Simon Nielsen 12/9/21 Simon Nielsen 12/9/21

The End Is The Beginning

“Now he was here on an airplane feeling clumsy as he struggled to fill in the immigration card they had just given to him. What was the flight number again? He searched through the carry on bag to try and find the ticket. The entire trip had left him feeling nervous for several weeks beforehand. What was he thinking? Why was he doing this?” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe tells a story of finding home.

By Steven Moe

John walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, picking his way down the path from his Grandmother’s house towards the Arahura River. He could hear the sound of it in the distance, an angry rushing after the heavy rainfall last night, echoing how he felt inside. He still remembered the first time he had come here, seven years ago. What a horrible time that had been, with his parents deciding to go their separate ways. Somehow he had ended up here with his Grandmother for extended periods of time. Now he was almost 15 years old. Because of the storm that had come through the night before the rocks were all darker than normal, each one painted individually by the rain. A tree had uprooted on the other side of the bank and its branches now reached down to drape its fingers in the swirling muddy water.

He remembered coming down to this river those first times with his grandmother. Something had changed on the banks here for both of them and he still remembered how from that time on they began to talk and share. She seemed to accept him as he was but still always pushing him to become something more. It seemed strange now to think of the changes that were coming. He was so used to having her around. He sighed, and threw rocks over at the half fallen tree, missing most of the time.

Back in the house he knew his Mother was cleaning. Sorting as she went and putting things in piles, as if there was a deadline that had to be met. What did doctors really know, anyway? That is what he told himself, through tears, as they drove back each day from visiting her. But he knew it was true himself. He could see the changes. She had lost the strength that she had before and just seemed tired. The long walks they used to take beside the river dwindled and she became more accustomed to the kitchen with its view down towards the river.

John often went out on his own anyway on the weekends when he would come to stay. He found little treasures, like part of a birds egg, a tree branch in the shape of a letter, an unusual shaped stone. He always brought her a stone back because he knew that made her happy.

She would tell him stories about stones and show him books about others. He liked the square sort of ones that looked like miniature houses and she kept those over on the window ledge. The collection slowly grew.

“So, what have you found today?”, she would ask with a smile as he pushed open the screen door from outside. Always a laugh for something he had found, greeting each new discovery with joy as if that would make them feel welcome into her home. Sometimes his Mother would stay for the weekend with him and other times she would just drop him off. Other times his Grandmother would come in to town and pick him up instead. Either way he spent many of those weekends with her, getting used to not having a television to watch, over time absorbing information about her life and what she thought of things.

What seemed to keep his Grandmother busiest at the desk in the kitchen these last few years was paper. Letters came in from far off places - nearly all from America or Norway. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were because she didn’t talk about it much. When she was done for the day they would all be packed up into a yellow and green apple box and slid back under the coffee table in the lounge.

Today as they had driven up to the house after visiting her in the hospital his Mother had finally said it, glancing at him sideways as she finished slipping up the muddy road and turning into the driveway.

“She won’t be able to come back here, you know”. He knew.

“Maybe she will get better?” He said, without conviction.

“Yes, maybe she will”, his Mother said.

That was all. There was silence as they got out of the car and went into the house The conversation seemed to be enough permission to start the process of cleaning out the house. His Mother had started almost the moment she walked in the door. Now John was down by the river, throwing rocks at the fallen over tree that clung to the river bank. He trudged back up towards the house reluctantly when he had enough of that. This was not how the story was supposed to go. He wanted her to be there for a lot longer yet.

When he entered the kitchen he was unprepared for how quickly his Mother had worked. She seemed to have moved everything around already and he felt saddened that she was purposefully breaking the hold of his Grandmother on the house. His Grandmother had lived there for, what, 50 years? And now in one afternoon the entire place was being moved and jostled and pushed around like the new kid at school. It just wasn’t right and he fell heavily into the chair at the kitchen table.

He watched his mother move back and forth between the rooms and after a few minutes he slowly began to see an order in her movements. There was a small pile here in the kitchen on the table which had a few dishes, crockery, candlesticks. The kind of things which would easily find a place in another home. Then in the lounge there was a growing pile that was much larger and which had started on the couch and now spilled over onto the floor. It contained unique items which no doubt had a story and which most people would not have bought in the first place. John had a feeling he knew where that pile of items was destined to end up.

His Mother walked briskly and efficiently, picking up items from here and there and depositing them in one of the two piles. He got up and walked over to the large pile in the living room and began to pick through what remained. He soon started his own pile - a blue vase, a painting of a river and trees, some rocks that were heavy, an artist’s sketch book that was blank except for his Grandmother’s name on the inside cover, an old necklace with an almost white shaded piece of pounamu greenstone on it. All saved from that larger pile which just kept growing.

John started moving the items around to see what else there was underneath and that is when he saw the old yellow and green apple box. It was there buried below everything else like a foundation and explained why the pile had risen in height so quickly. He wondered if his Mother had even opened it. He reached down and pulled it open and saw stacked papers inside. Some of it seemed to have an order but a lot of it was just thrown in. He spent 5 minutes sifting through it and saw lots of names and date and people referred to. It didn’t mean much to him. He found a family tree and looked from his name at the bottom up. He only recognized his Mother, Father and Grandmother. His Grandfather was there too, but he had disappeared down in Milford Sound many years before John was born.

John placed the papers back in the box and shut it. He knew they had been important to his Grandmother but he wasn’t sure if he felt strongly enough about keeping them to move them from the pile they were now in. He decided to go for another walk outside as he had begun to feel like a traitor to his Grandmother, simply watching this packing up of her life. The tree that had fallen down became the target of his aggression again but simply stood there absorbing his anger with the stones he threw bouncing off it into the river where they sank quickly below the surface.

They spent the night there in that hollowed out shell of a house. John’s Mother had moved on from the sorting to cleaning and the little spider webs in the corner, the grime above the oven and the dust on the shelves had all been efficiently removed. The sparkling windows suddenly seemed to let in more light than before, as if they were new eyes. By the afternoon of the next day the back seat of their small car had also been occupied by the contents of the kitchen table.

John’s pile had been taken over and become part of the very large accumulation of objects that had grown on the sofa. They would be leaving soon. John went back in the house and pulled out the things he wanted to take. The large box was still there, buried once again. He cleared it off and lifted it up, then balanced the other things on top and walked out to the car. His Mother glanced up from the back of the car where she was fitting things in.

She paused, both hands still full. “What’s all that, then?”, she asked him.

“It is what I’d like to keep, to remember her by,” he said.

She looked over what he had, then nodded at him. “You can keep it all but why don’t you put it into that box.”

“The box is already full”, he said. He had made his choice and decided to keep the papers.

“I already looked through that box - there is nothing much in there.” His Mother said to him, as she got back to her work.

“I think I can find room around the front here”, John replied, moving to the passenger side of the car and evading the implication of her comment. In the end it all fit in quite easily.

His Mother did not agree with his choice. In her eyes it was more clutter for their small house. “I bet that you won’t open that box once in the next 40 years”, she said, as she glanced at it when they pulled away and drove back down the road. John ignored her and swivelled in his chair to look back towards the house as they bumped down the road and the trees began to get in the way of his view.

***

John hadn’t known how accurate his Mother’s word would be. It could almost have been a prophecy because in fact more than 40 years passed by quickly and John was nearly 60 years old when he finally came across the box again covered with dust in an attic. He had found he was often thinking about those days cleaning out his Grandmother’s house by the river when he began the process of cleaning out his own Mother’s place in Hokitika.

His daughter Sarah had called out to him, “what’s this old box, Dad?”. She had agreed to come over this Saturday and devote a few hours to help him out. A reluctant addition was his granddaughter Jane who walked in and immediately turned the old TV on before taking over the chair in the lounge. John walked up the stairs to the attic and stooped down to get through the door and enter the small room.

Sarah sat at the far end underneath the window. A small amount of light from outside came in just that end of the room through the dusty windows. Sarah had dragged the box out of the corner into the light and a dust trail had clearly been scraped across the floor.

They spent the next hour crouched there together. They looked at the names, the old family tree, the foreign language that was so incomprehensible. At age 15 John had not appreciated what these papers were. Now he felt like they were clues that needed to be explored further. His granddaughter Jane was just 17 but she put it best when they finally decided to carry the box downstairs and described what they had found to her.

“A boxful of jigsaw pieces,” she said, before turning back to stare at the TV. John had to agree with her. He wasn’t sure how it all fit together but it certainly felt like it was a challenging puzzle. He decided to take the box out and load it into his car to take home with him. As he walked out he saw his daughter Sarah was looking at the TV and then back at her daughter, clearly debating whether she should say something. Loading the box in the back only took a minute. When he walked back up to the door of the house he caught the tail end of their conversation.

“... well, it’s certainly ‘better’ than hanging out with those ‘bad influences’, as you call them, isn’t it?” said Jane, without even looking over at her Mother, who had sat down at the kitchen table with a frown on her face. Uncertain what to say. Letting silence settle uncomfortably and perhaps clinging to a false hope that it was a bridge between them. John felt awkward even though he probably shouldn’t have. He stepped in to the house softly and crept back between them to make his way up the stairs to search for anything else buried in the decades of dust that might be left up in the attic.

***

John vividly remembered one of the final trips to the hospital those decades before to see his Grandmother. She lay a little propped up on the bed, brown skinned still among the white pillows and sheets that covered her body. He sat on the left side of the bed and her eyes were looking away from him out the window into the trees outside where the birds hopped from branch to branch. They didn’t talk much at those times, he just sat with her silently. On this visit he had reached out for her right hand and slipped something into her fingers, folding them over gently. She smiled as she turned to him.

“So, what have you brought me today, John?” She asked. She bent forward and opened her fingers to reveal the stone. He thought there was something wrong as she drew in her breath suddenly and he almost turned to call out for the nurse. Then she was reaching forward quickly with her left hand to trace the shape on the stone.

“Is this...”, she seemed unable to finish the sentence, or look at him.

She held it up higher into the light that streamed in from the window. The stone was perfectly round and smooth with a distinctive shape crossing over it. She looked at him.

“But we. We threw this one in, I mean, you threw this one in that first day, I searched for it. Through the bag. It wasn’t there”. The words tumbled out of her quickly.

He shrugged, “I guess it was so perfectly round I kept that one. Put it in my jacket pocket and took it home. I thought you might like it.” he had said.

She looked from him to the stone, and back again. She smiled.

“You know, this stone taught me a lot about priorities. I always wished that I could give it to you and now I am glad that you are the one who will have it.”

Then softly she said, almost to herself rather than to him, “you were always more important, I just needed to lose it to find that out.” She looked deep into his eyes. Smiled again.

“Keep it, until you know it is time”, she said. She folded his fingers over it.

***

When the sale of his Mother’s house had finally completed John was very surprised at the amount of money someone had been willing to pay for it. According to the estate agent it had “real character”. That must have been code for a house that was falling apart and needed a lot of work. He gave some of the money to his daughter Sarah, who was very appreciative.

Now he was here on an airplane feeling clumsy as he struggled to fill in the immigration card they had just given to him. What was the flight number again? He searched through the carry on bag to try and find the ticket. The entire trip had left him feeling nervous for several weeks beforehand. What was he thinking? Why was he doing this? He was very comfortable at home. There was nothing to prove and what else could he really find out by making this trip? Those were the questions he had pondered many times, lying awake at night.

And yet there was more to it than that. One thing, maybe the most important thing, was that Jane sat beside him. Yes, his granddaughter had agreed to come on this journey with him. The timing had worked out well - the money came in from the house sale, the holidays were on before University would start, her getting pulled over and given a warning and of course the drugs (that, in theory, he did not know anything about). It had not been John’s idea at all in fact but instead was his daughter’s. They were having a talk one evening and she had raised it. Talking with him about the family history and the research he had done the last few months online and the connection he had made back in Sonora.

“Maybe you should actually go.” Sarah had said.

He just grunted, “hmm”, not convinced.

“And take Jane too?”. She asked, looking away.

“Hmm”, he said.

But in reality he could see the logic behind that idea. He could see that Jane desperately needed a change of scene more than anything else. A chance for a different perspective. And that is what had won him over, in the end. So they had driven to Christchurch airport and started the journey and now here he was somewhere sailing high over the Pacific filling in a form with small writing about bio security risks and confirming he was carrying less than $10,000 in cash. He felt out of place.

The drive up from San Francisco was extremely tiring after the long flight from Auckland. They pulled into a small motel in a place called Jamestown. The next morning they followed South Fork Road until they came to the log cabin that was described in the message. They got out of the car and stretched, both feeling nervous. They walked under the shade of the tall pine trees and across the driveway and knocked. No one answered for a while and then they heard some sounds from inside and the door silently swung open.

A curious face looked out at them. Curious both because of the expression it wore and the character it clearly contained. John could only think of Julie his grandmother when he saw her. There were only hints there, as if an artist had sketched Julie from memory and so got it a bit wrong. Short white hair circled the face with blue eyes like the ocean coloured in. She beckoned them both inside.

This meeting had been planned for months and had been sparked by the content of that old box of Julie’s. John had spent many days sifting through it all and getting a better sense of who was who. The old letters had been a revelation, sent back and forth by Julie when her different cousins and aunts and uncles were still living. One of the first things he had done was to prepare a letter describing himself and where he fit in the family along with a family tree that he created. He sent that off to each of the addresses that Julie had received a letter from. It was a bit like a lottery and he wondered if there would be any responses at all. Then one day the letter had come with the California postmark and he had been filled with anticipation as he opened it.

The correspondence that started then had led to John sitting here on a couch with his granddaughter, nodding and smiling at this second cousin of his. The sun flowed in through the open window and in the distance he could hear a stream falling over rocks. Rainbows scattered around the room from a small glass ball that had many edges and sat proudly in the middle of the window ledge. This living connection to his grandmother was named Marian Odegaard and she was telling them now about her family.

“My great grandfather was named Peter Odegaard and he emigrated from Norway with his sister Sigrid around 1910 and they both ended up here in California. Peter died long before I was born but I remember Sigrid - we called her Auntie. She loved this house and walking down by the stream. She often would take me down there during the daytime and sometimes even at night. I do not remember actually meeting your Grandmother Julie, but I probably did. I knew that she had moved to New Zealand and we exchanged letters many years ago when I was much younger.” She looked over her cup at them. It was hard to tell how old she actually was. Perhaps 85 but, then again, she could be even older.

She reached over to the shelf and picked up the little sun catcher and then she held it out to Jane.

“Perhaps you can find a use for this,” she said.

Jane took it into her hands and turned it over.

Marian said, “I think Sigrid would like to know that her great great granddaughter had this, even if it will leave my room a little less colourful”. She smiled at Jane, who seemed overwhelmed and had simply mouthed back, “thank you”, before looking down at the small glass ball and holding it up to the light.

She turned to John. “And for you, I have this.” She held out a small envelope. John opened it and flipped through some old photos and letters. He recognized some of the writing but not all of it - there would be time later to read them. He stopped at one photo of a little girl and an old woman standing beside a stream. He pulled it out and showed it to Marian.

She took it and said, “Ah yes, Sigrid and Julie. I can tell that the photo was taken right down there at the stream - would you like to see where?”

And so they found themselves following behind Marian under the canopy of large oak trees and alders until they came to a small bridge. Around them blackberries grew in patches and the sun filtered through the trees and formed patterns on the small stream before them. John found himself breathing deeply, feeling the wind, the warmth of the sun and the sound of the birds and the stream and imagining his grandmother standing in this same spot. So much time had passed between his visit here and Julie’s and yet it almost felt like the thinnest of veils that he might just be able to find a way through if he concentrated hard enough. He was glad they had made the effort to come and felt a peace he had not had for a very long time.

***

Jane looked up from the stream in front of them and saw that her Grandfather’s eyes were half closed. Marian, the ancient old lady who had led them here, stood blinking at the light reflecting off of the water. On the trip over Jane had read some of the papers her Grandfather had brought with him and so now she picked her way down the steep bank to the waters edge and bent halfway down, shuffling forward and brushing hair in behind her ears, scanning the bank as she moved slowly along. She picked out a few pretty coloured rocks and put them in her left pocket (her right one had the glass ball she had been given). Finally she found a stone that was the right shape and picked it up. She held it up to Marian and John so they could see, then she raised it twice in the air and turned towards the water. It skipped three times before it sank. She searched for another while listening to Marian and John who were chatting and laughing together about that old family tradition. It felt good to be here, with no pressure, just being alive in that moment. There was no sudden point which she would later look back on as being the critical time when this trip would be cited as a turning point. It was almost like she was a tree that had been planted in dry soil and this experience was soaking through and letting roots have the chance to grow.

When they returned to New Zealand Jane continued to spend a lot of time with her Grandfather John because she had begun studying at the University of Canterbury in Christchurch. A few years before he had sold up his place on the West Coast and moved to Whitecliffs which was about 40 minutes away from Christchurch, heading into the mountains. The small cabin he had there was nestled in among the trees and you could hear the Selwyn River when you stood outside. It reminded her a lot of that place back in Sonora that they had visited and the stream that ran down through the valley by the cabin there.

On her visits she helped him scan in all the old documents about the family and order them into boxes that were all labelled and then stored under his bed. Out in the garden they planted apple trees, pear trees, lemons and feijoas and enjoyed the long summer evenings and the twilight that never seemed to fade. It was on one of those evenings that he had given her the stone. The perfectly round stone with the criss cross on it. She knew what it was of course, as he handed it to her. She almost did not want to take it because it felt like there was some prediction of the future and finality in it being passed on to her. In a way that is exactly what it was. John was gone a few years later while she was traveling in Europe. She was left feeling hollow, without anything else to say, as if the phone conversation she had started had the reception cut out and had left her talking into the air.

When she got home just a few weeks later she went out to the property at Whitecliffs. Her Mother was still over in Hokitika so it was her Aunt who had taken it on herself to tidy up. There wasn’t much left after that. She wondered if the boxes were lying in the dump being slowly saturated by rain. It made her ache inside to think of it. Now the fruit trees were producing for no one and the ripened spoils lay on the ground being eaten by the birds. She sat in the old couch looking out at them feasting and turned her gaze to the mountain range in the distance. She could hear the stream in the distance but all else was still and silent.

***

“Hello”, I say.

It has been at least 20 minutes on hold. Perhaps 30 minutes.

“Hello, can I help you” says the voice, finally, at the other end. An unusual accent.

I have prepared in my mind what to say and hope it will work out. I start to speak.

“Yes, yes, hello, my name is Jane and, look, this may be unusual, but I am trying to get access to something my Grandfather set up and it is not working. I know the username but not the password.” I say.

“Well, you can reset the password by hitting the ‘forgot login’ on the right hand side”, she says back, crisply and efficiently. There must be other calls to be answered.

“No, the problem is I cannot access the email that was used to set it up either - you see, my Grandfather died. Several years ago in fact. Is there any way you can help?”

And so it went on. The person on the other end of the line could not help, didn’t really want to. She was just answering another phone call, listening to another complaint. In the end she took my email address and said she would look into that. I was still talking to her when I was surprised to see a message appear online in my inbox which just said “sigridjuliejohn321” as its subject.

I say slowly, “Did you ...” to the lady on the line.

“Yes, these calls are recorded, so I am sure you understand ... “ her voice just trailed off.

And here I had thought she had no interest. I smile. “Yes, I do, thank you.” I say, and hung up.

With that final piece I log in and I saw them all there, the scans of the old documents, the letters, the photos. I felt a lightness and breathed a little easier.

I stood up from the computer and stretched, then walked out of the living room into the hallway. The sun was streaming in from the old stained glass window and it made the old wooden floor colourful at this time in the morning. Rainbows scattered this way and that from the small glass ball that Marian gave me those years before.

Over and over in my hands I folded the stone back and forth. It always feels smooth and cool to my touch. I glanced towards the half shut door at the end of the hallway and wondered how long my son will sleep for. The curtains were pulled tight in there to make it dark which might meant he would sleep for 2 hours. This was my quiet time, my rest in the day when I wasn’t on baby duty. I stood by his door and listened closely. Yes, little John would probably let me have some more time alone.

I walked back into the lounge room and put the rock onto the window sill, next to the small glass ball. Rainbows still filled the room as the shade from the trees outside had not interrupted the sun yet. In the kitchen I poured myself a cup of tea and then sat down in the most comfortable chair to sip it. I looked out the window at the birds that darted from branch to branch and listened to the sound of the stream in the distance.

“The End is the beginning” is the third in a series of three interconnected short stories. You can read the first story, “What Julie lost and what she found”, here. The second story, “A decision is made”, is here.

Simon Nielsen 12/9/21 Simon Nielsen 12/9/21

A Decision Is Made

“The letter itself sat there on the table. The envelope lay beside it, ripped apart and empty. A few pages with long cursive writing scratched on them was all that had emerged. Those pages just had words written there. Simple words really. Words about a new country, a new opportunity, a new century, a new chance. Words that were about to tear our family further apart.” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe tells a story of new beginnings and lost lands.

By Steven Moe

I watched as my brother Peter cut up his meat. The candle flickering in the middle of the table cast long shadows on his face. He kept cutting and cutting and never taking a bite, as if that would prevent him having to answer our Father.

“You’ve read the letter, so what do you think?” My Father said again, impatiently looking at Peter. It wasn’t really phrased as a question. We knew exactly what my Father thought already because he had spent the last 20 minutes explaining that. Now he was asking his youngest son to agree. I concentrated on my own plate and stole glances at my brother who sat across the table from me. He was only a year older than me yet the weight of this decision rested on his shoulders rather than mine.

“Well?”, said my Father.

The letter itself sat there on the table. The envelope lay beside it, ripped apart and empty. A few pages with long cursive writing scratched on them was all that had emerged. Those pages just had words written there. Simple words really. Words about a new country, a new opportunity, a new century, a new chance. Words that were about to tear our family further apart. My Uncle had written them and probably had the best intentions in mind as he did. That would not change their impact.

“There are many jobs here. Many carpenters are needed as construction is booming. Even cars are abundant and many families have one. The buildings of New York are very tall and when you come in by ship you pass a large monument called the “Statue of Liberty”. I urge you to consider sending those who have no connections and I will find them work here in Seattle.”

There were some other pleasantries at the beginning and end about how they were doing and messages to others in the family here but that was the important part. The part that had caused my brother to forget how to speak. All of us around the table knew what our Uncle meant by his reference to those with “no connections”. This farm was small and there could be only one heir. That would be my eldest brother who was on a trip to Oslo at the moment. Of course, I was 17 and soon enough would be married to someone who could provide for me. Well, that was my hope. A particular face emerged in my mind but then evaporated away quickly when my brother finally spoke.

“I am not sure, Father” my brother said, “I love it here in Kragero. The town, the ocean, my friends. I do not want to leave this place.”

My Mother got up from the table and cleared some dishes. She was biting her lip and did not look towards my Father. So many had left already to go to the United States and now she might be losing her son as well. I watched her retreat into the dark kitchen where she lit a small lamp. I wanted to join her, to retreat from this scene, but I sat still instead.

And then I saw it. I had not expected this because of the speech that had come before but My Father’s eyes had wavered - I was sure of it. He had looked away, then back again - it was quick, but I was confident of it now. My brother probably had not seen this as he was still moving the meat around his plate. It was watching my Father’s deep blue eyes that showed me this and suddenly I realized that he probably felt the same as my Mother. Could it be? Then why extol the benefits of a country he had never set foot on, which is what he had been doing since the letter was opened? When he spoke next I began to understand.

“Son, I ... I have so little to give you here. I work hard, but ...”. There was silence. My brother had glanced up when the words stopped. Perhaps like me he had understood more than words could even convey. Outside the wind continued to blow and I was sure in the morning there would be snow covering the fields. It would be the first snow of the year and it felt ominous that it was arriving tonight.

My brother’s response had been brief and my Father’s reply seemed to defuse the need to explore the topic further that night. The plate with the meat still on it was taken through to the kitchen and I saw my Mother grab hold of the hands that held it and look into his face. I could understand that she did not want to lose a son, even if there were so few opportunities here. “We can make a way”, was her response to most difficulties. She still told us how her own Father had made due with bone porridge during the harsh winters many decades ago. “We can make a way”, that had been her reaction to whatever life had thrown at her. But to lose her son to a ship that would carry him for weeks to a land she would never have the time or money to travel to. What do you do with such a reality?

***

The next morning I went for a walk very early in the day. The night had not yet given up its hold and the sun seemed weighed down and unable to rise up over the horizon. As my brother had said, the town of Kragero was near to the ocean and walking beside the water was also one of my favorite places to wander. It was sometimes called Perlen blandt kystbyene, “The Pearl of the Coastal Towns”, and if you visit you can see why. The Telemark region has hundreds of islands in that area and the water is a beautiful color blue with tall evergreen trees lining the shore. The trees grow straight and true and are fed by the frequent rain. Some hang precariously on the edges of cliffs above the water below. It looks like they will never fall and crash into the sea they wave a greeting at each day when the breeze blows through their branches.

The snow had not been as heavy as the wind last night had shouted that it might be so I was able to walk easily enough as it was already melting in the sun. I had a destination in mind. My Grandfather’s cottage was at the end of the beach and up a small hill. I knew he would not serve me the bone meal porridge of my Mother’s story. Instead there would be tea and perhaps even a biscuit of some kind. Since my Grandmother Elise had passed away he had learned many new skills and seemed to particularly enjoy baking. I had enjoyed teaching him some of the things I had learned from my mother and now one of my specialties, krub, was his favorite too. I would laugh at him whenever I opened his door in the evening and smelled the sliced potatoes in cheese.

“Grandfather, I see you have stolen my recipe once again.” I would say.

“But of course, my dear” he would gaze at me over his small glasses and reply with a small laugh and smile that turned his whole face into a welcome.

Usually he would be sitting in the small lounge in his favorite upright chair by the window smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper, when he could afford to buy the tobacco and the paper. Sometimes it was just one of those activities instead. His next words were always, “won’t you stay? There just happens to be enough for two”. Of course I always did stay. I loved this game that we played and I knew that he loved it too. He said I reminded him of his daughter, my Mother, and since I was the only granddaughter he had I had grown up being more than a little spoiled by him.

Walking along the path by the shore that day I turned over the conversations at dinner in my mind as if they were smooth rocks I had picked up from this beach. There were so many angles, so many perspectives. What was the right thing to do? Many others from our village and even further afield had made the same decision as my Uncle. They were saying that even in the big cities people were making the decision to move. To leave the “old country”, as they called it once they arrived in America.

I heard a voice shouting. “Sigrid Odegaard”. I turned around and looked back where I had come. The voice yelled again, “Sigrid Odegaard. Sigrid Odegaard!” I had stopped and turned around at this point and was also the only one there so the formality of using my full name seemed rather unnecessary. Then I saw that it was Sarah. I will not lie at this point, I do not care for Sarah. We were in the same class at school and she is only a few weeks older than me. However, you wouldn’t know that from the way she treats me. Well, it is not just me, it was everyone in school younger than she was. She acted as if her birth date had destined her to lord over all who came after her. I think she used my full name because it made us seem less like friends and more as if she was my teacher.

“Sigrid Odegaard”, she said as a statement when she had finally caught up. She stopped a few feet away and put her hands on her hips. She was smiling widely as if she had just been told a secret, like what she was being given for Christmas. I smiled back at her. She was not tall and had what I would only call a solid, sturdy sort of beauty with a wide waist and strong arms. Looking at her mother you could see that she would end up as a very matronly sort of figure. But she had been blessed with striking blue eyes that were the same colour of the ocean we walked beside. They seemed to radiate out and were hard to resist, when she decided you were worthy of their attention.

“I saw you walking off and I thought that I just must speak to you”, Sarah said. I smiled back at her. Smiling seemed easier than talking and I knew she would not need much encouragement to tell me whatever she wanted to say.

“I wanted to make sure you were invited to my house tomorrow afternoon”. She said. I must have looked quite surprised. I had never been inside her house although I had passed by it enough times. Since her father was the Mayor it was hard to miss as it was right in the centre of town.

Sarah had seen the look on my face. “I’ve asked all the girls” she said, to explain. I could guess who they would be. I knew them all well, of course - a dozen or so of us were all around the same age. You couldn’t help but know everyone in a small town like ours. She must have seen some hesitation in my eyes because she opened hers even wider and gave me their full benefit while saying.

“Oh please, you must come. It just won’t be the same if you are not there.” She smiled again at me.

What could I say to that? All I could do was nod and assure her I would come. She turned away and bounced off down the path by the shore back where she had come from. I turned to walk the other way and it was then that I noticed a stone. You may rightly observe that to be a strange thing to notice but I did so. I bent down and picked it up and felt the cold of it lying there in my outstretched palm. It was almost round and the melting snow made it wet and dark, almost black. I brushed it off and slipped it into the left pocket of my skirt and then continued walking.

When I arrived at my Grandfather’s house I could tell he was in because of the smoke that rose from the chimney in imitation of the pipe that seemed to have been built onto his lips. I knocked gently and opened the door at the same time. I could see him around the corner as he was sitting in the kitchen eating some bread for his breakfast. As I came close I could see the butter melting on top and it made me hungry to see the jam he had spread on over that. I sat down and reached for a slice myself. He just nodded and smiled. It was comfortable just to sit together and we did not feel the need to pollute the silence with talking.

“So what have you brought me today?”, he finally asked. He knew there would be something. Whenever I walked along the beach there was something to be found - some dried seaweed, some driftwood, the shell of a crab. I put the stone on the table. He looked at it, then picked it up and lifted it up and down.

“A good size and weight and perfectly flat”, he said, and looked at me.

I nodded back. “It will go far”, he said. We sat again in our comfortable silence until he said, “Let’s go for a walk later”. He knew I would agree because one of the reasons I came so often to see him was the excuse of being outside and going for a walk. I put my hand in the other pocket and felt the letter there. Then I pulled my fingers back slowly and reached for more bread.

***

By the time we had finished breakfast the sun was much higher. We walked down to the shore, jumping over boulders, and threw rocks like the one I had found so that they would skim along the surface. It was fun to watch them although more often than not the waves would claim them on the first bounce. Eventually we tired of that game and I sat down on a large log that must have been tossed around for years because it was worn smooth. Despite its long journey from some unknown forest the strong wood remained, even if the bark had been completely stripped away. My Grandfather sat down too. He was the same height as me but much thinner. He was too thin, actually. The changes were gradual and it was only by remembering him with my Grandmother that I could picture what he had used to look like. He needed to eat more of that bread and butter and Krub.

“So, how is Peter?” he asked. I gave a little start and wondered how he knew that my mind was thinking of my brother at that moment.

“He is fine. He went with Father today to buy some seed and other supplies,” I replied. I turned my gaze out to the ocean.

My Grandfather looked at me with raised eyebrows. “No, not that Peter,” he said.

I blushed. I could feel it rising up. How did he know about me and Peter Anders? Small town life at work once again no doubt. But there wasn’t really much to say, except for the fact that Peter was the man for me. Of that much I was sure. The last time we had spoken was yesterday, before I had returned home to the drama of my Uncle’s letter. I had every impression that he was thinking about something big as we walked down the road. Something that he was struggling to express and I knew exactly what it was. That lack of communication was my signal because normally we spoke freely and, most importantly, we laughed about everything. I felt like when I was with him I improved somehow and became a better version of myself. A bit like how I felt about my Grandfather, he helped me aspire to become better even if the reward was just a kind word of encouragement from his lips.

Peter was the only son in his family and their family farm was just a few minutes down the road from ours so we had grown up knowing each other. Summers in the fields, winters skiing to school. Originally I had gone over as a child to spend time with his sister Ruth. She was just a few months younger than I was and so we had a lot in common. As the years passed I became a frequent a visitor to their kitchen and spent many mealtimes around the table with their family. That was why It was going to work out perfectly because this way I could still stay near to my parents.

I didn’t know how to express all this to my Grandfather though. It made me feel suddenly shy and uncertain. I diverted the topic away down another road by reaching into my pocket for the folded up letter.

“Father thinks that there may be a better life in America”, I said, as I passed it to him.

I waited some time as I watched him unfold it and begin to read. The Uncle who had written this was on my Father’s side but my Grandfather had known him as a boy as well so all the news and greetings in the letter needed no translation. I watched the birds rising and falling through the air like kites as they plunged into the sea in front of us. If they managed to catch a fish they stayed a while floating on the top, otherwise they took off again to dive down. Over and over they plunged down in search of their elusive prey. I wasn’t sure which I identified with more but I hoped that I was more like the bird, although the fish could always escape by swimming away further and seeking the safety of the dark and deep fjords.

When my Grandfather turned to me finally I saw there were tears in his eyes, but I didn’t understand why until he spoke.

“You should go”, he said.

The words were said in an almost casual way as if he thought I had been asking his permission and he did not want to offend me. I had not expected that response at all and I quickly realised I had not explained fully who my Father had been talking about. My going had certainly never even been hinted at by my Father.

“No, no”, I said quickly, “Not me - Peter. Father thinks that Peter should go to America because there is no farm here to pass on. He is the one with no connections that my Uncle is talking about.” I looked closely at him - at his eyes, his glasses, his white hair poking out from under the brown hat. He was a hard one to read right now, perhaps because of the emotion he had just gone through. He seemed relieved but I could not tell what he was thinking and as we sat in silence I could only guess. I suddenly felt that somehow this silence was covering over a rift between us that I had never expected would be there. I wished that I had the words to transport us back in time what was only really a minute or two but it was now too late.

***

I knew something deeper had happened when the next morning I found my feet did not turn and take me on my usual path down to my Grandfather’s house. Instead they turned down the long walk towards town and I found myself eventually strolling down the small streets there instead. Houses crowded together hunched over in the rain like beggars. It was a gentle rain today which fell lightly and did not interfere with much. My Father and brothers would be pleased because it had been so dry recently. Over dinner the previous night no one had mentioned the letter or America and instead we had talked only about the animals and the need for rain. I had learned long ago that the weather was both a farmer’s best friend and his worst enemy. In fact, we talked about the weather so much that it almost took on a physical presence in our conversations and sat there in the darkest corner by turns laughing with us in our merriment or shouting at us in our tears.

Despite the soft drizzle of rain this morning there were a number of people out walking through the narrow streets of Kragero. You could hear the sound of the seagulls in the distance. That sound help reinforce to summer time visitors that no where was very far from the sea here. The sound of the water and the birds was the music that accompanied us all through our daily life. At this time of year there were very few who came down from the North to visit. The winter sleep would soon be overtaking everyone throughout Norway as the days grew ever shorter.

Eventually I found myself wandering past the childhood house of Theodor Kittelsen, the painter, until I came to the shore and looked out at the island of Øya a short stones throw away. I sat down and watched the small wooden boats coming and going, looking as if they controlled their own destinies when in fact men with oars and sails directed them here and there. I heard some laughter echoing down the street behind me and then the same voice, “Sigrid Odegaard” it called. “Sigrid Odegaard”. I reluctantly turned from the boats and looked back towards Sarah. She was with two others, Ingrid and Marit, and they were all laughing at some private joke.

“Sigrid Odegaard. I hope you haven’t forgotten this afternoon”, she said, as she walked by where I was. In fact, I had completely forgotten and tried hard to hide my true emotions.

“I’ll be there”, I said to her.

That left me a lot of the rest of the day to fill in so I passed the time visiting different relatives who lived in town. My parents both come from large families so there is no shortage of cousins or Aunts and Uncles. By the time I got to Sarah’s house the wet weather had moved on and a weak sun shone through onto the street. I took it as a good omen as I knocked on the door resolutely.

Sarah’s father Eric opened the door. He smiled down at me from his enormous height. It was hard to understand how his daughter was so short when her father had to stoop to enter most houses. He was a well liked and kind man, as a mayor should be to secure the votes of the public. But he genuinely did seem to care in a way that was not in a hunt for favor in the next election. He spent time even out our way talking with the farmers when the rain stopped for long periods. His large beard covered his entire face and when he laughed he would throw back his head and roar up into the sky in delight.

“Ah, Sigrid, I am glad you could come. How is your Father coping with the weather this year?”. You couldn’t help but respond to the warmth of his personality which made you feel like what you had to say was both important and true.

“Very well, or, I should say, as well as is possible”, I replied as I came in and shook the coat off of my shoulders.

“Yes, yes, I understand, it is very true” he nodded at my words as if I had successfully summarised all that was wrong in Norway and how we might be able to fix every problem while we were at it as well. I smiled, imagining him later that night composing a letter to the King with my comment.

I walked through to a small room where Sarah sat on a small couch with Ingrid on one side with Marit on the other. She looked up at me and then glanced through to the kitchen at the other end of the room where I could hear the sound of glasses and her Mother working away.

“Over here, Sigrid Odegaard”, she called kindly. Sarah signaled to Marit who quickly moved aside so I could sit down beside Sarah.

Sarah’s father had passed through the room and gone into the kitchen. I looked around the room and was frankly very impressed. It made me realize how very modest our own home was to see the comparative luxury here. They had large lamps and paintings were hung from the wall. There were several photos including some of Eric dressed up in his mayoral clothes. The rug underneath our feet felt thick and warm. Through the window I could see the ocean and I thought about how nice it would be to sit on my own and watch the boats from here.

“Will they bring some Akevitt now, Sarah?” whispered Marit across my face, as if I wasn’t there. She sounded excited.

“Yes, yes,” Sarah said, clearly annoyed. She seemed to have been holding her breath so the words were exhaled fast, as if she was quickly batting away a fly. Akevitt was only drunk at special times and I had only ever been allowed to have a sip. It was an alcoholic drink made from potatoes and grain. In the kitchen I heard Sarah’s father laugh and I could picture him in my mind with his head held right back again. I glanced at the photo of him dressed up as the mayor and it made me smile to think of the formality of that picture with his frozen face that contrasted so much with the laughter I could hear now.

I heard another voice joining in the laughter and realised it must be Sarah’s mother. Then I heard a third laugh that had now joined in and I felt my entire body jump involuntarily. My suspicion was confirmed when I saw Eric walk out holding a tray that had 7 small glasses on it. Behind him was Sarah’s mother and behind that walked Peter.

They walked out, a merry trio, humming along to some tune that must have been the source of the joke. At any other time I would have been smiling now, just seeing Peter, but the context was all out of place for me. When he saw me he stopped in his tracks and his eyes widened while he still hummed the silly tune. Clearly he had not expected to see me here either.

Sarah’s father placed the tray on a small table and turned to us all with a grand motion, as if he were about to address the hundreds who had voted for him to be mayor. I looked to my side at Sarah and saw that her mouth was open. Not in a smile, more like the moment of anticipation before you begin to speak. Those beautiful blue eyes were narrowed and were watching my face with some kind of pleasure. I turned away from her and saw that Peter had sat down on another couch and was avoiding me, looking at Eric instead.

“I am so pleased that you girls, Sarah’s closest friends, could join us here today on such a happy day.” He turned to the tray and handed the glasses around to each of us. I somehow knew what he would say next and I wanted to close my eyes, as if that might stop it being true.

“An engagement is such a momentous time for a couple and I am so proud of Sarah and Peter and all that they will be to each other, for this community, and for our family.” He said, sounding again like he was talking to his voters.

I felt crushed, numb. I had no words to say, no action I could think of, until my feet took over the situation and I found that I was standing and walking out past Eric, past a petrified version of Peter, out the door, down the road, not even turning around once. I was breathing and walking, breathing and walking. One step and then another.

***

I thought about my Grandfather a few months later as I looked back through the clouds trying to pick out the last shore of Norway that we would see. My brother Peter stood beside me and we looked at each other with a pursed half smile, each sad in our own private ways. I knew that my brother was secretly thankful for my decision but the look on our Mother’s face would haunt us both for the rest of our lives in that far off land.

But back to my Grandfather. I had visited him even more of course. That final day I had gone to his house, feeling almost like it was a normal stroll, but knowing that this would be the last time I let me feet pick my way down familiar roads.

I knocked and opened the door and we played our little games with conversation. My trunk was packed back at home and tickets had been bought and paid for with a large portion of the cost of mine coming from my Grandfather.

“Grandfather, I don’t know”, I said. “Have I made the right choice?” There was no easy answer, no right answer.

He looked at me through teary eyes. “Sometimes it is the act of making the decision which legitimizes the choice”, he said. “Now that you have chosen, it is the right decision.”

He smiled and walked over to the small fireplace. He reached down inside on the left and pulled something out.

“Did you know that this was my Grandmother’s secret hiding place?” He asked, looking over at me to see my reaction. I was quite astonished because I thought I had explored every part of this house over the years. I had never noticed any such place before.

I was sitting in his favorite chair and he came over beside me. He reached down and placed something into my hands.

It was a rock, but not any ordinary rock. For a start it was perfectly round like the sun. One side was quite a dark colour and it felt cool to touch. The other side had thin white lines which stretched across it almost perfectly forming the shape of a cross.

“I found it here, after she had died. It holds a story, I am sure, but I do not know what it is.” He said.

He folded my fingers over it. “Please take it, to remember me”, he said. “I feel like it is time to pass it on. You were always going to have it. I always knew that. I remember when you were a little girl and came here I thought of giving it to you then but always felt I should wait and, perhaps, now we know why.”

I felt the stone resting there in my hand and nodded, looking up at him. I am nodding in memory of that moment now as I feel the stone in my pocket with my left hand. I turn it over and over and trace the shape with my finger. The strong wind is blowing spray up from the waves below and we are starting to get wet but we continue to stare back at that dark shore which is still an echo on the horizon. After many long minutes Peter takes my arm.

“Come, Sigrid”, he finally says, “it’s time we went inside”.

“A decision is made” is the second in a series of three interconnected short stories. You can read the first story, “What Julie lost and what she found”, here. The third and final story, “The end is the beginning”, waits here.

Simon Nielsen 12/8/21 Simon Nielsen 12/8/21

What Julie Lost And What She Found

“When the kettle was full she turned to the stove to boil it and it was in that moment that she had a feeling that something was not quite right. She had lived with a certain order for so long it was almost as if she didn’t need to look to know. She put the kettle down and turned around slowly. The window sill above the sink was almost bare, as if someone had swept up the stones that had sat there. Julie knew in that instant what it meant and she ran towards the door.” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe tells a story of loss and belonging.

By Steven Moe

Julie turned her face away from the water flooding the gutters of the street and looked in the window of the café. She contemplated the large blueberry muffin that she had seen when she paid for the coffee. It was the last one there. She saw someone enter and wondered if her chance had passed by. As she continued to look in the café her eyes suddenly refocussed from the inside of the café to the fogged up glass of the window and she saw her reflection. Immediately she thought of her Grandmother. Could it be that so many years had passed now and she had become so similar? She turned away and looked out at the street.

The hard rain had turned to a softer drizzle that was now descending from the low lying clouds as if it were an advance guard that was setting the scene for the clouds themselves to arrive. The people here were used to this and most didn’t even carry umbrellas. They moved quickly along the streets of Hokitika and darted between the dripping buildings as if they were children searching for a place to hide. Julie sat outside the café under a covering and watched them scurrying past. The coffee was nearly done and she was still not here. Given how well she knew her daughter that shouldn’t have surprised her but it did.

She watched the rain soak into everything almost like a blanket being draped over the land until nothing dry remained. Julie glanced into the café and again and caught another glimpse of her Grandmother. She still remembered clearly her time one summer when she was seven living with her Grandmother in her cabin by the stream. That had been so many decades ago and on a different continent, far across oceans on the other side of the world.

She remembered arriving and feeling shy of this woman who she did not know. But who else was there to take her? And so she had spent those months learning the ways of her Grandmother, who was 77 then, almost the same age that Julie was now. At the time of course, she hadn’t known her age. What was an age to a child - she only knew that some people were adults and others were children, and that was the way things were.

But she had inherited the papers later, the most intriguing ones written in Norwegian and smelling old and drenched with mystery. A friend of a friend helped with translation and so Julie had learned her Grandmother’s birth date and some scraps about her early life and when she had left Norway to move to a new life in America.

On the first day she was there her Grandmother had taken her down to the stream. It was small and you could easily wade or even jump across it in places but they tiptoed over the wooden plank that was a bridge and which would gently rise and fall under their weight. They sat on the other side beneath a grove of Alder trees and watched the water rippling by, catching the sunlight and throwing it back for all to see. It seemed amazing that they were the only two spectators of such a show and Julie had stared long at the water. It was all so different to the city and all that she had ever known. She became aware that her Grandmother was watching her and turned to those deep green eyes that sat in her wrinkled face. They each just looked at each other for a long time, perhaps communicating more than mere words could offer.

Her Grandmother sighed, and then said quietly, “Lie on your back, Julie”, as she dropped her shoulders to the ground and flung her arms wide on the grass.

Julie didn’t understand but followed her lead and then looked up and saw that the world was alive with butterflies above their heads. Then she realised that they were green and were the leaves of the Alder tree being wooed by the wind into performing a dance.

“What do you see”, asked her Grandmother.

“I see butterflies”, Julie replied. She closed her eyes and opened them again. She heard her Grandmother make a sound of approval. She felt a sense of peace there beside the stream that she had not known for a long time.

Every day during that summer at about the same time they would come out and lie down beside the stream. And every time Julie was surprised at how her spirit seemed to rise up as if to join the leaves fluttering above.

Julie looked again at her reflection in the window and her Grandmother was gone and she remained. Dressed in a dark green rain jacket, white hair drawn back in a simple ponytail. She turned to look up Weld Street again and that is when she saw her daughter’s car heading towards her. Julie stood up and went to the side of the road where she was parking. She was surprised to see that in the front seat sat her grandson, John. She hadn’t seen him for years. He didn’t move or look up, instead staring down at a screen on his lap. Her daughter was there then beside her, and giving her a hug. It seemed odd to be so close to someone after so many years. Why had it been so long? She wasn’t even sure anymore. Her daughter was here now, and she was grateful for that.

“Mum”, her daughter was saying. It was her voice that brought her back to that moment, to reality, letting go of the hug and the illusion conveyed that everything was fine. Her eyes really took in her daughter then – saw the red eyes, the dishevelled hair, the panic in her expression.

“Mum, I wasn’t entirely clear when we spoke on the phone. I mean, what I really need is. I, what I wanted to ask is, can you...” Her words tumbled out like this for a long time, in a disorganised way that reflected her state of mind. “…I need you to take him, just for a few days, until I can work this out.”

Julie hadn’t been listening but somehow it all seeped in, “you want me to take John? To my house?” Her daughter nodding. Beckoning to John to get out. Pulling a bag of clothes from the back and dropping it by them. Waving as she spun the car around and sped away.

John looked as bewildered by developments as Julie felt. There wasn’t much to say. She picked up the bag and turned towards her car and he followed like someone would follow a nurse in a hospital leading them to the operating room.

He had been to her cabin when he was a baby, or maybe 1 year old. He wouldn’t remember it.

She found it hard to speak as she drove through the rain up the Arahura Valley, further and further away from the city and people. It was a miracle that she even had a phone line, when you thought about it. She slipped along the muddy road following the black line through the thick trees and bush until she reached her home. It was a small wooden house, painted an off-yellow colour that had faded in the sun and harsh winters. The dark red brick chimney that stuck from the top showed the fire had gone out long ago. Down the road a short walk was the Arahura River but she was safe from flooding this far away from it, nestled up in the curves of the hills that rippled through the entire valley. What must John think of this? She turned the key in the truck off and looked over at him. He was looking at the screen again.

***

That first night with her Grandmother Julie had cried. It was all so new. So far from the city and the sounds that she knew. The house was small, or maybe her Grandmother was listening outside the door. Either way, she came in and sat with her in the dark.

After about 10 minutes her Grandmother stood up. “Put on your clothes, we are going for a walk”, she said. This surprised Julie, but she was learning that her Grandmother would often surprise her. When they stepped out and began to walk up the path the night closed in around them and the darkness felt like it was something that could be reached out for and touched, like a curtain. Her Grandmother was humming a song, a Norwegian one, Julie could tell. She looked up at her and it was then that she saw the stars above. The city lights always dimmed them but out here they could be seen so clearly, as if there were a million little fires across the sky. She paused and her Grandmother looked down at her.

“Ah yes, the stars”, she said with her accent. She knelt down beside Julie. “Do you see them all, unchanging? They remind me that there is more to this life than living or dying, for we are each here for a reason.” Her Grandmother stopped abruptly, as if she had more to say but wanted to wait, or didn’t know the right words to convey the meaning. Julie could feel her eyes getting hot and the tears on her cheek. There was nothing more to be done. Nothing more that she could have done. They walked on through the night until they reached a spot in the stream which grew wider. The sound of the rapids died away completely and it looked almost like a small lake before them.

“The beavers are here this year”, said her Grandmother. They both looked intently into the night but could only see a low mound some distance away which was the dam that the beavers had created. In the dark it almost looked like a very small wave that didn’t get any closer.

Her Grandmother went down to the edge and picked up a small, flat stone. She turned and looked back at Julie and raised it twice in the air, as if they were part of a team and she was starting the play. Then she turned and faced the water and threw the stone, lightly, out into the darkness. Julie heard it hit the water, then heard it again. It had skimmed on the water twice before sinking.

“In Kragero, my grandfather taught me this one, long ago.” Her Grandmother said. Julie liked listening to her Grandmother speak, both for her accent and her unique choice of words. Anything she said sounded more like a song than a statement. She watched her pick up another stone, and saw her beckon Julie to her. It was strange to stand there in the dark, tossing stones into the water with her Grandmother. Julie found it very difficult to skim them on the top and had no success. They just plopped into the water with a small splash. To be honest, her Grandmother seemed to find it hard as well. Julie would only appreciate much later what skill this took to do at her Grandmother’s age. They came back the next day as well but during the day this time. The beavers were again discreet and made no appearance. But Julie gradually began to learn about the stones and how to get them to hit the water and bounce up again. The key was their shape. It was the roundest and flattest ones which were the best for they would sail like little Frisbees through the air.

When she later looked back on her life she realised that it was collecting rocks and stones to throw like that which marked her beginnings as a rock hunter. She found some that she didn’t want to throw into the water, and she brought them home instead. Soon she was noticing rocks everywhere that she went. There was an entire field of rock up behind the house. It stretched out in front of her and she learned that it was granite and no trees grew from it. She broke a piece off by jumping on an edge that poked out, and brought it home. She liked the different colours, the shapes, the patterns, the textures. The way that some would dissolve in water and let her finger off reds or yellows as if they were paint. Stones and rocks began to fill her dreams as well as her waking hours. Soon the front porch was littered with rocks that had been gathered – smooth pebbles from the stream, large round rocks that looked like melons, sharp obsidian that was black and yet translucent in places. That was hard to find but she enjoyed the challenge. Her Grandmother encouraged her in this and together they found a book at the small library in the town which described the rocks. She began to learn words like bedrock, outcrop, sandstone, shale and basalt. She had no idea that what had been started in those days would set a course she would follow the rest of her life.

***

Looking at it now, Julie realised that her house in the Arahura Valley was a distant echo of that home of her Grandmothers. She had boulders that lined the driveway and there were rocks around the house in uneven stacks, like small volcanos erupting. They had emigrated here so many years ago - could it really be 50 years? It must be as she had been 25 when they left California to come and explore for Pounamu – the greenstone of the South Island of New Zealand. She had read an article and seen some photos. They had finished their degrees – both studying geology at the same University. Getting married the week after they graduated. Life was there to be tasted and eaten. “Wouldn’t it be a great experience to visit New Zealand”? Which one of them had said it? She couldn’t recall but it didn’t matter – the other one had agreed right away.

It was an adventure and they had been young. They stayed a few weeks, which became months. Settling into a life here had been easy. They lived an entire decade together in that house, and had their daughter there too. He had been an expert at finding the some of the most difficult greenstone to source, which only could be found down south in Milford Sound. It was a skill which few possessed and the money he made from those finds paid their expenses, which were pretty minimal in that small house. They were happy.

She still recalled the moment of that kiss she gave him as he left for the trip down again to Milford Sound to look for more. When the news came back that he was lost she didn’t believe it and assumed he would just appear soon, so she cooked as if he would be there that night. In the end there was nothing to do but to pick up her baby daughter and continue on with this life. The Pounamu provided her some income. It was hard to find but like her husband she also seemed to have a sense of where it would be on the river bed or in the hills. These days she only took it from the beaches where she was allowed to collect. They looked just like normal rocks or boulders and it was often only by cutting them open that the beauty of the green stone inside was revealed.

The tourists who visited the West Coast bought sculpted pieces as a reminder of their trips but they didn’t really understand. What they purchased would mainly end up in drawers, stowed away and hidden from sight. She recalled the first time she had taken a large stone in and visited one of the Maori artists who sculpted them into different shapes. It was a hot day and she stepped into the cool shade of his studio, feeling conscious of her accent that immediately gave a first impression and flooded the room with unspoken assumptions. But fortunately he didn’t seem worried about her past or where she was from. In fact, he seemed very grateful for the stone she had brought in, for it would provide a good source for the necklaces, earrings and other crafts he created. That had been the start.

Of course, she had to learn a lot. She discovered that her favourite pounamu was not the nephrite jade that was so common but instead the bowenite that was called “Tangiwai”. It was clear, like glass and only found down near the place her husband had disappeared searching for it. One year, the year after he disappeared, she had gone there with her young daughter and spent a summer searching for Tangiwai – or was she really searching for him? It was the most ancient of pounamu and took its name from tangi (“to cry”), and wai (”water” or “tears”). The Maori she met in Milford Sound told her the full name was Koko-tangiwai, which referred to a deep sorrow that is never completely healed. “It is a tear water stone”, she was told. She could relate to that. She only found a few of them, despite deploying all her skills and neglecting her daughter for hours on end to hunt for more. One hung around her neck even now – it had never been sculpted but if you held it up to the light you could see the clear shade of green shining inside and through it, as if it were alive. It reminded her of her Grandmother’s eyes which had been almost the same colour.

***

One day towards the end of their summer together her Grandmother put something on the low wooden table where she sat eating porridge with raisins in it. The object was wrapped in paper.

“I will not be able to give you this, for your birthday, when you go back”, she said simply.

Julie looked at her, then unwrapped the paper. It was a napkin which was a light shade of blue. No tape, just folded over to conceal what was inside. She felt the stone before she saw it. It slipped coolly into her hand and she looked down at it. It looked like it was perfectly round and flat, like a small wheel. She turned it over and noticed the white line that criss-crossed it. One line was slightly longer than the other which made it form the shape of a cross.

She spoke gently and slowly, and Julie still remembered those words clearly, “This is from Kragero. From my grandfather – it is a memory. You can see, it is eternity breaking through and speaking through the very rocks themselves.” Julie took it up to her room and put it beside her bed. It felt different from the rocks she had been finding – this one had a story and had been a gift to her. She touched it again and ran her fingers over the lines.

The next day Julie’s eye started noticing how rocks sometimes had patterns or shapes in them. But she couldn’t find any by the side of the stream that had such a distinctive cross with two white lines going through them like a lower case ‘t’. This would be a challenge. Perhaps it was that combination or rarity and challenge that really started her on the rock collecting path. If it had been easier then what would have been the point? Over the years to come she was always looking out for rocks by the sea, rivers, streams, parks. And if she found one like that her Grandmother first gave her, then it would inevitably find a place at her home.

***

Julie got out of the car and grabbed John’s bag. They went into the house together and he sat down in the lounge. There wouldn’t have been a long tour of her house as it was so small but it would have been nice to show him around. Instead, the screen had his attention so she simply pointed to the toilet so he would know where that was. She went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The rain had died away and a few rays of sun lit up the window sill above the sink. She turned to fill the kettle and looked out at the trees and the drops which still clung to their leaves. The tree ferns in particular were weighed down by the water as if they were travellers carrying packs on a hike. As the water filled the kettle she looked at the window sill itself and saw the cross rock that her Grandmother had given her so long ago. It was now surrounded by many others from different rivers and streams, but none of them compared to the original. She reached out and picked it up and turned it over in her hand like she had done so many years ago, then she placed it back in position and turned to the boiling kettle.

When her husband had been alive drinking tea together had been a big part of the day. A chance to sit together and break out of the cleaning or reading or work they had been doing. These days it was a way to mark time, to have a break in the day and make sure all the hours were accounted for. She drank from the same cup with its chipped edges and stained insides which said “Sonora”. Just seeing the name reminded her of her Grandmother who had lived there so long. Drinking tea was familiar, a routine that she savoured and gave her comfort, like when she was a child and was asked to go and buy the bread fresh from the bakery. A smell of fresh bread still drew her back to that little shop and handing over the coins for a loaf of white bread which was still hot. The butter melting into a thick slice was the only addition it ever needed.

When her tea was done she thought about her next problem. She only had one bed. She hadn’t expected to have a small boy coming to stay with her when she set out that morning. Her daughter’s message had simply been that she wanted to drop by and see her. Not at her house, but in Hokitika. So when she drove into town there had been no planning on driving back with another person beside her. She decided that the couch would have to do and set about finding some sheets and a blanket. It wasn’t cold so it would be fine for him to sleep out there.

He was still buried in the screen while she cooked a simple meal for dinner. After they had eaten she said, “Let’s go for a walk”. He reluctantly put the screen down and they put on their rain jackets, just in case, and walked down towards the river.

“How are you feeling, John”, she asked, as they walked.

“I don’t know”.

“How are things at home?”

A pause. “Fine”.

“And school?”

“School is fine.”

She was struggling for topics. “How old are you now?”

“I’m 9.”

She wasn’t sure what else to say. So they walked on in silence until they reached the great Arahura River. It was much higher than normal because of the rain. Julie walked to the edge and subconsciously her eyes searched the rocks there on the bank. Julie couldn’t even stop herself anymore, it was just a natural reaction. This part of the river right in front was deep and slow moving. She saw a small cross rock and slipped it into her pocket. She glanced over at John. He seemed to be staring without looking at what was in front of them.

Julie had a thought then, and went to the edge. She spent some time searching and found a stone – a little too thick to work well but it was pretty flat. She turned to John. He had moved away, back up towards the road, and sat on a log.

“Your great, great Grandmother taught me this,” she called out loudly. She wasn’t sure he had heard her above the sound of the river. Suddenly she felt silly. She raised the rock twice in the air. There was nothing else to be done now – she was committed. She turned to the water and threw it as skilfully as she could. It hit the water once and then bounced high and splashed down before it sank out of sight. She turned back towards John and smiled at him.

His hands were in his pockets. “Can we go back inside?”, he called out.

She turned her back to the river and walked with him to the house.

***

The next morning they were having breakfast when his screen went black. He looked up from it, confused. They were eating toast and the steam wafted up from her cup of tea. They both looked through his bag of clothes but there were no cords there.

“Do you have a charger?” he asked. He moved close to her as he said this and spoke softly, as if it would help the answer to be yes. She didn’t like the screen, but she wished she could have helped him. That would have taken a true miracle. The most modern piece of equipment in her house was the old phone in the corner. You had to dial it using a circle which had numbers around the edge and it click clacked as it swung round back into position. She had no charger.

She shook her head. As she did this he turned his head into the sunlight, disappointed. She looked into his face then and saw much more than just a reaction to not having a charger. She reached out to him and tried to give him a hug but he pulled away.

“I didn’t want this. I just want …”, he slowed, as if to reveal himself in this way was a betrayal. There were tears and more there. It was thinking about that when Julie realised that his eyes were a deep green colour. She didn’t understand how it could have escaped her before now but she realised now that this boy right here stood as a living link to her own past, to her own childhood, to her own Grandmother. It had been too long to be away, to be apart from her daughter and from him. She knew that with a sudden clarity. But now he had taken the screen in his hands and sat curled in the sofa, as if his desire itself might will the screen to life again.

***

The morning passed quickly. They did not speak. After a lunch of soup and bread Julie went outside to the stack of wood lining the wall at the side of the house. John moved back to his place on the sofa. The fire had been used a lot recently because it cheered Julie up to have the flames at night when it was raining, even if it wasn’t very cold. She spent time stacking more wood into place, fitting them together like pieces of Lego.

When she came into the house she noticed that John wasn’t there. She looked around and saw his bag of clothes and the screen on the sofa but the jacket was not hanging on the door. She looked out the front window and saw him down beside the river. He would be safe enough there. She went to fill up her kettle and decided she would take her cup of tea down with her and see what he was doing. The trees and ferns had all dried out compared to the previous afternoon. Small birds now fluttered noisily among the branches in the sun.

When the kettle was full she turned to the stove to boil it and it was in that moment that she had a feeling that something was not quite right. She had lived with a certain order for so long it was almost as if she didn’t need to look to know. She put the kettle down and turned around slowly. The window sill above the sink was almost bare, as if someone had swept up the stones that had sat there. Julie knew in that instant what it meant and she ran towards the door.

She moved as quickly as she could down the road and she saw he was still there, standing at the edge. She called his name. She was running. Then she reached him and held his shoulders, while her eyes moved down to his feet. A grocery bag, one of the cheap plastic ones she kept under the sink. He looked up at her face and down at the bag. She was on her knees then, quickly clambering, clawing desperately through the stones and not finding what she was after. She sat back heavily and felt her eyes closing and a great weight pressing her down.

Then she heard his voice. It was as if it was calling her back across ages, into this moment, now. He was saying, “I can not make them skip like you, Grandmother. But, I am trying.”

She opened her eyes. She saw the river. She saw stones. She saw sky. She looked up at him.

Something had broken, snapped in her, like a flood breaking over the banks of a river. She looked back at the river and the rocks along the bank. She breathed in deeply and started to stand. She felt him try to help, a small little arm under hers, pulling up.

Julie was standing. She looked around her and took another long, deep breath. Then she looked down at the bag. She turned her face towards John. She smiled then, and said slowly, “Pass me the very flattest one you can find, and you take one as well”. He bent down and searched through the bag, then handed her one of the stones. He held another in his hand.

She raised her stone to him twice and then she turned to face the water.

“What Julie lost and what she found” is the second in a series of three interconnected short stories. You can read the second story, “A decision is made”, here. The third and final story, “The end is the beginning”, is here.

Simon Nielsen 12/7/21 Simon Nielsen 12/7/21

Why Storytelling Matters

"My mother had taught me something important. There is no person who is not interesting – if you think that someone is not interesting, then that is your fault not theirs – every single person has a story." Lawyer and podcaster Steven Mee shares a personal and moving reflection on the power of stories and storytelling.

By Steven Moe

Kia ora Koutou, Ko Steven Moe toku ingoa.

Stories can be like seeds planted that grow into new ideas.

Think about this – two hundred years ago how many of our ancestors could read and write? Instead, they told stories – Why? Because stories connect deeper with our souls.

If I say that SDG 6 is about clean water and sanitation that has far less impact than saying: “This is 6 year old Maria, she draws water from a well every day which is infected with diseases for her family to drink”. Stories matter.

This picture tells a story. It’s of a young boy named Steven Moe – I had just moved to New Zealand in 1984. My story is of someone with an accent that at times places him outside of the culture he has grown up in, but whose heart is filled with a Turangawaewe of Aotearoa.

We were living in rural Papakaio, just North of Oamaru. On the left of our house was a water race and then a graveyard, on the right was a paddock of frightened sheep scared of the Magpies swooping above them.

There are other stories in this photo – my Father Norman, my Mother Marion, my sister Natalie.

And can you see another story? It’s the more ancient one. A story of rocks strewn like a geological lolly scramble on the beach at Moeraki.

This picture shows us the strands of stories that wove together to form a tapestry of my family’s life.

We can only follow one of these stories on.

The boy we saw in the last photo is now 23 – I am with my Mother and had just graduated from Canterbury University.

My Mother had taught me something important. There is no person who is not interesting – if you think that someone is not interesting, then that is your fault not theirs – every single person has a story.

Stepping out on my own for me involved working as a lawyer for Russell McVeagh, a law firm in Wellington then moving to London, Tokyo and Sydney for more than a decade working for a firm with 4,000 lawyers in 55 offices.

But there was a theme. That theme was helping already wealthy people earn a bit more.

We all see the World through a lens which is shaped by our experiences.

I started to realise that maybe I had on the wrong set of glasses.

We used to talk about it, working late at night, heating up another microwave dinner, looking out at the lights strewn like stars below the heights of the high rise office. We called them golden handcuffs – sure, they are handcuffs… but look, they are gold. It’s hard to break free.

But my story shows that it is possible. I realised that maybe I could take all my experiences to date and reinterpret them, reimagine them for a new context, one which was about purpose and being a lawyer – yes the words “lawyer” and “purpose” don’t have to be mutually exclusive terms.

It was time to write my story.

It was time to come home.

When I got back to New Zealand in 2016 I started meeting amazing people here in Otautahi, Christchurch. People who had stories.

I shifted gears and became an impact driven lawyer as a catalyst for positive change. This involves supporting purpose driven organisations that range from NFPs to Social Enterprises to start-ups and for profit business. I like to call it the Impact Sector.

This is a photo of an Impact Lunch where up to 40 people gather to share food and tell each other stories about their journeys.

Why? Because our stories matter.

So let’s recap where we are up to.

Our stories matter.
There is no person who is uninteresting.
Each one of us can be a catalyst for change.

So I wondered if I could help get more good stories out there. I met amazing people no one knew about. The media is obsessed with short word limits and negative spin.

It was Robert Louis Stevenson who said: “Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds that you plant.” So what would this mean for me – what could I do? I started a podcast.

Seeds podcast was birthed at the time of the Social Enterprise World Forum in September 2017 and since then I’ve put out one story a week, now with 267 episodes in total.

The idea is simple – seeds look like they are dead – if you give them the right conditions of soil, water and light then they will grow.

The stories on the podcast are like seeds because when you hear them, something new just might grow in your own thinking.

If you look up “seeds” in podcasting apps like Spotify or Apple Podcasts then this is the image you will find. It is intentional that the image is of a dandelion – how often do we think of it as a weed, but what is it that we make our wishes on when we blow and scatter their seeds. Maybe it is all about perception.

Where some see a weed – others see a wish. What do you see?

Having interviewed hundreds of people this slide would be full of too many faces to see them if I put them all on here. This is a selection as the range is enormous, from a child on what it is like to be 6, to a 92 year old nun who worked in palliative care for 70 years, to discussion on the SDGs. From tech entrepreneurs and investors, to a co-founder of the Edmund Hillary Fellowship, the founder of Bead & Proceed, Erica Austin who is helping on this conference, Tongan and Samoan immigrants, someone who was shot in the terror attacks, Matt Morris who shared about organising this conference, people who care about the ocean, travelling to space, who love mathematics, spirituality, Te Ao Maori. Each of them have a story to share.

We also talk about the failures – or as Michael Mayell put it when he spoke about his two ‘failures’ before Cookie Time succeeded, they are the compost for the success that is to come.

By hearing stories we feel brave enough to try something on our own.

Let’s focus in on three of these stories to show the diversity of them.

On the top right you can see Garry Moore, the former mayor of Christchurch. He shared a personal story of how he felt unworthy of the generosity of a couple when he was younger. They took him aside and said they had enough now so they could share with him – but would he do the same one day for others.

On the bottom right you can see Robett Hollis an amazing entrepreneur who was a professional snowboarder grew up here in Aranui. We talked about the influence on his perspective of Te Ao Maori and ways of being and the wisdom of Kaitiakitanga or Stewardship in business.

On the left is an unreleased episode with Sophie-Claire Violette and we had an amazing discussion about being an anthropologist who comes from Mauritius and we talked about the power of words, language and community

I’ve stopped calling these episodes “interviews” as they are really conversations. Through them we dive deeply into the past and what has formed people. My opening question is not, “what do you do”. Instead it is “what was life like for you when you were 5 years old” and we go from there.

So each one is telling a life story.

Some current stats on the project are set out here – you can find the show in podcasting apps or at the website there at the top where there are a bunch of videos, articles and more.

If you email me and tell me the topic you are interested in I commit to writing back with my top curated recommendations for you.

These are not short 5 minute or 20 minute episodes as I am committed to long form podcasting.

Showing the power of technology, as an example there were 318 listens yesterday – amazing as I cannot talk to that many people in a day!

This is a project that is word of mouth as I have no marketing budget so if you like it, please help it by telling others or sharing this presentation when it is released.

I started with a slide of family and I come back to another – this is Sigrid Odegaard my great grandmother who died 15 years before I was born. I think about her life and her story and it reminds me of how quickly time goes by.

And the photo on the left is me and my daughter Shanna when she a new born.

These photos remind me of the generations that come and go. Each of you is alive here and in this moment. How will you make a difference? How will you catalyse change and impact? How will you amplify the stories of others that you know?

Stories matter. They matter because we like stories. We identify with stories. We learn from stories. We should tell as many as we can, as often as possible.

Let’s go out knowing that our stories of people matter. Let’s tell them authentically. Let’s listen. Let’s stay curious.

Thank you for hearing my Korero about this project of Seeds Podcast and Why Stories Matter.

Here’s a video of Steven Moe’s presentation

Simon Nielsen 11/30/21 Simon Nielsen 11/30/21

What Is Your Cathedral?

“In the day to day repetition of placing one brick on another it can be really hard to see what is being built and maintain the vision. Yet that is what will sustain you in the long run. If you can see a bigger picture then that will give purpose.” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe asks us what we’re building.

By Steven Moe

You are walking along a deserted path in a place you’ve never visited before. The sun is beating down and it’s a hot day. In the distance you see three people about 50 metres apart from each other all doing the same task.

You get to the first one and ask what are you doing. He looks back at you unhappily and says, “I’m putting these bricks on top of each other”. You get to the second person and ask them the same question and they shrug their shoulders – “I’m building a wall.” You walk up to the third person and ask them what they are doing. She smiles and stretches out her arms and points upwards, and says, “I’m building a cathedral”.

This is Steven Moe. Welcome to Seeds Podcast.

The beauty of having your own podcast is that you can mix up the style of the show from time to time and I wanted to do that to share something I’ve been thinking about recently.

It comes from that podcast the other day with Israel Cooper on episode 112. You see, he spoke about buildings and the work that they do with ‘home’, and how important it was to get the foundation right.

It got me thinking about foundations, buildings and most importantly, why you build things. All of this thinking was reinforced by something my friend Antz Rohan said the other day at an Impact Dinner. Each of us are spending time in our life to create something, to build something. Particularly those of you who are listening to this now – I know you are all involved in creating or building something of value. But how often do we lose focus on that – lose sight of what it is we are contributing to.

I’m reminded of a visit I had to Barcelona many years ago. The Sagrada Familia is the most visited site in Spain and will be nearing completion in 2026 on the anniversary of the death of the main designer, Gaudi. That’s right, it is going to be completed 100 years after his death. You see, the key point is that building cathedrals can be an intergenerational activity that involves a true understanding of stewardship and working for the benefit of those who will follow us. Few of those who worked on Cathedrals, particularly in the Middle Ages, would have expected to see them actually completed. So being part of building something like that requires you to embrace a bigger picture that is far beyond yourself.

Did you know that the first meetings about the Barcelona cathedral were held in 1866? The first ground was broken in 1888? The first bell tower was completed in 1925. Over the time since then there have been many artisans, sculptors, builders, masons – all kinds of people have been involved. It simply could not be created alone. Since the start it has literally been generations of workers – several lifetimes – of people working to see a vision unfold.

When I looked into the story I told at the start – and there are a lot of permutations that exist out on the internet, I found that it was made famous by Peter Drucker in 1954 book called “The Practice of Management” (excerpt here). Drucker himself I think exhibits this idea of having a greater vision beyond stacking bricks. You see, he was born in 1909 and left Germany prior to WWII. He was 45 when that book was released and it advocated such far sighted things as allowing risk taking at lower levels in organisation, talked about the importance of making strategic decisions and developing teams that manage their own performance by reference to overall objectives. He has been described as the founder of modern management and even if you haven’t heard of him it is likely that he wrote articles or books that influenced people you have heard of. He came up with the phrase “knowledge worker” back in 1959. In the end he wrote 39 books that were published over a 70 year career as he died in 2005 at the age of 95. The point I’m making here is that it seems likely that he knew that his life was about building cathedrals.

So let’s finish by coming back to that story and I just want to ask two questions and leave you to reflect on them.

You see each of the people are building the same thing – but their attitude is completely different.

So the first question is which of the builders are you in how you approach your life?

In the day to day repetition of placing one brick on another it can be really hard to see what is being built and maintain the vision. Yet that is what will sustain you in the long run. If you can see a bigger picture then that will give purpose.

The second question is really simple.

What is your Cathedral?

Simon Nielsen 11/30/21 Simon Nielsen 11/30/21

Creativity & Vulnerability: Give It All … Give It Now

“We need to embrace vulnerability as the path to open up our creativity and through doing so truly put out new things into the world. Sure, there may be critics of what we produce. Sure, whatever it is may fail. But we need to be down in the arena. Be ready to show up before you are even ready to be on the stage. Grab the mic and fail wholeheartedly – always knowing you gave it your very best shot.” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe asks us to dare.

By Steven Moe

More than 100 years ago the following was said: “It is not the critic who counts; not someone who points out how the strong one stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the one who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends themselves in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if they fail, at least fails while daring greatly, so that their place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

This is Steven Moe, welcome to Seeds Podcast.

That quote still resonates with a lot of people even though it is from 100 years ago. There are some great words – it’s a reminder to get down in the arena and strive valiantly, to “at least fail while daring greatly”. It’s a reminder to just get on with things, create, let things flow, show up before you are even ready to show up. Theodore Roosevelt had become the youngest President of the United States at age 42. The quote comes from a long speech delivered in 1910 by him in France after he had finished as President.

The thing I draw from the quote has to do with vulnerability. To actually be out in the world and creating something of value may mean that there is criticism of it. That hurts. From experience, you may spend a lot of time and effort to create something and then things don’t go the way you expect – either a negative reaction or, in some ways worse, silence. If you are coming up with something new, if you are being creative and making art, then that is inevitably going to happen.

But this is the key – true creativity will only be authentic and really resonate with people if it is birthed from a place of vulnerability. There are amazing technical painters who are able to literally recreate the paintings of the old masters so that you or I looking at them would not be able to tell the difference. But it is the infusion of vulnerability into creativity which results in the creation of something new which is what elevates the painter to become an artist. If we’ve seen it before then it’s not much better than a photocopier. There isn’t much vulnerability involved in saying “here’s something just like that over there”.

It’s only with the creativity that something is elevated into art. But that is where the vulnerability is needed because when you create something new it might be that no one will like it. You need to push boundaries to go beyond what others have done and create something as yet unknown.

Vincent Van Gogh in his lifetime was never commercially successful – he only sold one painting while he is alive. He objectively was a failure at the time. But he is also one of the most famous and influential painters in all of Western art. He started painting at age 27 and died at age 37 – in that short period he painted around 1,100 paintings and 900 sketches – that’s around 4 a week. His starry night is one of the most reproduced pieces of art ever. What he said about the work he did on his art was: “In spite of everything I shall rise again and take up my pencil and draw and draw.” Perseverance is key. Continue with creating art and don’t wait for the perfect moment.

Brene Brown has written extensively on this subject of vulnerability and I encourage you to look up her work – on a recent road trip I listened to her talking and she has said: “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change”. In other places she asks the question – are we willing to show up and be seen, to be authentic and stand by what we have produced? It is difficult to create something new – but it is the struggle to do so that will result in something beautiful.

The pointy end of what I am saying here are really some simple questions: What are you holding back from doing while you wait for perfection? If you are working on something then is it being created from a place that is infused with vulnerability that comes from the fear of showing people what it is that you’ve made? That creative writing you’ve done. That art. That podcast. That song. That speech. That unconference. That memo at work. That spreadsheet.

We need to embrace vulnerability as the path to open up our creativity and through doing so truly put out new things into the world. Sure, there may be critics of what we produce. Sure, whatever it is may fail. But we need to be down in the arena. Be ready to show up before you are even ready to be on the stage. Grab the mic and fail wholeheartedly – always knowing you gave it your very best shot. Don’t hang onto the creativity and bottle it up or wait to use it at some unknown point in the future. One of my favourite writers is the Pulitzer prize winning Annie Dillard and her advice for authors resonates here:

“One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water.”

So what are you holding back? I remember a very long time ago in 2003 I started writing something and a friend encouraged me to continue doing so – he reasoned, if I put the effort into writing it, someone else would likely enjoy it too. Even if it is a small audience that doesn’t result in monetary success. Seth Godin talks about the smallest viable audience for the creative things we make. It’s certainly my approach with this podcast – some of you are listening to it right now, and that is enough. Get away from the measure of success being likes and numbers. Judge it by the authenticity of creation and the willingness to be vulnerable. Let the creativity flow from who you are and give it the chance to see the light of day.

But here is the rub. I’ve never shown that piece of writing to anyone. I’ve sat on it – afraid of the vulnerability that would come with sharing it. That it is not good enough. So maybe this reflection is an encouragement to myself to be bold. To let go of the pride of having to be successful, or have written a perfect story. Perfection is a myth that we willingly let lock the door to the creative ideas that are waiting inside us.

With this podcast, with these reflections – they are about being vulnerable – about putting myself out there. At first I thought they were just interviews but now I realise this is art too because there is both vulnerability and creativity involved in their creation. Perfection – no. Creativity and something new – hopefully yes.

So the reflection here is an encouragement to you, and also to myself. How will you embrace your vulnerability and create something new – create something that sure, might be criticised? Allow creativity free reign to come out. Embrace the fear as a friend and – anyway, like the quote said, forget the critic who is not in the fight. It’s in being vulnerable that we will actually have achieved something creative and unique and worth sharing. If there is no vulnerability involved then it is probably not worth doing at all.

Later on in the speech that I read from at the start Theodore Roosevelt noted that those who try – and perhaps fail – stand apart for “they have nobly ventured, and have put forth all their heart and strength”. So don’t just sit back and be a critic. Whatever this means in your context, get out there. Find your way of being creative. Do it wholeheartedly. But do it from a place where you are vulnerable.

The reason this is important? Because you are the only one who can create something truly unique. And that creativity that only you can bring has value for our world. Create. Get involved and get down in the arena – together, let’s start daring greatly.

Simon Nielsen 11/23/21 Simon Nielsen 11/23/21

A Case For Bringing Creatives To The Governance Table

“We need to look again at the roads on which we had been travelling and ask if they are the right ones. One aspect of this might be looking at the role of boards to govern businesses. While we rightly talk about addressing imbalances when it comes to age, ethnicity and gender, what might happen if we also focused on divergent thinking that comes from having creatives involved?” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe explores the ways that creativity can play a new role in the stewardship of businesses.

By Steven Moe

The Covid-19 crisis has shown us that we need new paradigms of thinking. We have all been impacted by the pandemic which has challenged us to think and act more creatively than ever before. Businesses need blue skies thinkers and creatives might help find new solutions.

We need to look again at the roads on which we had been travelling and ask if they are the right ones. One aspect of this might be looking at the role of boards to govern businesses. While we rightly talk about addressing imbalances when it comes to age, ethnicity and gender, what might happen if we also focused on divergent thinking that comes from having creatives involved?

In our 30-page report, “Tomorrow’s Board Diversity: The role of creatives,” we consider the unique skills that creatives might bring to governance tables. Would boardroom discussions be enhanced and activated if they had the added perspective of film producers, designers, artists, poets and curators? We think so.

But what do we actually mean by the term “creative”? Well, as an adjective it refers to “having the ability or power to create… characterised by originality of thought or inventiveness; tending to stimulate the imagination or invention”. As a noun it is “having or showing an ability to make new things or think of new ideas”. Those sound like valuable attributes to include in any boardroom. We use the word to emphasise that these individuals are characterised by bringing an originality of thought and inventiveness. As social-entrepreneur Jacob Lennheden said: “Creativity can play a vital role in enhancing all aspects of business performance and is in many ways considered the raw material of innovation.”

And for the purpose of the paper, we acknowledge that “creatives” most often have their foundations in the arts. This could be from the visual, performing and literary arts – and are guided and driven by an originality of thought. As the writer Jeff Goins explains: “The truth is that we need more creatives in positions of influence – to colour the world with beauty and life. Creatives craft poetry in a world that is otherwise content with prose. They bring art to areas where there is only architecture. Creatives help us see life in a new light – to perceive a new dimension, a deeper way of encountering what we know. And we need more of those kinds of leaders.”

In preparing this paper we were surprised at how little has been written on this point. There was a lot on other forms of diversity, but not on creatives. We think Aotearoa has the chance to lead the way here. Certainly we know there is a need for greater diversity of thought at board level, and creative arts are both acknowledged and valued. Let’s join the dots and connect up these points.

Already our paper has been well-received, with Kirsten Patterson, chief executive of the New Zealand Institute of Directors saying it “brings to light a topic which is often neglected: the role that creatives can play on boards. In our experience, directors who have a range of diverse and creative talent, capabilities and knowledge bring different perspectives to decision-making, planning and board culture – that will likely enhance an organisation’s performance, as well as better represent the stakeholders.”

In the end we conclude that one of the key elements is not just having creatives at the table: it’s also about developing an environment that invites and welcomes diverse perspectives. So as well as board composition it is also all about board culture. Some of our conclusions argue that boards should begin to review and discuss their composition, rebalancing the accountants, lawyers and business minds with those who can bring a different type of thinking to the table.

We should all seek to raise awareness about diversity of thought and the role creatives can bring, identify pathways for creatives to join boards and provide training when they do. If this can be done it will help our businesses to be more ready to face the challenges that are coming up as the true impact of Covid-19 starts to play out.

Published in Spinoff on June 22, 2020.

Simon Nielsen 11/16/21 Simon Nielsen 11/16/21

Structuring For Impact

“The world is changing. Businesses that exist for profit and purpose are now commonplace. Social enterprises prioritise people and the environment, ensuring they are looked after through business – rather than as collateral of profit-making.” The authors examine the potential for unlocking innovation and entrepreneurship while creating greater wellbeing.

By Steven Moe, Dr Jane Horan, Amber Hosking, Jackson Rowland, and Phillippa Wilkie

The Introduction

Social enterprise is about prioritising impact as well as profit. While New Zealand has legal structures which enable organisations who prioritise one or the other (i.e. charity or traditional business), Social enterprise does not fit neatly within these models, and often has only a passing resemblance to them. Instead, social enterprises operate with a different logic. The social entrepreneurs behind social enterprise pursue a different set of values from traditional business, with profit being only one factor in the mix, and often only as a means to achieving more impact. Based on the growth and contributions of social enterprise to New Zealand to date, it is clear that organisations who prioritise more than profit have significant potential to positively grow New Zealand’s economy in a broad sense, solving significant societal challenges along the way. Because of this, New Zealand needs a legal and policy environment that enables and encourages businesses that are trading for impact.

For the most part, however, operating a social enterprise in this country is more challenging than running a purely profit driven business. This report finds that the legal structures currently available in New Zealand are acting as barriers for, and disadvantage to, social enterprises. The array of issues and challenges social enterprises face using limited liabilitycompany structures, or any other legal structure in New Zealand, stems from the reality that these structures developed from a perspective that ‘doing good’ is separate from ‘doing business’. The distinction between doing good as charity on the one hand and doing business on the other is cemented in the prevailing attitudes of what charity as a way of doing good is allowed to be, and what doing business is required to be. This context makes doing business with impact far more difficult than standard for-profit business.

This report sets out evidence from social enterprises about the perceived challenges associated with the current legal structures and argues that evolving legal structures to remove some of those challenges will unlock the potential of business to generate social and environmental impact at scale that grows the wellbeing of New Zealand. Doing so would also support organisations underpinned by Te Ao Māori in a way that really honours Te Tiriti o Waitangi.

All but one of the social enterprises we spoke with in this research found that their legal structure created hurdles for their organisation. These hurdles appear to be most commonly centred around the enterprises’ inability to convey and protect their mission, and the consequential challenges that any workarounds to this create. Funding was the other key disadvantage, with many social enterprises finding accessing funding very difficult because of their structures, a hurdle which is having significant implications on the ability of these organisations, and their impact, to scale.

The world is changing. Businesses that exist for profit and purpose are now commonplace. Social enterprises prioritise people and the environment, ensuring they are looked after through business – rather than as collateral of profit-making.

The way social enterprises operate has the potential to generate significant value for New Zealand and to deliver the Government’s social and environmental outcomes, and embodies the ethos of the Living Standards Framework. By making minor amendments to the Companies Act 1993, this report argues that New Zealand has the capacity to create a world first model for business that enables organisations to trade for impact. And in doing so catalyse the extraordinary entrepreneurship that is happening in the social enterprise sector in New Zealand to unlock innovation that will create greater wellbeing for generations of New Zealanders to come.

From the Conclusion

If New Zealand really does want to be “on the right side of history” (Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, Davos, Feb, 2019), evolving the legal structures in this country to help foster and support social enterprise is imperative. The social enterprise sector has the potential to lead the way for all businesses in this country to increase financial capital and to provide for the wellbeing of the people and the environment of New Zealand for generations to come.

The current array of legal structures available to social enterprises in New Zealand are not helping the sector thrive. At best, these structures are neutral for social enterprises, but for most social enterprises, the legal structures available create an array of barriers, or reflect broader structural forces that deny the different ways that social enterprises operate in the business space, despite that way being for the greater good of New Zealand.

In line with the Living Standards Framework being developed by Treasury and the Government as a whole, Michelle Sharp of Kilmarnock said, “the tools of business are critical to solving some of our most challenging social and environmental issues.”

This is about combining financial, social, cultural, and environmental capital in a way that is sustainable and viable. In a way that enables the entrepreneurial spirit that is so strong in New Zealand to combine with the efficiencies of business to tackle some of our most pressing challenges. Social enterprise has created a model that demonstrates that this is possible, despite the challenges the current structures pose. The potential for New Zealand if a more enabling environment is created for organisations to pursue impact through business cannot be underestimated.

This is the introduction and conclusion of the paper: “Structuring for Impact: Evolving legal structures for business in New Zealand”. It was released in April 2019 and was co-written with some amazing people: Dr Jane Horan, Amber Hosking, Jackson Rowland and Phillippa Wilkie.

Simon Nielsen 11/16/21 Simon Nielsen 11/16/21

The Hard Questions We Need To Be Asking

“When asked to look at any organisation from an independent consultant perspective we often use the phrase of “flying in from Mars”. In other words, if I were flying in from Mars today and wanted to set up an organisation to address your particular cause with the most impact, would I set up your organisation? The authors ask hard questions and challenge us all to reconsider our impact.

“When asked to look at any organisation from an independent consultant perspective we often use the phrase of “flying in from Mars”. This helps to explain the approach that a good consulting professional will usually take and their absolute level of objectivity in looking at all aspects of an organisation. In other words, if I were flying in from Mars today and wanted to set up an organisation to address your particular cause with the most impact, would I set up your organisation? And would I set it up like you currently operate and are currently structured and organised?” The authors ask hard questions and challenge us all to reconsider our impact.

By Steven Moe and Craig Fisher

The legacy of the past and our investment in the current can hold us back from achieving the future. When one is in the trenches consumed by how much needs to be done and the busyness of today we don’t always stop and reflect objectively on our organisation as we perhaps should.

When asked to look at any organisation from an independent consultant perspective we often use the phrase of “flying in from Mars”. This helps to explain the approach that a good consulting professional will usually take and their absolute level of objectivity in looking at all aspects of an organisation. In other words, if I were flying in from Mars today and wanted to set up an organisation to address your particular cause with the most impact, would I set up your organisation? And would I set it up like you currently operate and are currently structured and organised?

Unsurprisingly the answer is usually no. And this is understandable and explainable as new innovations continue to occur. Sometimes this can be a result of sunk costs or legacy ways of operating or thinking that came from a different paradigm when the situation was different.

Take cloud computing versus an organisation set up in the past that had to buy expensive computer servers and software to run on these in-house machines. Yet for the organisation that already has deeply invested in the legacy system it can then be harder to justify writing off that past investment to change to something new and possibly more efficient.

Likewise, the national federation of separate incorporated society branches of the same organisation. This structure probably made sense when transport and communications were not as easy as they are today, and more people had more time to take on board and committee roles in their spare time. However today that structure can curse a national organisation with duplicated costs, organisational sustainability issues, and unnecessary petty politics – all things which detract from whatever the good cause the organisation exists to address. We know of other organisations which have structure charts that stretch like an octopus across the full range of legal forms: companies, charitable trusts, incorporated societies. There are often valid historical reasons for why they exist that way: But is it the best way?

And if we were designing the most effective, efficient and impactful organisation today; would we design it like that?

So, here are some hard questions that we think all boards and senior management need to be asking. We appreciate that some of these questions may result in an instant reaction in many people in the sector that is likely to border on outrage.

1. What is our purpose?

Some organisations have forgotten what the original purpose was that they were set up to try and solve. Not perpetuate the provision of ambulances at the bottom of the cliff, but actually solve the issues with fences at the top. We often see organisations who are surprised when reading the actual purpose to realise how far mission drift has led them. The current leaders need to be clear on what the purpose actually is before anything else.

Organisations with laser like clarity on their purpose are those that generally tend to achieve it.

2. Do we have a right to exist?

Quite simply; does the positive impact of our organisation justify the cost and effort of all the things necessary to operate the organisation? i.e. are we delivering enough positive impact? Or are we just taking up sector oxygen?

While we have impressively low barriers to entry for NFPs and charities and community organisations in Aotearoa that doesn’t mean that all have an automatic right to exist.

The pass mark should not be simply an intention to do good – we need to ask these questions in order to work out if this organisation is actually being effective. In our view, a sufficient level of positive impact must be the lens through which this hard question needs to be answered.

3. Do we still need to exist?

Many organisations have morphed over time in terms of what they do. Often to follow the available funding. Sometimes this has led organisations away from what they were really unique at and expert at, and into other areas where they may be competing with other better, more specialist organisations. And competing for the same limited funding and other resources pool.

Would the wider society be better served if resources were focused on those organisations that were really unique and expert in an area? Would a governing body and management be able to admit that? If it is a new organisation then is it trying to replicate what someone else already does – entrepreneurship is lifted up as a high value in our society, but even more admirable might be sacrificing your ego to get in behind and really support someone else’s dream which happens to match yours. And in doing this eliminate unnecessary administration duplication and resources being diverted from creating more impact.

4. Should we have an end date?

While this may not work for all charities – if you consider it deeply it should for many - if they are being truly honest and committed to their cause.

Arguably one of the most noble measures of success of any charity that exists to address a social or environmental need is that they should no longer be needed.

Because the job is done. We have a feeling there will always be other issues that need addressing – hopefully they can be solved as well but not continued and perpetuated with an eye on continuing a legacy of having existed in the past.

For example, if your charity were set up to eliminate avoidable blindness, or to eliminate all pests in Aotearoa’s forests, when could this be achieved by? Set that challenging and motivating date.

Having an end date target in your strategic plan can be a very powerful motivating force to focus attention on the most efficient means of achieving the aim. Interestingly, having such a target and a goal of society no longer needing your organisation can also make those involved much less precious about how they achieve the target. The alternative is the building of a strong NFP/charity brand. Without clear focus on getting the job done, this can unfortunately (and often almost unconsciously) lead to more focus on the brand and protecting the ongoing nature of it - rather than why the brand actually exists in the first place. This is just human nature to protect what we have built. To be proud of our organisation doing good and our legacy. But are we being truly objectively honest towards our cause?

5. Should we continue to try and go it alone?

By any relative measure compared to many other countries we have a large number of charities and NFP’s in Aotearoa.

However, we are a small country with a small population and as a result by having a large number it means that the vast majority of these charities and NFP’s are also very small.

We are not saying that big is beautiful. However, we cannot ignore the fact that the existence of many very small entities results in a lot of duplication and administration that detracts from the amount of impact that can be achieved. As one example, think about governance boards and how many volunteers are needed to help operate so many entities. In any organisation there are critical size points below which even basic administration can seriously detract from the positive impact that can be created.

Do a search of the Charities Register or have a look on the internet and you will also quickly find that there are many NFP’s and charities existing to address the same or a similar issue and often even in a similar geographic area. As such they are usually competing for the limited resources available.

Again, if we are truly seeking to create the most positive impact for society at large, is this a sensible approach? Merging like organisations is at the extreme end of the spectrum to addressing this issue. We are not advocating that it always represents an appropriate solution because it has its own complexities. That can also be a bridge too far for many to contemplate, unless they are forced to by funders or legislation.

However, we are starting to see, and expect to see more of, an increasing pressure from funders wanting groups to work better together and for there to be better collaboration to achieve greater positive impact with the limited available resources. Hence even if a merger may be just too hard, there is still significant positive potential to be gained by closer collaborations. One example of this could be creating hubs where many entities can access and share common resources rather than needing to duplicate all – that can be a very effective option.

6. Are we thinking broadly enough about who we can collaborate with?

We believe we are headed into a much more global and interconnected future. It will be one where more and more businesses are waking up to for-purpose and social licence, and more enlightened Governments are waking up to holistically measuring wellbeing rather than just economic busy-ness. For your charity or NFP to remain relevant and impactful in such an environment are you thinking widely enough about who you could partner and collaborate with to create more impact?

Sometimes 1+1 can equal 3 if you get the mix right. But this takes inspired leadership skills to leave ego behind, to truly think openly and creatively, to expand your networks into perhaps surprising areas, to put yourselves in someone else’s shoes to understand how it can help them as well as wider society, to explore the unusual and untested.

7. Can we reimagine the future?

In the midst of uncertainty, people are re-evaluating what they support, so we suggest it may be time to look at our messaging and how we convey why our organisations exist. This is a time to have stronger communication to our stakeholders and the general public around what we do, and why.

Is this an opportunity to reimagine how we fulfil our purpose in order to be successful and as impactful as possible?

Those that can imagine the future can create it.

Extract from the white paper “Charting the Future: A Framework for thinking about Change” co-written with Craig Fisher in July 2020. While written with charities and NFPs in mind the principles apply to all. Thank you Craig for the chance to collaborate on this.

Simon Nielsen 11/15/21 Simon Nielsen 11/15/21

What Social Enterprises in Aotearoa Can Learn From Māoritanga

“While the term ‘social enterprise’ itself is relatively new, the fundamental concepts behind it are not. We are still at the early stages of the growth of the social enterprise sector here in Aotearoa. What better time to think about how Māoritanga – Māori culture, practices and beliefs and way of life – can help flavour our particular recipe?” The authors dive into a country’s past to find a way forward.

By Steven Moe and Wayne Tukiri

Until recently, not many people knew what a social enterprise even was. But in the last few years there’s been a growing awareness of companies that pursue “for purpose” objectives beyond the traditional profit motive. Often, these companies are able to reinforce and grow the communities they operate in, often meeting social needs which might otherwise have resulted in state-sponsored intervention or social programmes. Simply put, they do good.

While the term ‘social enterprise’ itself is relatively new, the fundamental concepts behind it are not. We are still at the early stages of the growth of the social enterprise sector here in Aotearoa. What better time to think about how Māoritanga – Māori culture, practices and beliefs and way of life – can help flavour our particular recipe?

By examining some of the key principles of Māoritanga, we can better understand what social enterprises are – and what they could be. Here are some examples:

Kaitiakitanga

Kaitiakitanga is the guarding of treasures and the concept of reciprocity and giving back. When creating a social enterprise it is vital that the purpose is well defined, understood and articulated for others. That purpose then needs to be closely guarded so that there is not a slow creep away from the core values in the midst of either success or failure – either extreme lends itself to a reframing of what the entity stands for. Keeping a sharp focus on the purpose of a social enterprise is a discipline: guarding the treasure.

Mōhiotanga

Mōhiotanga is the sharing of information, the building up of knowledge, and the provision of new information and strategies. In order for a business to succeed there is a lot of information which needs to be absorbed – and this is particularly true of social enterprise, which challenges the traditional way of doing things. The early days of a social enterprise are critical as the right structures are chosen, the team is assembled and the vision cast.

Tuakana/Teina

Tuakana/teina refers to relationships between older and younger people, and in particular the experienced helping those who are less experienced. This is reflected in many social enterprises with community elements where more experienced people work alongside – and support the career growth of – those who have less experience.

Manaakitanga

Hospitality, kindness, generosity and support. The process of showing respect and care for others directly relates to the altruistic and community focus of social enterprises. Often these social enterprises exist to meet some need in society through the business operation itself – for example, the type of person who is employed or the kind of product made.

Wairua

Wairua is spiritual well-being that involves a connection to our whenua (land), ngahere (forests), moana (sea), maunga (mountains) and awa (rivers). Many social enterprises consider natural resources and how they use them (or don’t). From the first, they focus on their impact on the environment and how they can operate in a sustainable way.

Mātātoa

Mātātoa is the Māori concept of being fearless, courageous and energetic. In a similar way, social enterprises need to be open to embracing new and innovative ideas that generally go against an established way of doing things. They often challenge the inbuilt assumption that a business is all about making a profit as they strive to also fulfil their purpose, which is usually the real driver.

Social enterprises have a unique opportunity to do something different here in Aotearoa; embracing the perspectives of Māoritanga and understanding their full breadth and impact could help us achieve just that. Instead of doing things the same way as every other country, we should try a new way of operating. The result could be a truly homegrown version of social enterprise which acknowledges and learns from our own rich cultural heritage and embraces it fully as a means to explain what we do and why we do it.

Tihei mauri ora!

Published as Opinion piece in Spinoff on 21 August 2018 co-written with Wayne Tukiri of RSM. Thank you Wayne for collaborating on this piece with me.

Simon Nielsen 11/12/21 Simon Nielsen 11/12/21

Purpose-Driven Structures For Impact Entrepreneurs In Aotearoa New Zealand: Considering Kaitiakitanga And Steward Ownership

“Put simply: business of the past has often had a focus on being extractive rather than being regenerative. In response, a growing movement of impact entrepreneurs and investors are taking up the challenge of rethinking, redesigning and reorienting available legal structures of ownership and finance to ensure ‘purpose primacy’.” The authors propose an intergenerational and sustainable approach to business ownership.

By Steven Moe, Susan Gary, Jan Hania, Natalie Reitman-White, Murray Whyte, and Phillippa Wilkie

There is a paradigm shift occurring in how we think about the role of business. Impact-driven entrepreneurs launch businesses for a purpose and generate profits so they are sustainable while they also deliver products or services that add value to society.

These entrepreneurs often have an intergenerational perspective on the role that their ventures will play in solving social or environmental issues. They may frame their purpose by looking through the lens of the impact on some combination of the environment, society, their employees, customers, suppliers and other stakeholders over the long term.

While they embrace the private enterprise as a powerful vehicle to deliver and scale impact, they measure success not in maximising profits, but in maximising the advance towards the purpose. At the same time, they recognise that financial sustainability is a necessity to ensure long term viability of a private enterprise.

But what is the best structure for these future-looking entrepreneurs to adopt? The challenge faced by impact entrepreneurs is that conventional corporate vehicles, governance systems, shareholder agreements, term sheets, liquidity horizons and return expectations are framed around the presupposition of shareholder primacy. This focus means they can be misaligned with the entrepreneurs’ operating models and value systems. As a result, these structures can pull the business in directions that are more suited to the needs of the investors rather than a focus on delivering maximum value and impact to the purpose.

Put simply: business of the past has often had a focus on being extractive rather than being regenerative. In response, a growing movement of impact entrepreneurs and investors are taking up the challenge of rethinking, redesigning and reorienting available legal structures of ownership and finance to ensure “purpose primacy”. Some have referred to these new ideas as the “fourth sector” or “steward ownership”.

Emerging models are innovating in the areas of:

• impact investor terms that focus on sustainable versus extractive returns, and creation of broader stakeholder benefit;

• multi-stakeholder inclusion in governance and/or economic rewards; and

• governance mechanisms that ensure economic viability, along with results towards, and protection of, the business purpose.

Impact-driven entrepreneurs wanting to set up business in Aotearoa New Zealand have a range of legal structures to choose from, albeit a more narrow range than in other jurisdictions. In this short White Paper we will focus on the available legal structures in New Zealand as well as indigenous concepts of Te Ao Māori (the Māori worldview) and approaches. We will also chart some developments in thinking and legislation overseas on “steward ownership”. Our kaupapa (purpose) is that by explaining the options available in New Zealand in the context of the indigenous and stewardship models, entrepreneurs will be empowered to be creative and experiment in their choice of structure and surpass the for-purpose vs for-profit dichotomy.

We welcome your comments and feedback on this White Paper and look forward to an ongoing dialogue about the concepts and options. We also welcome your engagement around advocating for possible changes to New Zealand law that could incentivise and further catalyse the addition of more purpose primacy models. We are excited and enthusiastic about what the future could hold.

Part I: Ways of thinking

Before we dive into the detail of structuring options, in this part we want to set the scene by talking about foundations – we will do that by looking at different ways of thinking. This is important because the structure options that can be chosen are best understood in the light of these ways of thinking about business, wealth generation and generational thinking.

So much can be learned from the wisdom of Te Ao Māori (the Māori worldview) in approaching stewardship of land and the environment for future generations. Systemic long-term thinking is fundamental in Te Ao Māori, offering an intergenerational, sustainable and enduring approach to life, business and investment. For Māori and many other indigenous peoples, the cosmology and knowledge systems (matauranga) do not separate people from land, water and the environment (Te Taiao). A fundamental element of the Māori worldview is whakapapa; whakapapa in one sense is your genealogy, but the extension for Māori is that whakapapa includes lineage to your relevant mountain (maunga), river (awa), lake (moana) and land (whenua). This means that the land, water, mountains and creatures within your place are your direct relations or kin (whanaunga). And Māori have a teina/tuakana relationship with Te Taiao: we as people are the younger or junior sibling (teina) to the older or senior status of our tuakana, Te Taiao. The respect and value set of custodian or stewardship for land and water is one of caring for and nurturing our revered whānau as one of us – family, our elder, our ancient relative. This knowledge system is intergenerational, with ultimate respect for our ancestors – land and people – and for the future of those to come.

The concept of nature as an ancestor has been honoured and reflected in New Zealand law by according legal personality to nature. In 2014 the Tūhoe-Crown settlement legislation made Te Urewera, a former National Park of immeasurable value to Tūhoe, a legal person with its own identity. This personification was repeated for Te Awa Tupua (the Whanganui river) and most recently Taranaki Mounga (Mount Taranaki). In the cases of Te Urewera and Te Awa Tupua boards of persons are appointed to exercise kaitiakitanga (guardianship) over the land and water. They do not “own” it but actively act on its behalf and are responsible for promoting and protecting its health and wellbeing.

The notion of exercising guardianship of the environment and ensuring its wellbeing and regeneration for itself and future generations can (and we would say should) be broadly applied in today’s world. When constructing a board of guardians (kaitiaki) of purpose it would suggest having appointees whose role is to actively represent the environment (Te Taiao) and future generations (mokopuna). These representatives would be necessarily forward-thinking and proactive, assuring regenerative outcomes are achieved for both.

Te Ao Māori is directly relevant to the idea of “Steward ownership” which is an emerging term being used in the United States and Europe that refers to a different way (both old and new) of thinking about “ownership”. The foundational thinking is that ownership is not a commodity to simply be bought and sold, but as a responsibility to carry forward an enterprise that exists for a purpose. It derives from a constellation of principles and beliefs including shared prosperity, service and contribution, ecological regeneration, and responsibility for guardianship for the future. It can perhaps be summed up by this way of thinking: we are not inheritors of past wealth from our parents – instead, we are guardians of the future for our children.

In some respects this is a translation of the Māori spiritual concept of kaitiakitanga into a Western legal structure in that its stewards use the tangible rights attached to share ownership as the tools to vote and protect purpose. The specific legal structures can vary across organisations and countries. At their core, they embed the premise that corporations should contribute to some purpose beyond generating profits for shareholders and should consider holistic long-term impacts. Since conventional corporate and investment structures are more geared towards shorter term profit maximisation and shareholder primacy, it often involves thoughtful redesign of existing legal structures.

The “Structuring for Impact” report is worth reading for more details and depth on this area. See Horan, Rowland, Wilkie, Hosking and Moe, “Structuring for Impact: Evolving Legal Structures for Business in New Zealand”

To reset the goals and incentives that drive decision making in companies to guide them towards the inherent value of two key principles:

1. Profits Serve Purpose: Profits are used primarily as an engine to support a company’s purpose/mission. In other words, profits are not an end in themselves, but a means by which the purpose is furthered. Profits are needed to make the organisation sustainable but that is just one factor to be aware of. Practically, this means the profits are reinvested in the business, shared with stakeholders who are contributing to the purpose (e.g. employees, suppliers, community, customers), and/or donated to purpose-aligned charities. Both founders and investors are fairly compensated with capped or non-extractive returns/dividends.

2. Self-Governance: While investment can come and go over the company lifecycle, control of the company is not sold, it is kept with “stewards” – people who are actively engaged in, or connected to, the business and are responsible for ensuring it delivers impact to benefit and further the purpose. This typically begins with Founders and is then passed on through natural growth of the company culture and through formal governance structures that over time enhance the stewardship ethos. As such, the business is not seen as a manager for short-term private wealth generation, but as a living system of people working towards a shared purpose.

Social Enterprise: This is a label which has been helpful to distinguish purpose driven initiatives from traditional business. Ākina have been helping empower this ecosystem of purpose driven initiatives for many years and have many resources available. Back in February 2014 the Government statement still is accurate in summarising some of the key elements, where they said: “Social enterprises use commercial methods to support social or environmental goals. They principally reinvest surpluses in the social/ environmental purpose rather than maximising profit for shareholders and owners. Potential benefits of social enterprise include innovative responses to societal issues, new employment opportunities, and sustainable income generation.”

In our view, and the view of Ākina, the terminology is evolving very quickly and shifting towards the word “Impact” to best describe the concepts we are dealing with. We prefer the term ‘Impact Enterprise’ because that covers more than just the ‘social’ impact implied by the term social enterprise. For that reason we will mainly be talking about impact enterprises rather than social enterprises.

Introduction and the first part of a report published at the end of 2020 and this was co-written with some amazing people: Susan Gary, Jan Hania, Natalie Reitman-White, Murray Whyte, and Phillippa Wilkie. Thank you all for your insights and chance to collaborate together on this report and to Reggie Luedtke for your connecting pieces of the puzzle together too.

Simon Nielsen 11/8/21 Simon Nielsen 11/8/21

The Apple Tree

“They were quiet then. I was too as I reflected on what was said. This brief conversation had opened a new perspective and healed something within.”

Read this short story - or is it a fairytale? - or a biography? - by lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe. It may heal something within.

“They were quiet then. I was too as I reflected on what was said. This brief conversation had opened a new perspective and healed something within.”

Read this short story - or is it a fairytale? - or a biography? - by lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe. It may heal something within.

By Steven Moe

Part I: Spring

I remember the small boy named John who used to visit me in the summer. He planted me here one day when he came with his Grandfather. They were exploring and ended up in this small valley so far out of the way. I overheard John’s Grandfather say that he had come to this same spot with his own Grandfather many years before.

I was planted by them beside this slow-moving stream that drifts lazily by, tossing light back up into my branches like confetti. I’ve long ago given up trying to work out what there might be to celebrate. The stream itself babbles constantly but cannot hold much of a conversation, speaking instead over and over of rocks and sand, fish, and frogs, of eddies and flows. However, I am grateful for the stream for my roots found it long ago and much of the surrounding land is parched in summer. If I had not been laid down so carefully to grow on its banks I might have withered long ago.

“Let’s see what happens”, said John’s Grandfather slowly, and through the soil that they placed on me I heard their footsteps retreating.

Part II: Summer

I cannot tell you much about the next few years as I emerged from seed to leaf to small tree. John returned during the summer and pruned me as I grew larger. He would often just sit there beside me or lean against me as I grew. Only a few times did his Grandfather join him and I watched as he grew older more quickly than John and I grew up. They had long talks there, sitting beneath me, and I listened in to each one. They talked of the past, the present, the future. I recall the final time I saw John’s Grandfather as he struggled up, leaning on a walking stick, after sitting down a last time under my shade. When John came the next summer, he was even more reflective than he had been on earlier visits and sat there, just watching the water flow by. He was thinking, throwing small stones, and listening to their sound. Being still and silent.

The last time John came he was no longer a boy. I was proud because I had started to produce some apples and I saw him grab one and eat it. Then I noticed that he had in his hands an axe and I shivered as he drew even closer and raised it. He used it to hack at me and after several deep cuts he took off the branch that was growing out and away from the stream. He had shifted my angles, and this left me only to droop out over the water. I felt like he had cut off an arm and I resented it. The apples that had been on the branch lay scattered on the ground. Even then, I knew that this was going to determine my destiny in some way.

John cut away at the branch lying there, unattached, and yet so intimately connected to me, until he had fashioned the straightest part into a walking stick. Was that all I was useful for?I felt a great sense of betrayal. Yet before he left, he stood up before me and the wind went quiet, the birds in my branches stopped singing and the sun shone brighter. All he said was, “I take a piece of you to guide me”. He addressed me so formally that despite my indignity, I bowed to him, as best I could. Then he was gone, to live his life, leaving me alone.

Part III: Autumn

As time went by the seasons were my only companions. They stayed long enough to feel comfortable with each other, not like the small birds who flew in and out so quickly that I couldn’t even focus on them. In winter the snow that fell chilled me deeply but the serene silence that resulted was worth it. Spring saw me grow again and push out new blossoms, each one representing a possible future. In summer, my apples grew and grew larger in the sun. I was proud of them and as the days grew shorter, they began to fall from me.

Autumn is when I was most upset, for by taking part of me away, John had left only one place for the apples I produced to fall. The stream gratefully received each of them making a sound as they slipped into the water like divers. All I could do was watch them drift away downstream and around the curve. It made me sad to see them leave.

At that time of year, I resented John greatly, for though he had given me life and looked after me he had also destroyed my chances for a friend since no tree could grow there with me. All those possible companions were swept downstream to nothingness. I kept asking myself why this had happened to me, the passing of the years did not help and I found myself thinking on it more and more. I felt like my life was futile for why I had been given such potential and yet it was left so wasted. My only comfort became those little birds that I envied for their ability to fly here and there without being rooted in one place. Their nests in my arms and long fingers were at least the source of much new life, unlike me.

Part IV: Winter

The years rolled by and each year my resentment grew with my height. My bark had become knobbled and rough. I was old now. Yet still I produced fruit each season, hoping that one day they might land beside me and grow there. I towered high above the stream and yet my wish was not granted. The apples dropped each time into the water to float away. I could feel within myself a coldness and the dark began to take over as I questioned all I stood for and reflected often on how I had achieved nothing.

Then one day an old man came walking into the valley with a small girl. Something stirred in me as they drew near. A memory of long ago. It had been several decades since I had last seen a person in these parts. This man reminded me of John’s Grandfather for he walked slowly, yet purposefully. They sat under my branches with their backs against my trunk and watched the water. I listened to them talk of the past, the present, the future.

Then the little girl asked, “Is this really the source of them all, Grandfather?”

The Grandfather nodded. “Yes”, he replied, “And the thing is that this old tree probably doesn’t even know”. He smiled wistfully.

“What do you mean?” asked the little girl. I too leaned in closer, listening hard.

“Well, look at the bend over there”, he said. “You see, this tree has no way of looking beyond this valley, seeing past its own limited view. It has no way of knowing that for miles and miles down from here the stream is lined with apple trees and that they all have come from this one source. For years, the tree has been faithfully dropping its apples into the stream and the water has washed them up to places far beyond the realm of what this tree could have ever thought possible.”

They were quiet then. I was too as I reflected on what was said. This brief conversation had opened a new perspective and healed something within.

They had brought a lunch with them and when they were done the small girl dug two holes along the bank, one upstream from me and one a little way down. I saw her place something in them and cover them up. Then she came back to sit beside her Grandfather, who said slowly, “Let’s see what happens”.

As they got up to leave, I saw the old man struggle to stand, and the girl reached out to help. She handed him something and I recognised the walking stick then. I made my leaves move in the wind and bent closer as the years of resentment fell away. I smiled down at John and he also looked up at me and tipped his hat, then he took his granddaughter’s hand in his and I watched them walk away.

You can hear Steven Moe’s own reading of this beautiful story here:

Simon Nielsen 11/6/21 Simon Nielsen 11/6/21

Proposed Changes To The Companies Act Mark The Beginning Of Positive Change

“For decades our rules have lacked clarity over the function of directors, their duties and what they should consider when making decisions. Our thinking has been influenced by the economist Milton Friedman who in 1970 declared that the primary function of a company is to generate wealth for its shareholders.” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe examines a new role for private companies in our communities.

By Steven Moe

Important change often goes unannounced and only with hindsight do we see the significance.

Last week a Member’s Bill was selected which has nothing to do with the headline-grabbing news on the status of vaccinations, house prices or the economy. Instead, it addresses a core belief that is commonly held about the role of directors of companies in New Zealand.

For decades our rules have lacked clarity over the function of directors, their duties and what they should consider when making decisions. Our thinking has been influenced by the economist Milton Friedman who in 1970 declared that the primary function of a company is to generate wealth for its shareholders.

The reasoning behind that theory has been showing more and more cracks recently. Considerations like climate change, fair practises for employees and the impact a company has on its community all give cause for reflection.

Could it remain right that the duties in the Companies Act remain silent on what directors consider when making decisions? With Labour caucus support the selection of Duncan Webb’s Member’s Bill in the ballot means change is on the way.

Webb explains, “The spark for this little bill was an urgent debate in Parliament on the letter of expectations that the Minister sends to Air NZ every year. It set out some climate expectations, good employer expectations etc. David Seymour thought this an outrage to divert Air NZ from a maximising profit motive. I thought it nonsensical that there was a debate at all – but thought if there is some suggestion that ‘the best interests of the company’ means ‘making as much profit as we can ...’, then we need to clear that up.”

The key amendment is to section 131 of the Companies Act and the introduction of additional “recognised environmental, social and governance factors”, which directors may bear in mind (we will come back to the use of the word “may”).

There are five factors listed: the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi; the environment; ethical behaviour, equitable employment practices and the interests of the wider community.

Before critics weigh in on how this is going too far, it is important to note that this is in line with developments overseas. For example, in the UK since 2006 the duty of directors to promote the success of the company has included a list of similar considerations which directors may have regard to such as the employees, customers, suppliers, the community and the environment.

There are recent proposals in the UK to make these duties more rigorous with a proposed “Better Business Act” that aims to put the balance of ‘”people, profit and planet” at the core for responsibilities of directors. The proposed amendments state that it must no longer be an option for directors to benefit wider stakeholders – instead it is proposed to be a requirement to consider them.

There may be tweaks to the New Zealand proposal which could incorporate some of these ideas and jump over a generation of thinking to where the debate eventually leads.

We could have that discussion here and now, including a robust discussion over moving from “may” consider, to “must” consider.

Considerable thought on these issues is ready to inform that discussion, such as recent reports by the Aotearoa Circle’s Sustainable Finance Forum roadmap, the IOD paper on stakeholder governance and the Ākina Foundation structuring for impact report.

Even if no changes are made to the bill, this reform is the start of a positive reframing with increased scrutiny for companies and shows a roadmap for additional changes that may flow in the future.

For example, a natural extension of what is proposed here would be to require that all companies must have a constitution in which they clearly articulate their mission and purpose. Hand in hand with that could be a requirement that companies report on how they are going about achieving that purpose, to avoid social washing. In other words, the bottom line might no longer be enough.

An additional change that goes even further could be that those companies who are clearly advancing both profit goals and purpose goals could even be given special status and incentives as “impact companies” in recognition of their blending of traditional conceptions.

We have been fish in the bowl, not aware of the paradigms of thinking which we assume represent how things will always be. But our current system did not exist 100 years ago – it can be changed.

Generations to come might just look back at New Zealand as the place where moves were made first. That is why the proposed changes to these director duties are exciting.

They are the start of real change that will enable us to better conceive the place of companies in our society and positively frame the role and duties of directors. This will provide an ecosystem for the growth of the future that we want to see, where companies increasingly contribute positive impact.

Published as an Opinion piece in Stuff on 29 September 2021.

Simon Nielsen 11/5/21 Simon Nielsen 11/5/21

Impact Investing Presents Opportunity To Back A Better Future Beyond Just Financial Gain

“Rather than #buildbackbetter perhaps we need to question if we want to go “back” and return to how things have been. Perhaps this is a chance not just to return to old ways but to embrace new conceptions, and it will be a shame if we miss it.” Lawyer and podcaster Steven Moe challenges us to rethink the future we want.

By Steven Moe

A low interest rate environment gives the opportunity to question past assumptions about returns on investments.

Gone are the yields that came from passive term deposits and this can open up a door to new ways of thinking.

Impact investing is growing and represents a more holistic view of the world. The focus is on more than financial return as these investors are interested in additional measures as well.

A report by the Centre for Social Impact highlights the state of impact investing in Aotearoa.

In it, we set out the ingredients that set impact investing apart and also profile four real life examples to show this is not just theoretical – it’s happening now.

The examples show how real financial returns are sought by investors but are measured in more than interest rates – instead social, environmental, housing or other impacts are

critical as well.

Impact investing is growing and represents a more holistic view of the world. The focus is on more than financial return as these investors are interested in additional measures as well.

An example is the $100 million set aside for the Government’s New Zealand Green Investment Finance. Its remit is to accelerate investment in low emissions projects.

An example is The Tindall Foundation and their work in Northland with Amokura (a consortium of seven Taitokerau iwi chief executives) to help develop a model for bringing forward investment opportunities which are Māori-owned and led and underpinned by a tikanga framework.

These are the types of conversations we need to move from an extractive economy to a more regenerative one. Along these lines a series of four guides on “Tikanga-led impact investment” have also just been released by The Connective.

Still, others are coming to the table in a new way and not from parts of the finance sector you might expect.

Superannuation funds might be regarded as cautious investors. But for the right investment that could change too – recently Generate Kiwisaver invested $20 million via Community Finance to support the building of social housing by the Salvation Army.

The initial round for that has now finished with a total of $40 million raised. The appeal is simple, there is both financial return coupled with social impact.

The best description of impact investing I’ve heard is by Esther Park, the CEO of Cienega Capital. She describes capital being like heat - if we apply it to a kettle then the water inside is the project which gets activated and then transforms into something completely new that wasn’t there before.

In the same way impact investing is about applying capital to a project to transform the ecosystem itself into a new state of being.

What would really accelerate the growth of this sector? If the Government were to embrace the change that impact investment offers then there is the opportunity for real public/private collaboration to solve our most wicked problems.

For example, New Zealand could be a world leader in this if the Government were to stand behind and partially guarantee certain qualifying investment categories that provided both financial return and social or environmental impact. There would be other options too, like Government investing a small percentage in projects to give greater comfort for others to join.

Rather than #buildbackbetter perhaps we need to question if we want to go “back” and return to how things have been.

Perhaps this is a chance not just to return to old ways but to embrace new conceptions, and it will be a shame if we miss it.

Many are considering this offshore and talking about the need to take the chance to reinvent capitalism itself: We should wrestle with this question too.

New approaches will mean collaborating more and partnering to advance the agenda around critical issues that we all know would help across our society and lift us up together on the same tide. Impact investing is not the only solution for our recovery but it will play an increasingly important role as we question our old assumptions about how investments themselves work.

Published as Opinion piece in Stuff on 22nd November 2020.

Simon Nielsen 11/4/21 Simon Nielsen 11/4/21

The Bottom Line Is Not Enough, Companies Should Be Required To Have A Purpose

“We need to balance profit with purpose while incorporating new ways of thinking about ownership as stewards of what we have. Requiring the purpose to be clear will mean directors have a Northern Star to refer back to and guide them.” Steven Moe writes on the tyranny of the status quo.

By Steven Moe

The Institute of Directors’ recent report “Stakeholder Governance: A call to review directors’ duties” has caused some commentators to say that the institute is going too far by broadening who directors are accountable to.

This criticism is firmly stuck in the past. Arguing that duties for directors are fine and no other changes are needed is like standing in a house on fire while replacing the batteries in the smoke alarms.

There are too many pressing needs in society, the environment and the world to ignore this for much longer. If our house is on fire then we need to have a new understanding of the role we each play and that includes the role of companies.

While the report is a welcome move in the right direction, it doesn’t go far enough. Clarity of purpose for companies should be a requirement. We expect this of other entities, which shows it is possible.

To become a charity the “charitable purpose” needs to be clearly set out as one of the key criteria to gain that status. In New Zealand however, there is no requirement that companies articulate clearly what their purpose is, or even have a constitution at all.

Having the purpose clearly stated in such a founding document would be a major step towards providing a reference point for directors to navigate their duties by.

The report correctly notes that the constitution of a company can be altered to state what the purpose of the company is. So this is really just taking it to the next logical conclusion: what if we actually advanced the game by requiring it? An articulation of purpose would help directors to know what they are ultimately there for.

Director duties should not just come back to the Milton Friedman conception that the directors are there to guide the company to maximise profit and resulting shareholder wealth.

We need to go beyond discussing stakeholders even and get to the heart of the issue: what is the purpose of the company.

We need to balance profit with purpose while incorporating new ways of thinking about ownership as stewards of what we have. Requiring the purpose to be clear will mean directors have a Northern Star to refer back to and guide them.

Structures that enshrine purpose are growing worldwide and make good business sense.

Last year the biggest initial public offering in the United States was for mobile insurance tech start-up Lemonade which doubled its capitalisation to $3 billion in the first day of trading.

The difference? It is also a “public benefit corporation”, meaning it has requirements to balance the interests of many stakeholders and articulate its purposes clearly.

This form of entity is growing overseas, as is the B Corp movement which is already active here (certification to show a company has reached certain standards in how it conducts its business). Oxford Professor Colin Mayer’s book Prosperity dives deeper into this new way of thinking about business and it is flowing out into other areas too, like the rise of impact investing.

Not everyone will be ready for these ideas. But concepts like kaitiakitanga (in a company context, that ownership is about being stewards) that come from Te Ao Māori just might be a superpower for New Zealand.

*Photo: Eberhard Grossfasteiger/Unsplash*

If we are on a journey, then a starting point would be to provide for a new class of impact-led companies that have chosen to articulate their purposes.

If we made this change in New Zealand it would echo what’s already being done elsewhere and mean that sustainable businesses that articulate purpose are encouraged, as well as asking them to report on impact (to avoid social washing). That will then give directors a much clearer mandate about what to aim for as well.

Ultimately it would be good to see all companies move to set out their purpose rather than having a bespoke structure just for those willing to do so.

As we face tough issues we need to encourage solutions and provide the framework for companies to be clear on their impact. This would also ensure we are on the right side of history too - as so much crumbles around us we need to create the regulatory ecosystem where positive impact is emphasised instead of the old ways of thinking which focuses on shareholder returns.

Milton Friedman himself referred to the “rules of the game” when talking about companies focussing on generating profits.

Let’s crystallise how those rules have now changed by requiring purpose to be clearly set out in a constitution to give guidance to directors as they perform their duties.

There is a broader paradigm shift of thinking that is going on here. If we can embrace that then we can choose now to do better - the next generations demand that we plant seeds today of trees that we may not sit in the shade of. Being clear on purpose is at the heart of this shift.

There is enormous inertia - a tyranny of the status quo.

“Only a crisis - actual or perceived - produces real change. When that crisis occurs, the actions that are taken depend on the ideas that are lying around. That, I believe, is our basic function: to develop alternatives to existing policies, to keep them alive and available until the politically impossible becomes the politically inevitable.”

— Milton Friedman

Published as an Opinion piece in Stuff on 26 August 2021.

The Empty Square