Is ______ an impact investor?

On Monday I had the chance to speak at the iiSummit on Impact Investing,  organized by Kellogg and the Chicago Booth School.  It is exciting to see the level of interest in impact investing growing everywhere (beyond the obvious hotbeds of New York, San Francisco, and Washington, DC).  The goal of the conference was to explore how the tools of impact investing could be applied in the Midwest.

During one of the conference breaks, I had a conversation with a student who wanted my take on whether Bank Rakyat Indonesia, the Indonesian microfinance bank where I worked a decade ago, is an impact investor.

I was and continue to be stumped by the question, and I think the question sheds light on a worrisome trend in our space.

Let me explain.

What the question seemed to be about was whether BRI aims to have social impact, specifically because the interest rates are “high” (~25% p.a.); because it does collateralized lending (as opposed to group lending); and because, it was implied, BRI is highly profit-seeking.

My take on BRI is a little different: 25% p.a. interest rates are in line with global microfinance interest rates (so I have trouble arguing that they should be lower); limiting itself to collateralized lending does mean that BRI is likely serving the better-off segment of low-income customers, but these customers still clearly have a need for these services;  and, at least when I was there, BRI had a 4:1 ratio of savings to lending – which is only possible because it is a regulated financial institution.   Since I personally think that savings might be more powerful to the poor than lending as a tool to smooth consumption and have capital available for big expenditures (which is really what a lot of microlending is all about), I think this a really big deal.  So, in sum, I’m a fan of BRI from what I saw when I worked there.

But I digress.

What the question got me thinking about was that, rather than asking, “Do you think that BRI is having significant, positive social impact?” the question was “Is BRI an impact investor?”

The implication seemed to be that “impact investing,” as the coolest, hottest trend in our space, is a proxy phrase for doing good work, a notion that was reinforced by the numerous speakers who qualified lots of worthwhile, not-so-new activities (negative screen, public market investing first pioneered by Domini; positive screen, public market investing best represented by Generation Investment Management; CRA lending everywhere; everything that OPIC has done for the last few decades) as “impact investing.”

Personally, I don’t care what is or is not “impact investing.”  What I care about is whether we are creating positive social change.

Impact investing, to me, is nothing more and nothing less than the use of investment tools for social ends. Our collective “aha moment” was the realization that investors can strike a deal with sources of capital whereby social impact goals are made explicit.  This allows investors (stewards of others’ capital) to pursue social goals without shirking their fiduciary responsibility to maximize profits.   Volia, we have more tools (not just grants) that we can use to pursue social impact.

This is simple enough and hard to disagree with.

But from this perspective, I find myself discouraged by the “finance first” and “impact first” terminology that’s become popular in our space.  It feels trite.  Isn’t the whole point of “impact investing” the “impact” piece?  Without that you have investing – which can create all sorts of impacts (positive and negative; financial and social).  But either you set out to create positive social change or you don’t.  The idea that you’d set out to create only a little positive social change…what exactly does that mean?

I don’t want to know whether you or I or anyone else is an impact investor. I want to know how much social impact you and I are creating with a dollar (or a euro, or a rupee, or a shilling, or whatever).  Everything else, to me, is just old wine in new bottles.

I am the decisive element

My wife reminded me of this powerful quote from Goethe, via Gretchen Rubin’s Happiness Project blog.  It’s worth returning to daily.

I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration, I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides…

Happy Friday.

Why sweat the small stuff?

Yesterday I wrote a post about making sure to get the font right in emails you send out.  The day before I reflected on responses to the simple question, “How are you doing?”

Why sweat such small stuff in a blog about generosity, philanthropy and social change?

It’s because from what I’ve seen, change happens – especially in the nonprofit sector – when the right people, ideas and resources come together to attack a particular issue.  The driving force and the glue are relationships, the ability to bring together seemingly disparate people and organizations that form strong, lasting partnerships.

Successful relationship management is first and foremost about attitude.  You have to care (or, potentially, you have to decide to care) about building strong and genuine relationships.  You have to have honest-to-goodness respect for the people with whom you’re building these relationships.  This goes in all directions (donor to nonprofit; nonprofit to donor; nonprofit to program beneficiary, program beneficiary to nonprofit; etc. etc. ), and it’s non-negotiable.  Without this attitude in place, you’ll fall short.

Once you’ve got this right, though, relationship-building and relationship management is a skill that can be learned.  Like any skill there are big pieces and small pieces; there are people who are born naturals and people who learn along the way.  There are a million ways to get this right and probably even more ways to muck it up.

So posts about how to write emails, or posts about the first impression you make when someone asks “how are you?” are part of the mountain of little tweaks that I’ve found help me get better at this every day – things I’ve seen, things I’ve messed up, things I’ve learned from others.  One by one they pile up, until one day, to your (or my) surprise, you’re in a totally different place.

It’s not personal (and that’s the problem)

OK, I know you’re busy, we all are.

And you have a lot of people you want to connect with.  We all do.

And yes, it’s true, sometimes you copy and paste stuff into more than one email, because the meat of the update might be pretty similar from person to person, right?

But here’s the decision you get to make: how much value do you place on making the person on the other end feel like the note was written just for them, every time?

Outlook has a whiz-bang feature that allows you to create a text email that is, in fact, a mass mailing.  It’s tempting isn’t it?  Think how efficient it would be!!

Except.

Except you have to decide if relationship-building is a mass-market undertaking.  You have to decide if scale comes from going broad or going deep.  You have to decide which tradeoff you’re willing to make, because halfway there is no man’s land.

Sure, you’ll be careful most of the time.  But the moment a giant block of text in your email is in another color, or another font, or another size, the illusion is shattered. The moment you email the same thank you note to five different people, the wires appear to the whole audience, and the magic of your flying act goes *poof*.

And the thing is, the moment someone discovers that they’re the kind of person who gets impersonal notes from you…well, there’s really no way to recover from that.

 

How are you doing? How are you doing? How are you doing?

Last week I went to my 20-year high school reunion – which was neither as dreadful nor as exciting as the hype would lead one to believe.

Over the course of a few hours, a group of people (most of whom live in the same city even when not reunion-ing) who once knew each other well assemble to engage in a speed-dating type dance, trading 2-5 minute updates on the last 10-20 years of their lives.  Mostly I found it positive to hear how people have grown, the paths they are walking, how they are making their way through the world.

What’s unique about a reunion is that it combines long-lost friendship (trust, openness) with the expectation that you’ll give shorthand update on a few decades of your life.  There’s an intimacy that’s absent from cocktail party conversations, which I found breeds honesty and directness if you actually stand up and listen.

Perhaps most interesting was the simple answer to the question, “How are you doing?” asked repeatedly.  In the context of a high school reunion, this innocent phrase carries some real weight.  Peoples’ short answers to this question revealed joy, excitement, the desire to impress, openness, closedness, happiness, disappointment…the whole gamut, if you listened closely.

Hearing 30 people answer this same question in 60 minutes certainly made me think about how quickly first impressions are made.  And then I thought: wait a minute, maybe high school reunions aren’t any different at all in terms of what you can learn from how folks (how you, how I) answer this question.

Terrified of success

It’s worth reflecting why we systematically under-prepare for things: big speeches, job interviews, presentations to the Board of Directors, asking for a raise.

We’ve heard all the talk about not losing spontaneity, about being in the moment.  Phooey.  All the best jazz musicians – professional improvisers – practice like crazy.

If there is foundational work that you (systematically) don’t do when the stakes are high, that is fear speaking.  Fear of spending time today looking the thing that scares you right in the eye.  Fear of putting in the time now, because when we put in that time we’re making an emotional commitment to a successful outcome.  Fear that if we try our hardest and then fail, we have no excuse – whereas if we wing it, we always have an out.

It’s surprising, ironic and a little sad: we under-invest in our own success not because we’re afraid of failing, but because we’re terrified that we might succeed.

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POSTSCRIPT to yesterday’s post: I was half right (or, if you prefer, half wrong), as Dean Karlan posted the results of his experiment on the Freakanomics blog.  The results are that prior donors who’d given less than $100 to Freedom from Hunger gave 0.9 percentage points LESS when presented with more facts/data; those who’d given  $100 or more gave 3.54 percentage points more.  So more facts made some donors give more, and some give less.  Dean shares an interesting observation in the post: “Freedom from Hunger is known amongst its supporters and those in the microfinance world as being more focused on using evidence and research to guide their programs.”  So these donors might be some of the most likely to be interested in evidence, and it still was a coin flip on whether more data resulted in more or fewer donations.

The power and limits of controlled experiments

The Freakanomics blog is running a fun contest asking readers to predict whether providing more factual evidence of impact increases or decreases donations.  Dean Karlan, co-author with Jacob Appel of More Than Good Intentions is running an experiment in partnership with Freedom From Hunger.  Dean wants to understand whether sharing, with donors, cold hard facts about the proven effectiveness of a business training program run by Freedom From Hunger increases or decreases donations.

As context, there is a well-documented study conducted by Deborah Small, George Loewenstein, and Paul Slovic that tests how potential donors respond to generalized factual information about hardship versus the story of an individual girl, named Rokia, in Mali.  The punchline is that the story of Rokia elicits about 2x the donations as does a brief with summary factual information about poverty.

Put another way: stories sell, facts don’t.  (remember, we think with our brains, but…)

Dean Karlan’s experiment is designed to test whether “story + facts” is more or less effective than “story.”   To test this, Freedom from Hunger sent out two mailers.  The control mailer just has the story of Rita, and it starts:

Many people would have met Rita and decided she was too poor to repay a loan.  Five hungry children and a small plot of mango trees don’t count as collateral.  But Freedom from Hunger knows that women like Rita are ready to end hunger in their own families and their communities…

The treatment mailer has different copy:

In order to know that our programs work for people like Rita, we look for more than anecdotal evidence.  That is why we have coordinated with independent researchers to conduct scientifically rigorous impact studies of our programs.  In Peru they found that women who were offered our Credit with Education program had 16% higher profits in their businesses than those who were not, and they increased profits in bad months by 27%!  This is particularly important because it means our program helped women generate more stable incomes throughout the year.

These independent researchers used a randomized evaluation, the methodology routinely used in medicine, to measure the impact of our programs on things like business growth, children’s health, investment in education, and women’s empowerment.

The question is: which mailer will have a higher response?

My guess is that the first one wins (even though this mailer is being sent to repeat donors, who have probably heard this story before – and it’s fair to guess that I’m wrong, otherwise why would they have blogged the contest in this way?).

Whether or not I’m right, I’d like to see a better-designed study. It feels misleading to me to describe this as testing “story” versus “story + facts.”  I’d instead say it’s testing “good letter” versus “only OK letter,” and if my take is right, the generalizability of these results will be low indeed.

This is on my mind because last week I had the chance to hear Esther Duflo speak about some of the examples from her book, Poor EconomicsMany of them are highly compelling – particularly those in which the treatment being tested (e.g. de-worming) is clear and readily measurable.

But the risk of the randomized-control trial rage (which is, very appropriately, a hot and exciting topic in our field right now, and Esther and Abhijit have been champions of high-quality, clear thinking) is that we over-extend our definition of “treatment” that can meaningfully be assessed in this way.  For example, one of the examples Esther cited in her talk was about whether poor farmers were willing to pay enough for a weather insurance product to make the product commercially viable.  In this test, farmers were offered a relatively simple and straightforward product that would pay them a certain amount if recorded rainfall at the weather station dropped below a certain level.  The conclusion, as described by Esther in the talk (and stated more strongly than she does in the book), was that farmers wouldn’t pay enough – and I heard her take this to mean that the insurance market for the poor might not be viable without significant subsidy.

Not having dug into the research – but having heard Esther’s description – I was left worried that in this case, like in the Dean Karlan study about the mailer, we run a real risk of overreaching in the conclusions we draw.  It may well be that market-based insurance for the poor doesn’t work; it may be that government needs to provide a subsidy; it may also be that in a market in which there is a limited track record of insurance, little history of or confidence in payouts, no competition and almost no trust, the study showed that willingness to pay was low – which wouldn’t be in the least bit surprising.

What I’m getting at is that sometimes our attitude about figuring out “what works” in poverty alleviation feels like designing studies, in the 1980s or 1990s, on the future of the tablet market based on intensive study of the Apple Newton and early tablet PCs.  Assuming everything is static, there’s no market.  But of course the whole point is NOT to let things be static – to create the development equivalent of the iPhone and the iPad through relentless innovation and a dogged unwillingness to fail.

This is an important point because at some fundamental level we must ask ourselves how much we believe in the power of innovation.  How far do we push, prod and experiment before we conclude that something does, or doesn’t, work?  In the simple example of the Freedom from Hunger mailer, I’m betting that some drastically better copy would have the desired effect (or a bigger desired effect) of using hard data to increase donations.  In the insurance example, I’d be interested in a lot more product development, market testing, and trust-building with smallholder farmers before drawing any broad conclusions.  And so it goes across the board with all the major interventions in the fight on poverty, from microfinance to girls’ education to de-worming to fortifying food to to HIV/AIDS prevention (where, shockingly, male circumcision is proving to be a very effective way to slow the spread of disease).

I don’t want to come out against testing, rigor, and “proof” – not at all.  We need all of these things, and need to have the ability to ask tough questions, to be willing to let things go quickly when they’re not working, and to over-resource things that are working even if they contradict our initial assumptions.  At the same time, our field – and, specifically, the injection of real innovation into our field – is nascent enough that it feels early in most cases to aspire to draw anything but narrow conclusions about what does and doesn’t work; where the poor are and are not willing to pay; and what interventions will have the greatest impact over time.  We’ve seen this play out most recently and most vociferously in the microfinance space – too-broad claims that it changes everything, and then equally broad claims that it does nothing – when surely the right answer is that when done right it can be valuable, when done wrong it can be destructive.   I’m sure we’ll see this same story play out time and time again, across interventions, across sectors, and across geographies.

Self reliance

Last September, my son’s first grade teacher proudly said during the parents’ orientation session that one of her main goals for the year was that children finish the year able consistently to follow instructions.

Hmmm.  Useful to be sure, but it left me feeling empty.

School is a funny thing.  It teaches us so many valuable lessons.   It gives a set of tools that, historically, has helped us to succeed.  Yet it also passes along a subtle, unstated, pernicious notion: someone else out there knows better than you do.  Your teacher.  The expert.  The guy who wrote the textbook.

We have a first grade class with kids brimming with curiosity, and we have a chance to decide what, and how, to teach them.  In our decision to teach them to follow the schedule and listen to the teacher, do we instill a quiet but powerful notion of self-doubt, a need to stay within the lines, a belief that someone else knows best?

They say youth is wasted on the young, and it may also be that the work of great authors is also wasted on the young as well.  Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self Reliance was required high school reading at a time when I was in no position to have an opinion on whether I was trusting myself too much, too little, or just right.

Now’s the time to reread it, and The Domino Project has it ready for you here (sorry, the 100 limited edition hardcover copies already sold out), replete with relevant new reflections from the likes of Jesse Dylan, Steve Pressfield, and Milton Glaser.

Now you may be asking yourself how relevant an essay written in 1841 will feel, but I promise this baby is worth the reread.  It is a full-on kick-in-the-pants, and on the off chance you don’t find it inspiring (very unlikely), I’m sure you’ll impress someone with a great quotation about inconsistency being the hobgoblin of little minds (yes, that’s Emerson).  So, again, you can buy it here.

Here’s the bonus: you can sign up to a self-reliance pledge, with the support and daily encouragement of our friends at the Domino Project.   They’ll be putting up daily prompts from cool, inspiring bloggers/thinkers/rabble-rousers on RalphWaldoEmerson.me (or you can get them by email) to help you stay inspired and keep on listening to the person who knows best: you.

Learn from the bards and sages in your life.  Absorb everything you can of their wisdom and experience.  Stand on their shoulders and honor them by developing a deep, abiding, fierce and humble conviction in what you believe.

In the words of Emerson, “A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the luster of the firmament of bards and sages.”

A better list

Lists are great – a systematized, orderly way to keep yourself on task and keep track of tasks.

Except of course that lists are usually an excuse – an excuse to do everything but the real work we have to do.

Some lists, full of seemingly important stuff, actually just say:

  1. Stall
  2. Stall
  3. Procrastinate
  4. Put stuff off
  5. Stall some more
  6. Look busy
  7. Have a meeting that looks busy
  8. Etc.

(By the way, your inbox is just a fancy list.  And don’t get me started on your Facebook / Twitter feed).

So how about this: keep the list, work the list, but act based on the knowledge that you’ll never get to the end of the list.  Knowing that, why not commit, once a day, to add one thing to the list (just one!!) that’s hard or scary, and commit to getting that thing done today.

Hard and scary is, it turns out, a pretty great proxy for “worthwhile.”

One item, once a day, every day, that terrifies you.

The elephant

Here’s the deal: he’s in the room, so you options are either to talk about him or to pretend he’s not there.

You can put it off, you can discuss other things, you can hide for a while, but he ain’t going anywhere (heck, he doesn’t even fit through the door).

Imagine how you’ll surprise people when you – you who appear to have most to lose if you bring him up; you, whose plan seems to hinge on him not being there at all – call him out, describe just what he looks like, acknowledge that he could scuttle everything.

Better for you to name him and explain why it makes sense to barrel ahead regardless.  It’s when someone else calls him out that you’ll be pushed onto your back foot and risk losing momentum.