In my family's photo album, two photos in particular come to mind today. They're from 1988, on the first day of preschool for my older brother George and me. It was just a couple of weeks after we had moved out of Kenya to begin our American adventure. George, four years old and brimming with confidence, sits proudly on his tricycle, dressed in his favorite color, red. Even on day one, he looks like he belongs there more than anyone else. In contrast, I'm not yet three years old, and my shyness is abundant.
Thirty-six years later, as I reflect on what would be George's 40th birthday, these images remind me of the lessons I learned from him: independence, self-regard, and moral integrity. Before mental illness took him from us, George often embodied these traits in extraordinary ways. From him, I learned how to walk into a room and fight for what I believe in, even if no one else does. To honor him, I try to do something positive and socially courageous every year.
I want to share a story about one of those acts of courage from five years ago, in 2019. At the time, I had built a reputation for developing and presenting on a specialized business topic in innovation to Fortune 500 executives. My work took me to major cities around the world, presenting to companies like Procter & Gamble, PepsiCo, and Levi's. One day, one of the largest European banks -- Banco Santander -- came calling asking if I could give a presentation in-person to their executives. They wanted to fly me and some colleagues I had at the time to London, put me in a five-star hotel, and spend a day learning about this topic. I hesitated. Unbeknownst to the client or my colleagues, George had worked for this company in their Boston office. Unbeknownst to them, I hated this bank with all my heart.
When George worked at Santander, he was harassed by some of their staff members. True to his nature, George fought back. Human resources, as is typical of them, did nothing to help him, and made the situation worse, blaming him for having surfaced the issues. One can argue it accelerated the onset of the mental illness that eventually took his life. The idea of presenting to Santander gnawed at me.
I had a few options: (a) decline and give a blanket excuse, keeping my reasons to myself; (b) decline and tell them the truth in writing, which they might ignore; or (c) channel a bit of Preschool George Energy, act as though I belong in that room more than anyone else, and do something courageous. As Warren Buffett wisely says, "You can always tell someone 'go to hell' tomorrow.'" Yes, but sometimes, that day is today.
I discussed my dilemma with my family and received various opinions. My father's advice to "speak truth to power" resonated most. So, I chose option C. But even option C on the decision tree had many branches. I could simply tell them what I thought and walk out, but I realized it might have a more lasting impact if I first won them over.
I'll admit, I was somewhat nervous about how they would react to my story about George. But I realized it was right to find the courage to do so. After spending 90 minutes teaching a group of a dozen of their executives my innovation topic, I had won them over. Then, I laid them out.
I told them about George and that I hesitated to make this trip. I told them how he used to work there, the challenges he faced from colleagues, how the company failed him, and that it contributed to his death. I expressed my great animosity toward Santander and shared how I, my family, and many people I respect dislike their company. I told them that as an investor, I understand how efficiency, productivity, and data guide decisions. But as a human, empathy, kindness, and character matter more. The lesson from my brother's experience at their firm is that they need to do more to be empathetic and humanistic, not just with their clients, but also with their employees.
The room fell silent. One of my colleagues was surprised and a little awkward about it, which I anticipated and why I hadn't shared my plan. Afterward, four of the executives in the room from Santander approached me, thanked me for the message and authenticity, and said it was a stark reminder that people always matter more and they can do better. It didn't change my view of the firm—I still won't open an account with them or work with them—but I was deeply glad I spoke the truth.
Five years later, I'm doing better than I could have dreamed, both personally and financially. This act of courage didn't set me back one bit. It freed and propelled me to new heights. It reinforced something George showed me in the healthy stages of his life: the benefits of being independent-minded, respecting yourself and your moral boundaries, and fighting for what you believe in far outweigh social niceties. And if anyone tries to pay you to forget those, don't. Take the money and say to their faces, "Fuck you."