lies, or so out of balance with what has been swept under the rug that it no longer reflects reality in any way – a la Trump?

When, for example, is an organisation that sells its mission and values as something that is so contradictory to what happens in practice undermining what is was founded for? (But still recruiting staff based on empty promises.)

When does a product or an initiative that has immense ambitions fail because it continues to live only in a world of plans and unrealistic hopes?

I will change – nothing?

No-one likes admitting failure. Instead of missing targets, most people rather set the bar lower, or hope that through some creative new wording, no-one will remember what the original targets were.

This seems to be quite a common phenomenon in international development. The targets are so incredibly ambitious (e.g. end poverty, end preventable deaths), and so complex and heavy to achieve that most progress is incremental at best.

Perhaps the targets have always been unrealistic, and the strategy has always been to have a stretch goal – and anything in the right direction is a success. This is the position of many “optimists” (impatient or patient) in the development sector.

But what happens if the progress is too small or slow to justify the investments and capacity used? What if absolutely nothing changed, except that funds were raised, fundraising and communication capacity was increased, advocacy groups were founded, and movements were created?

Is this still a success? Is nothing or just a bit above nothing enough?

All imposters?

Most people in the world are not evil. If they were, the world would fairly quickly come to and end. Most people are not Trumps or exploitative CEOs. Most people are also not imposters, even if some under-the-rug sweeping is normal for everyone.

But an increasing amount of people and organisations currently accept that it’s fine to live and work while claiming to be able to do something that one can’t do, or isn’t doing. Just think of what we are all saying about climate change, and how little we have changed our life in response.

Part of this problem is caused by our society’s way of rewarding only success. No-one wants to invest into failure. And no-one wants to be seen as a or associated with failure. The consequence is that we focus primarily on the plan – not the action. We stretch results (yes, all those plastic straws we abolished from our lives!), rig the original targets, change our mandates, or use confusing communication in that hope that no-one understands what we are really saying.

What does this mean for the development sector?

Perhaps none of this really matters in the art sector, or even the corporate sector. You buy lemons, but if it makes everyone happy, who cares?

For governments and for the development sector, the situation is more dire. You either protect your citizens and save the planet, or you don’t. You either save a life, or a million, or you don’t. These are life-and-death questions, and require realistic responses.

One question international development organisations need to ask themselves (yes, that means every single staff member), and donors who fund them and board members who oversee them, is what success they should be measured on, and what they should be held accountable for? If the answer is a glossy report full of successes, but no substance in lives or planet saved, we have a serious problem.

Power, donor and board responsibility

Ultimately, those who are supposed to have oversight should be held accountable for whether targets have been achieved. If not, why was nothing undertaken? Why did funds continue to flow? Did anyone properly question success claims, scratch the glossy surface?

Nearly every organisation will respond that the problem was that they lacked sufficient funds and capacity. More donors, more money, more staff is the solution.

But just look at our international development industry. This can’t be the correct answer in each and every case, it simply doesn’t add up.

Is anyone taking a look under the carpet? Or are donors and board members sitting on so many different boards that they’ve given up even trying to keep oversight?

Everyone’s responsibility

If donors and board members are unwilling or overwhelmed in their oversight functions, perhaps it is the responsibility of recipients of funds or staff working at the organisations to start cleaning up. Question things. Ask questions. Express concerns. Point out false claims.

If we don’t, we won’t deliver. We won’t address challenges. We’ll lose sight of reality, and focus all of our energy only on creating the illusion of success. We won’t save lives, or as many lives as we can. We won’t save our planet.

And when we look into the mirror each day, can we really say we are so different from Trump? Are we just selling success with no substance?

Real diversity and inclusion in global health

A few years ago, I was having dinner during the UN General Assembly with an inspiring global health colleague who is not afraid to speak his mind, and has a lot of experience and great lessons to share. I was feeling quite constrained in my job intellectually, and realized I was craving for some new thinking and thought leadership in global health. I asked my colleague to share suggestions of who is thinking outside of the box in our sector, who is not afraid to speak out, and who is truly interested in moving the needle on impact.

I have been following the work of these people and many more since, and the freedom of thought, research, and discussion I saw has been one of my inspirations to start writing (and thinking) again. I started asking myself what I really think and know about the issues I am working on, what my principles are, and where I personally think I can add value on – and have the space and support to do so.

I have throughout my career focused on diversity and inclusion in global health. Most of my positions have aimed to include the voices of unheard but affected populations into the global health discussion: children, adolescents, women, stigmatized people, and people who are discriminated against or ignored because they lack the financial means, citizenship or job to have their voices heard.

But I have also felt uncomfortable at times in how organizations or organizers of events (willingly or subconsciously) select representatives from these populations, or in the worst case dictate what they should say or how they should behave. In practice, this means that many such representatives have not been able to speak on behalf of the group they are there to represent, and their participation has been more tokenistic than real.

I have also at times represented such populations. I have been invited to speak because I am a woman, a working mother, or when I worked in civil society. I was supposed to represent people who are discriminated against and left out. I have tried to do so, by using a platform to highlight their challenges and issues. But have I been the right representative to speak on their behalf – with all of my own privileges, such as education, citizenship, geographic location, financial means, and my race? Or have I just been the token woman, CSO representative, etc? I admit I have often felt uncomfortable because of these questions I have asked myself.

I have seen these same challenges in my work throughout the years, for example in how many organizations deal with CSOs. It’s tick-the-box tokenism, and in the worst case instrumentalization. Both sides (the organization and representatives) bear some responsibility on how these relationships are used and abused, and it’s important also to call out that many representatives of underrepresented groups (women, CSOs, etc) greatly benefit from the access, visibility and perks they are given through their representation. The relationship easily becomes unhealthily symbiotic.

Because of these discomforts, I together with Ngozi Erondu and Madhu Pai (two great thought leaders in global health who are unafraid to speak their minds also on difficult issues) co-wrote an article in Think Global Health, Silenced Voices in Global Health.

We pose questions and discuss issues such as: What does real diversity mean and look like, and what will it take to get to real inclusion in global health? How can transparency help? And why do we need more critical self-reflection?

I am aware this is a difficult discussion to have. Many people really are underrepresented and discriminated again, stigmatization and discrimination are very, very real – as we can see even more poignantly again these days thanks to Covid19, and what is happening in the United States.

But we also need to make sure we are truly supporting those people who are discriminated against, not just pushing ourselves into the limelight because we share some attribute with other people. And we need to be transparent about who we really are, and what we can – or cannot – represent.