It’s 2009. Do you know what your company is doing?

by Nina Winham

Remember when you were a kid and you first figured out how to fib? “No, Mom, I did not take that cookie. Honestly!”

You might have done it well (eye contact, relaxed posture) or poorly (shifting feet, mumbling). Of course you might have been the rare kid who never fibbed. (If so, you didn’t live in my house. My siblings and I fibbed our way through a lot of cookies.)

Then, when you were a bit older, you may have flirted with a whole new level of mistruth: the omission.

“Who are you meeting at the mall?” “Suzy.” “OK, then make sure you’re home by 9 o’ clock.” Not disclosed was that you were meeting Suzy at the mall so you could sneak to the party at John’s, whose parents were away for the weekend. But no one asked about that, did they? Very crafty.

Whether or not it officially constitutes a lie, an omission of fact can be extremely relevant—especially if people would make different decisions if they had the full story. (You know your parents would have!) This is where a shift is taking place in the corporate world—toward disclosing all the information stakeholders require to evaluate the comprehensive performance of companies.

Public companies, governments, and charities have always been expected to disclose the details of their financial affairs. In this way, investors, funders, and the electorate are able to make decisions based on good information. But as we’ve learned over the past generation, financial information only gives part of the story, neglecting issues such as human rights, employee relations, climate change, or supply chain impacts.

Those topics are captured by the emerging field of sustainability reporting. It’s less than 20 years old, but it’s catching on fast. This year, more than 3,000 companies are expected to produce reports about their non-financial activities. (You can usually find such reports on a company’s website.) Called by many names—sustainability, accountability, triple-bottom-line, corporate responsibility, social and environmental reporting—they all provide information about an organization’s impact on, and engagement with, its stakeholders. This allows employees, investors, communities, suppliers, and others who are affected by the organization to make informed decisions about more than just financials.

This means you—as a shareholder, company neighbour, or employee—should feel empowered to ask for information you think is important. What is the company doing about fair labour practices? How does it plan to mitigate environmental risk? How does it meet the needs of employees and support the communities where it operates? Which stakeholders does the company consider important, and how are they consulted about things that matter to them? Things are changing: being a responsible company today means being transparent and accountable—it’s not just about the shareholder and the profit margin anymore. (Sustainability reports are produced by leading charities and government agencies, too.)

There are standards for good reporting—and standards for evaluating the quality of reports. Did the company disclose the negative as well as the positive? Give detail about its consultation process? Offer an action plan to address problems? As a consumer of such reports, you should expect to be able to get a clear sense of how a company manages its impacts, builds relationships, and engages in continuous improvement. You should be able to tell if it is worthy of your trust—and maybe your investment. (For a look at an interesting reporting standard, visit globalreporting.org .)

It’s true that companies without accountability reports may be well managed and responsible. And those that do produce reports may try to bend the rules and greenwash. But on average, it’s harder to fib if you’re making an effort to provide full disclosure. The corporate sector, it seems, may at last be leaving its teenage years behind.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients build value through sustainability practices and effective communications. At present she has nothing further to disclose—and is usually in bed before the really good parties start anyway.

All you need is love—real love

by Nina Winham

Happy Valentine’s! Happy celebration of love! (And chocolate, of course.)

Seriously, I’ve been pondering Love. So powerful, despite its overhyped marketing. But even without the “I heart” merchandise, we have a language-level issue: we love caramel lattes and love favourite jeans. Which doesn’t leave much room for when we want to express the depths of our souls.

It would help to clarify this. Because there’s a big role for Love these days (and not the “I heart” kind). It’s time to prep Love for a spot on centre stage, a march into the halls of government, a seat in the boardroom. And we—yes you, dear readers—are just the folks to help Love straighten its lapels, sync its BlackBerry, and grab its briefcase. Yes, it’s time to send Love out to work in the world.

To explain, let’s start in my kitchen. It’s 6:30 am. The twins are up and happy. One blows bubbles. One grins and wiggles. I have fed them gooey cereal. Now I’m making my six-year-old’s lunch for school.

I can scarce describe the satisfaction I feel watching these little people eat. Notwithstanding a rewarding professional life and engagement outside my home, there is something about feeding my family that touches my soul.

This is love, the active kind. Taking care of others in an intimate way is where we understand it. We care for children, elders, spouses, neighbours, best friends. From cuddling a toddler to delivering a casserole, we are accustomed to this type of care.

Women, perhaps, are wired for it. Yes, men can be wonderfully nurturing, but in general, this has been a historic specialty of women, whether by choice or lack of it. We are, generally, emotionally attuned, values-driven, community-focused.

Trouble is, when we started to have more choice, we didn’t always take this specialty along. For a generation, we’ve stretched beyond nurse/teacher/secretary to reach for hard sciences, management, finance. Women often had to fit the existing mould in order to make it—which meant suppressing the expertise of care to compete in a man’s world. Even caregiving done at home was rarely mentioned at work.

Political theorist Joan Tronto argues we must not subjugate care to other values. In an essay in the Boston Review, she writes, “When we care, we do not think of society; we think of our intimates and their concrete and particular needs. In a competitive society, what it means to care well for one’s own children is to make sure that they have a competitive edge against other children…. This example demonstrates that when care is embedded in another framework of values, it does not necessarily lead in a progressive direction.”

This is why February—with its day of Love—seems a good time to challenge ourselves. Let’s dust off our talent for empathy, for caring that heals and transforms. Let’s put Love to work. Let’s break the frames that have accepted third-world poverty, inequitable distribution of medicines, homelessness in our streets, companies with single bottom lines, job descriptions that don’t recognize nurture. If we (savvy, green, and soulful women—men, too) don’t take on this task, who will?

Love is a powerful tool. It bridges differences, build solutions and trust. It creates a climate of excellence without being at anyone’s expense. Love compels us to justice, supports the path to peace, gives us courage to act. But it will only make change if we reject our acceptance of the world that was built when we weren’t at the helm.

In the words of Joan Tronto, “Change can only occur if we radically imagine a societal structure that no longer requires that people compete against each other to make sure that their basic needs will be adequately met. Such a society will conceive of care not as a private good but as a broad and public value.”

Love. It’s not just for the kitchen anymore.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients build value through sustainability practices and effective communications. She wishes you good chocolate and powerful inspiration.

A heart-to-heart with Time

by Nina Winham

Oh, Time. I hate to say it, but I think we’ve come to that point. You know, we just aren’t seeing eye to eye. It’s not the same between us anymore.
I know it’s a special month for you—there are the usual January pictures of you dressed up like a baby to ring in the New Year. Cute. And we’re supposed to lionize you by starting fresh with some New Year’s resolutions.

Sorry, I’m not in the mood. I’m still thinking about that conversation we had a while back with that personal coach. You remember, when she had us sit down and “discuss our relationship.” (I know you don’t like the term “time management.”) Well, of course, everyone feels a little silly doing these things at first. But wasn’t it revealing when I suddenly blurted out how much I resent you?

I know we have a long history together, but I can’t help it. I do resent you! You hound me, pester me, make me feel inadequate. How am I supposed to get to my damn list when you’re always walking away, continuing on your path, with that gawd-awful measured pace, relentlessly consistent. I can’t keep up! Give me a break once in a while. Take a holiday. Lay off!

You know why I resent you? You constantly, darkly, frustratingly remind me that I’m mortal. Yep, I’m gonna die one day, probably with the stupid list still in hand. That’s what bothers me. You only give so much of yourself, and then that’s it. Kaput. (This is why the baby schtick doesn’t impress me a bit.)

OK, I admit you had a few things to say in that session, too. True, I’m not very respectful of you; I’m not content to just let you be who you are. It’s true (sigh), you’re immutable. You’re age-old. You’re way bigger than me. And I know, I know, I know you are not able to “flex.” It’s just that you’re so all-important, and you’re going to be here long after I’m gone; it’s hard not to feel totally insignificant in this relationship. You’ve gotta admit, the cards are all stacked on your side.

That’s why we have such a love-hate thing going. But there’s more to it than that. Somehow we went sideways a few generations ago. Remember? All those new “labour-saving” devices—they were supposed to enrich our relationship, right? The reduction in the work week too—from 12-16 hour days in the 19th century to legislation protecting time off from work—that was supposed to free us up to get to know each other better. But it didn’t work out that way.

Instead of using the tools to free us from labour, instead of becoming an enlightened and unenslaved society, we started a little love affair on the side, didn’t we? And we keep playing you off against our new love. “Time equals money,” they say. (As if all the money in the world could buy us more time when we really wanted it.) So we work more… to get more money… to get more things… which we have little time to enjoy or take care of. Hmm. No wonder you’ve been peevish lately.

OK, Time. I get it. If I want to enjoy our relationship, I have to be more proactive, don’t I? I can’t buy my way into more time, but I can work less and have more. So maybe this year I will resolve to make a little more room for you, stop pushing you out while I rush around with my list. You know, just be together. What do you think of that?

Time? Time! Damn… there you go, walking off again. Sigh. Wait up!

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients build value through sustainability practices and effective communications. She’d like to invite Time over for dinner and see if she could slow it down with a fine bottle of wine.

Give gifts of real--not monetary--value.

by Nina Winham

Happy December! Sure, it’s dark and dreary, but it’s also a time for some big festivals. And some big gift-giving. That ought to lighten the mood, right?
Apparently not, if you’re an economist. In microeconomic theory, the tradition of gift-giving has been assessed as a “deadweight loss” (and since this is not a diet column, you know that’s not a good thing).

You gotta love those economists—they sure know how to dampen the spirit. Still, I got intrigued by this idea, especially as we soul-search about the commercialization of Christmas.

What they mean by deadweight loss is that, on average, the gifts you give are not valued by the recipient at the same price you paid for them. Economists feel this is inefficient: a good should confer a value equivalent to what an individual would have been willing to pay. (Now, in the endearing way of economists, this theory explicitly ignores the sentimental value of the gift. And isn’t that mostly what gift-giving is all about?)

The better the gift-giver knows the recipient, the less deadweight loss, because the giver is more likely to know what the receiver would value. But there’s also the “white elephant” effect: gifts that are not highly valued but that require the recipient’s time and resources to care for or store.

Even though our poor economists struggle with concepts like sentimental value, I think they have a point. How often have you paused, indecisive, in front of that ceramic tea light holder and that blue wicker thingy, trying to remember if your giftee has anything blue or ever uses candles? Would they buy these things themselves? If not, are you sure your gift is really... er... efficient?

I was pondering this question on the very day I came down with a case of shingles. For the uninitiated, this is the chicken pox virus, dormant inside you since childhood, waiting for a chink in your immune system so it can burst out in a painful, itchy rash and give you a slap upside the head for not taking care of yourself.

Well, I have twin infants who don’t deserve chicken pox yet. So some friends came by, scooped me up, and took me into quarantine at their place. They went out for Epsom salts, ran me a candlelit bath, dug through the closet for the softest old sweat clothes, entertained my (chicken-pox immune) five-year-old, fed us supper, fluffed up the guest bed with fresh sheets, and sent me off to start catching up on my sleep.

What they gave me was the Gift of Nurture. Made up of empathy, support, time, and love, it didn’t cost them much in the wallet. But—economists take note—it was surprisingly high on utility and efficiency, given the price. Because the value to me was priceless. And in the true spirit of gift-giving, I think they were enriched, too. The gift grew in value as it was given, and it will reap dividends for years to come.

The Gift of Nurture, the Gift of Time, the Gift of Friendship—these break the frame of economic analysis. But to give the economists their due, the next time you hover over a gift choice you know has little value beyond the tick on your to-do list, think again.

Here’s to a holiday season with more true wealth and less deadweight loss. Befuddle an economist: give some nurture or some time. And a happy, efficient December to all.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca ), helping clients build value through a shift to sustainability. She has gained a whole new respect for Epsom salts... and friends.

Can you sleep at night knowing what your money is doing?

by Nina Winham

Roller coaster... meltdown... bailout… recession... depression? It’s certainly been a crazy time in the big-money financial world over the past few weeks. Meanwhile, the average saver and investor is left to figure out if this will all blow over or if it’s a warning to retreat, play safe, and count one’s blessings.

For our Women and Wealth issue, SharedVision’s True Wealth columnist, Nina Winham, gathered a group of women for a conversation about money, wealth, and social responsibility. What does it mean to be wealthy? Is it only about money, or something bigger? And how do you handle your money if you care about your impact on the world? These are complex questions even in financially stable times. But as markets continue to convulse and titans tumble, we’ve realized they’re even more critical at times like these. We’re pleased to share our roundtable’s thoughts with you.

Nina: A lot of people don’t realize that the money they save or invest is lent out by their financial institution, that it’s one of the drivers of our economy. But you’ve all thought about the effect your money has on the world. How did you become aware of that?

Eva: If you don’t see the results, any investment is fine as long as you’re getting a good return. But when I was advisor to the minister of privatization in Poland, one day I told my assistant: “I want to see where all the action is.” So we went to a small town, where an investor had bought a factory and immediately shut it down. Six hundred people were unemployed, who were going to stay unemployed. Their lives were in poverty and deprivation, and they had been counting on life employment. It was like a spiritual collapse for me, that I was contributing to this. I left my position and decided I would invest my money in ways that bring something to the community. It’s not just to make money; there are people affected by it.

Jessie: When I first looked into screened funds, I was shocked. They wouldn’t do arms or cigarettes, but I wasn’t comfortable with what they do invest in. So we buy government bonds to help governments pay down debt and pay for government programs. And we buy GICs (Guaranteed Investment Certificates) from my credit union, so I know we’re making money available for things in our community. Plus, I’m not worried at all about the shakiness of the market because I’m not in it!

Mary: When I lived in England, I became aware of the effect investors had on law reform. American investors were asking hard questions of the U.K. government. “Unless you stop religious discrimination in Northern Ireland, we’re going to pull out our money.” That made me aware of socially responsible investing.

Tamara: I consider myself to be a caring person and I hope an ethical person, and I couldn’t reconcile that with the fact that maybe my money was going to the military-industrial complex. So I switched to socially responsible investing. And you’re right, Jessie, it’s not perfect. But I’m a beginner, and I don’t know what the better choices are yet.

Eva: I bought stock directly, but I found it hard [to] stay on top of the companies’ activities. It was time-consuming, and not that thrilling, but it was a good lesson. I thought, OK, I’ll have someone else do this. I read my reports, and I believe 70 to 80 per cent is quite kosher. But how do you judge? Pepsi is now bottling water. So they’re less involved in encouraging children to drink pop—but is that sustainable? That’s the grey zone: child obesity versus plastic bottles.

Catherine: The easy thing was an ethical mutual fund. I chose one with more screens and an element of shareholder activism. To me, that looked better. I’ve been a community activist all my life. It never occurred to me to do something different with my treasury than I do with my talent—it would be so profoundly discordant.

Jessie: I feel the same way. There are lots of people who live their values every day. But then they put their money in, and they don’t even think about it; they just have normal investments. Financial folks shake their heads at my family’s choices; they say we could make more money. But I don’t want to invest in those things, and I don’t want the stress of the market system. It’s glorified gambling. I’m not making a terrible value judgment against anyone, but that’s what it is.

Eva: I can see how people can get sucked into it. It’s thrilling. I’ve done it. You make a little bit of money in a few minutes, and it’s fun.

Nina: I want to ask about the idea of wealth. What does it mean to you to be wealthy?

Eva: For me it means healthy. Once your health is gone, nothing will help you. My friend died in six months with cancer. She left several million dollars to her sister, but she was gone. I learned quickly that health is wealth. So I spend money on vitamins. (laughter)

Tamara: I think of wealth and success as having complete control over how you spend your time. It’s good to work, and if your work is meaningful that’s great. But grinding away without flexibility doesn’t help a person grow. There’s value in having control over what you focus your energies on.

Jessie: In my eyes, wealth is the privilege to spend time with my daughter. Because a lot of people don’t have that privilege; they need two incomes. On the other hand, I know people who work more than they need to and don’t spend time with their kids—and I think they’re crazy.

Catherine: I heard an heiress speak about deciding what to do with a huge amount of money. She said, “I decided I had enough. I could give the rest away.” I thought that was so compelling: “I have enough.”

Jessie: There are studies that show that up to a certain point, you actually are happier with more money…

Mary: But that point is quite low.

Jessie: Yes, depending on where you live.

Catherine: There was a study in Vancouver. After something like $41,000 to $47,000 a year, no additional money brought additional happiness. That was enough.

Eva: The bottom line is that happiness is a state of mind, not the state of your bank account.

Jessie: Exactly. How many yachts can you have?

Tamara: The more things I have, the more weighed down I feel. To me, wealth means being free of things. I love getting rid of things; I feel lighter. I know people who say, “Oh, I’d like to travel, but what will I do about my house, my car, my things?” I say, get rid of it!

Nina: In your opinion, are ideas about wealth different for men than they are for women?

Eva: I think men see wealth as power and leverage. Women see it as utilitarian, to get what they need for themselves and their family.

Mary: I think a lot of men think providing economic security for their families is an important part of their role. But it also seems—whether by nature or nurture—a lot of men are competitive. And money is one way to compete. Not having an absolute amount of money but having more than the other guy.

Jessie: I don’t actually know anyone like that.

Mary: Because you’ve never worked in a large law firm! (laughter) If every partner in the firm is making scads of money, you still don’t want to be the one who makes slightly fewer scads. It’s relative, not absolute.

Nina: That’s the thing with money. You can say absolutely that $53 is more than $52, but it’s hard to say you’re a little bit happier.

Mary: It seems to me wealth is the relationship between your perceived wants and your perceived needs. Like that Dickens quote—if your outgoing is a little more than your incoming, that’s misery… but if your outgoing is a little less than your incoming, that’s happiness.

Nina: We lose sight of what we can control, that we can afford happiness by redefining what makes us happy, what we “need.”

Eva: I think there’s a movement growing for a simpler life. But also to create a legacy. It doesn’t have to be millions; you can combine your knowledge and time. I have one client who sold her house, and she’s building a school for children in Cameroon. Because for something like $20,000, she can do that.

Nina: So if a young person asks your advice about building wealth, what would you say?

Eva: Save your money. Start saving, and invest in something that is kosher.

Tamara: I see a lot of young people who jump into 40 hours a week and buy a condo and a car. I encourage people to travel. It opens your mind and changes how you behave. Canada is the exception to the way things are in most other parts of the world. Most people don’t bathe in drinking water. Not everyone has hot water. We are the privileged ones. Canadians are rich. Some aren’t. But most are.

Catherine: We need to take a “plenty” attitude to what we have, instead of a scarcity attitude, where we accumulate more and more. And say, “I have enough.” An important part of being well—wealthy—is giving back, making contributions to your community. And then another part is feeling OK about your finances. Can you go to sleep at night knowing what your money is doing? Is it aligned with your daytime principles? That’s a pretty good test for how you should be investing and accumulating wealth.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping businesses and non-profits build value through sustainability and positive change. Good conversation over a glass of wine always makes her feel rich.

Why 'women's work' is never done.

by Nina Winham

Our plum tree is covered with plums. They grow secretly during the early summer, green against green leaves. Then, in early August, they turn colour, and suddenly the tree is laden with dusky purple fruit.

Soon I’ll have friends over to make chutney and barbecue sauce. (There’s only so much jam one can eat.) We’ll dice ginger and peppers and get a free facial by hanging over the steaming canning pot while batches of jars go in for their purifying bath.

At the end, we’ll have product. Not the most plentiful output you’ve ever seen, but the by-product is rich: we laugh, compare stories, commiserate. We get covered in plum juice, mess up the kitchen, and mop it all up eventually. We have fun. And in that context, the savoury treats we create hold a flavour no store-bought bottle could ever provide.

Once, this was what households were all about. Everything took more labour: most food was cooked from scratch, clothing was stitched by hand, and canning was a core necessity—executed in far greater volume—for making it through the winter. Houses had pantries, workshops, sewing rooms. What was produced was valued because the effort to produce it was known.

It wasn’t easy—and don’t get me wrong, I don’t yearn to return to a time where bone-wearying work was required just to keep food on the table and clothing on backs. (Thank god, thank god, for the diaper service!) Still, in our rush to emancipate ourselves from every last stitch of work, I wonder, have we lost something?

In his book How Much Is Enough?, Alan Durning writes:

“Over the past century, the mass market has taken over an increasing number of the productive tasks once provided within the household, diminishing people’s practical reliance on one another… Members of the consumer class enjoy a degree of personal independence unprecedented in human history, yet hand in hand comes a decline in our attachments to each other. Informal visits between neighbours and friends, family conversation, and time spent at family meals have all diminished… since mid-century.”

We know that part of the reason for this is that “women’s work” has never been valued appropriately. So we’ve dumped the drudge and opted for the office, where we work (hard) to earn money. We use the money to buy stuff. As we’re all learning, we buy much more stuff than we need—at the expense of the environment and without always adding value to our lives.

Durning spins a tale of “consumer households”: centres of leisure that are lacking in meaning. A 1978 study of working class seniors in the U.K. found them disillusioned with the plenty they’d achieved. “Affluence, as they saw it, had broken the bonds of mutual assistance that adversity once forged. In the end, they were waiting out their days in their sitting rooms, each with his or her own television.”

Brrr! Why then have we so demonized household work—the work that drew us together in our homes and neighbourhoods, that collected our energy and talents into production, that nourished and housed us? If true wealth lies in rich relationships, resilience against hard times, and successful collaboration, why do we work so hard for financial wealth and reap so little reward?

I don’t know the answer, but I ponder the question. I truly am glad to avoid some forms of household labour. But I don’t want to earn my way into an impoverished life full of stuff but not relationships.

Anyone for a quilting bee?

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients build value through sustainability practices and positive change. Did she mention that she’s really, really grateful for the diaper service?

Investing in public health for all

Your baby is sick. He lies tiny in a large hospital bed with an intravenous tube feeding him the medicine he needs. Though you’ve been consumed by worry since his fever started, he is going to be fine.

In another part of the world, another baby is also sick. His mother cuddles him, her worry mounting to terror. She has no medicine. Though a remedy may exist, there may be no local producer or supplier. Or the price may simply be beyond this mother’s ability to pay.

Across our global village, this drama plays out every day. Some people recover from illnesses that are well known and treatable. Others get the same bug and die. Lucky ones contract illnesses that afflict wealthy populations and have thus attracted medical research. Unlucky ones contract illnesses that afflict only the poor, and therefore fixing them isn’t economically viable.

The question, as we come to grips with the “village” aspect of our world, is why we continue to tolerate such fundamental unfairness. (Perhaps we have been overtrained on inequity. I am of a generation that grew up with regular admonishments about perpetually starving children in India. Yes, we learned to appreciate our food. But did we learn to share it?)

The answers are not easy. Private companies invest in drug treatments as they invest in new entertainment technology or new communications services: they put capital at risk, develop new products, and seek to make a return. The difference is that medical products hold potential returns far beyond financial; human lives hang in the balance. The ethics of which illnesses are targeted for research, the way drugs are marketed and priced, and the way drug companies conduct themselves vis-à-vis government policy, are far different from those in industries less invested in human suffering and survival.

Access to Medicine Foundation offers a navigational path through this tricky landscape. Based in the Netherlands, the three-year-old foundation partnered with a variety of development agencies, as well as socially responsible investment organizations, to produce the Access to Medicine Index. The index evaluates and ranks pharmaceutical companies’ performance on issues such as equitable pricing of drugs, lobbying governments, drug donations, research into neglected diseases, and commitment to providing access. The first index was published in June. You can browse through an interactive web version at atmindex.org .

The index provides impartial, independent assessments of the way companies handle the prickly issues between the haves and the have-nots. It provides, for the first time, a standardized set of metrics to help us shift from simply appreciating what we have (“eat everything on your plate!”) to ensuring everyone has a fair chance to share it.

The foundation carried its work a step further by inviting major international investors to sign a pledge supporting both the index and pharmaceutical company transparency. Twelve international investors with assets totalling well over US$1 trillion have signed. They believe a company that is proactive on these issues is a better investment bet. Meanwhile, you can be sure the companies—especially those that scored poorly—are having to think differently about which side their bread is buttered on.

You may have investments in pharmaceutical companies, and you may feel committed to seeing medical care reach people—all people—who need it. Now you can put the two together, and choose to invest in those that help advance public health around the globe. We know one of the things that makes us feel the most wealthy is good health. Even better is having the tools to share it.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients build value through sustainability practices and positive change. She’s never understood how eating too much would help anyone else.

Macro returns from micro loans

by Nina winham

You wouldn’t know it, but I’m a fat cat international money lender. I just got a notice saying my loan recipient has made a payment. She’s on track—about 50 per cent repaid now—and every payment on time. Business must be going well. Good thing; I’d hate to have to go over there and collect.

My syndicate of 16 other lenders (you didn’t think I floated this loan all myself?) are folks like me: hard-nosed investors looking for an excellent return. Of course, I’m not as fat a cat as one member of my group. Larry, over in Mill Creek, Wash., has made 136 loans, all over the world. Charcoal sales, fruit and vegetables, food production, retail, cereals, plastics, a bakery. This guy is definitely looking for a deal. He must have made some decent dough. And now, he’s just sitting back and reaping the benefits.

Others in my syndicate (doesn’t that sound racy?) are more like me: a few loans in progress, not committing too much too fast. A police officer in Pennsylvania, a surgeon in Quebec. A retired couple in Texas. A pastor, an accountant. We’ve scoured the Earth looking for options for our hard-earned cash. We’ve all landed on this one business in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. For some reason, we all feel Sok Sarann is a good bet for giving us the kind of value we really want in an investment.

OK, you’ve guessed it, right? Even if I hadn’t told you this loan is for only $700 and that the business is a (single) motorcycle taxi, you’d have seen through my fat cat schtick. Sok Sarann is actually a widow with four children who sells chickens at the market in Cambodia. The motorcycle loan means one of her kids can operate a taxi service and bring in additional money for the family. My portion of the loan is a mere $25, but that is enough to invest in ways that still provide a healthy payback. And here’s where I do get hard-nosed: I want solid, real value. I want investments that will last. And I’m getting it all by helping Sok Sarann.

This is all made possible by Kiva (kiva.org ), a microfinance organization that allows you and I to be lenders. For $25, you can help a real entrepreneur somewhere in the world edge their way out of poverty. (They offer gift certificates, too!) For the socially responsible investor, it’s a great place to put some money. It doesn’t pay a financial return (you get your original principal back when your loan is repaid, to withdraw or re-lend), but it pays in other ways.

Fundamental to socially responsible investing is to understand the real human impact of the choices we make with our money, rather than focusing solely on our personal accumulation of cash. I’ve read my loan recipient’s story and seen her picture; I’ll get updates about her progress over time. I’ll know the real results of my loan. And she will know about me.

I want to invest in a world with less disparity and more resilience. A world with a better chance that my own children will not be thrown into hardship because others have desperately few options for taking care of theirs. A world where we measure our personal wealth based on our collective well-being. Those are the returns I want.

Kiva, with a new loan made every 34 seconds this week, is successfully building these returns. Read about the people working to build a better future (a seamstress in Ghana, an agricultural collective in Samoa, a clothing retailer in Peru, a maker of woven mats in Vietnam) to gain a sense of hope and momentum. Read the comments from lenders about why they lend, to feel even more hopeful. We do, after all, have a lot of money stashed in our part of the world. Lending it out one-to-one to make positive change is a great way to reap “fat cat” returns, of the richest kind. Purr!

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients build value through sustainability practices and positive change. Although allergic to cats, she is inspired both by loan recipients and by lenders at Kiva.

by NINA WINHAM, photo by GILA VON MEISSNER STRUMPFKUNST.DE

When I was about 20, I learned to darn socks. I’d read about it, and I’d seen my mother do it a few times. The craft of it appealed to me: you weave new cloth where the old has given out. (The thrift, too, although even my student budget allowed for new socks.) But mostly, I was just curious about this basic old art.

Then I graduated and got a job. I had more money and less time. Socks with holes were a problem: too good to throw away, but a nuisance to repair when it was so easy and cheap to buy new ones.

In fact, we’ve seen all manner of repair fall out of vogue. It’s easier to buy a new toaster than fix one; so much more rewarding to get a shiny new thing than to get that old one working again. And it usually costs less to buy new than to repair. No wonder we have a serious addiction to landfills!

Thankfully, savvy investors are now rethinking this buy-and-dump mentality. If something was good before, why fix it? If it held quality, offered service, and rendered value, surely it can again. (This would be painfully obvious to our grandparents. But in our era of cheap energy and global goodies, we’re in remedial mode here.)

A speaker at Vancouver’s recent 30 Days of Sustainability took my darned socks to a whole new level. Storm Cunningham is the author of two books about the “renewal economy”—where economic growth is based on renewing natural, built, and social environments. In this economy, smart investment dollars rejuvenate existing assets instead of building new, from historic buildings to lost rivers, and from dysfunctional ecosystems to entire neighbourhoods forsaken by mainstream investors, yet rich in renewal potential.

One example is the Noisette Project, a sustainable redevelopment in South Carolina. When a navy base closed, the City of North Charleston had the opportunity to allow public access to its waterfront for the first time in 100 years. Environmental restoration improved quality of life, which attracted developers, who in turn pulled neighbourhoods out of their post-industrial slump. As inherent environmental and heritage values have been resurrected, social value has been restored. A new landscape and lifestyle is coming to life by making use of what was already in place.

Cunningham’s stories offer ideas to the socially responsible investor in all of us. He said true sustainability must be built at the middle and end of the life cycle of goods. It’s not about developing new “green” products; it’s about doing more with what we already have. (Can’t you hear your grandma talking? Time to tackle that drawer of holey socks!)

Maintenance, conservation, and reinvestment are where Cunningham sees the engines of future growth, especially as our world becomes more resource-constrained. And if you are investing in things that are new, make sure they’re built to last. We’ve seen a generation of products—especially in our built environment—made of flimsy materials with little craftsmanship, which will not be worthy of reinvestment by our kids. It’s time to stop going for quick, cheap, disposable. Put your dollars into solid, durable, and well-made instead.

“You are what you save,” says an ING Direct billboard I’ve seen around town. Sure, the slogan is about cash in your account. But it made me think about healthy rivers, historic buildings, neighbourhoods rich with stories, family heirlooms. New is nice, and sometimes it’s a good investment. But learning to save—to reinvest, restore, revitalize, remember—is most certainly one path to true wealth.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), helping clients message and manage change, and build value through sustainability practices. She reduces her use of landfill by making sock puppets.

by NINA WINHAM

The day we moved into our house on the Eastside of Vancouver, our next-door neighbour brought us a whole roasted chicken and a loaf of fresh bread. A widow who has lived in her home for nearly 50 years, she has routinely dropped off baked goods, cherries from her tree, and birthday presents for my daughter, and we routinely trade friendly banter over the back fence.

She is a lovely neighbour and a generous person. And, whether she knows it or not, she’s also protecting her own interests by building herself into our lives and those of others on our street.

It’s called “social capital.” In the abstract world of sustainability theory, it’s one of several types of capital we need to build and preserve. Social capital refers to the relational fabric of our society: families, communities, unions, businesses, schools, and volunteer organizations. There’s also natural capital, the life-giving abundance of the ecosystem around us; human capital, which is health, skills, and knowledge; and, of course, the ones that hog the headlines: financial and manufactured capital. (For more, dive in at forum forthefuture.org; search for “five capitals.”)

Somehow, we’ve learned to spend most of our time fretting about financial and manufactured capital. From housing starts to home-reno shows, from chasing a pay increase to chasing a sale on the other end of town, we invest a lot of our time into the idea that our wealth resides in bank accounts and possessions. It’s true that money can buy a lot of comfort and opportunity, and not having enough for necessities is crushing. But that housewarming roast chicken can buy you a lot of security, too.

Heat Wave, a fascinating book by Eric Klinenberg about the 1995 Chicago heat wave, shows the power of social capital. For one week, temperatures soared. Train tracks warped. Road surfaces buckled. And people died—more than 700 that week than usual, by some estimates. It’s interesting to note who died. Elderly women—more sensitive to heat but generally better at maintaining social relationships—died at half the rate of elderly men. Latinos, living in vibrant neighbourhoods with strong community relationships, were almost unrepresented in the death count, despite making up one quarter of the city’s population. In contrast, African-Americans isolated in neighbourhoods abandoned by business and residents alike were much more likely to die alone in their apartments. In the face of disaster, people with higher social capital were more likely to survive.

The trick with these different forms of capital is keeping them in balance (such as not eliminating all our natural capital—forests, fish stocks, and healthy watersheds—for quick financial gains). But since we haven’t been trained to think about wealth in any terms other than “money” or “things,” seeing the real value in building social capital is subtle.

As an investor, you can harness your financial capital for the task. Choose funds that invest in international community development projects, or credit union term deposits that support local community-building initiatives.

You can also shift the way you think about wealth and investing. Work a little less. Spend more time talking over the back fence. Look after your neighbours. Volunteer. Those, too, are investments that pay off. I have no idea what my neighbour’s bank account looks like, but I know she is wealthy in the ways that count. And, unlike money in the bank, the more she builds that wealth, the more we all gain.

Nina Winham is principal of New Climate Strategies (newclimate.ca), a consultancy helping clients build value through sustainability practices and creating positive change. She aspires to a 50-year track record as a good neighbour.