Live Aid @ 40

It’s not often you can pinpoint the precise moment in time that your life moved in an entirely different, and unexpected direction. For me, 13th July 1985 – probably around midday – was that moment. I remember it well.

Live Aid that summer has come under intense scrutiny, particularly over recent years, accused of oversimplifying the Ethiopian famine and failing to address the complex political and structural causes of the crisis. In particular, critics argue that the event promoted a ‘white saviour’ complex. Many of these accusations are fair, but not all.

What follows is an extract from my latest book, The Pursuit of Purpose, where I share what, back at the time of Live Aid, was a desperate search for purpose and meaning in my life. I owe a lot to Live Aid, faults and all.

“It took a global music event, of all things, to give me what I was missing. At precisely noon one hot Saturday afternoon in July 1985, Live Aid kicked off with Status Quo’s aptly-named ‘Rocking All Over The World’, signalling the start of one of the largest and most ambitious live music concerts and global fundraising events ever held.  As I settled down to watch the opening of the show, little did I know how significant this day would turn out to be in my life. Over the previous two years a famine of biblical proportions had gripped Ethiopia, the worst to hit the country in over a century. These were pre-World Wide Web days and incredibly the famine, which was estimated to have impacted seven million people and killed another one million, had been kept largely hidden from view by the Ethiopian government. Described as ‘the closest thing to hell on earth’ by BBC reporter Michael Buerk, it was his report and film, the first by any journalist, which drove home the severity of what was happening and spurred a massive UK and global humanitarian response.

After watching Michael Buerk’s report, pop stars Bob Geldof and Midge Ure quickly mobilised two dozen fellow musicians and, in a single day in November 1984, recorded ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’, a hugely successful charity single released to raise urgent funds for the famine response. It became the fastest-selling UK single (it has since been overtaken by Elton John’s 1997 ‘Candle in the Wind’, a tribute to Lady Diana), selling a million copies in its first week alone and hitting the top of the charts in 14 countries, including the UK. The summer Live Aid concert was conceived as a follow-up to the Christmas single and, at its peak, boasted a global audience of almost two billion people in over 150 countries.

And sitting uncomfortably at home on Five Oaks estate, I was one of them.

My immediate reaction that day to stories and images of poverty and famine was one of shock, horror, embarrassment and guilt. Up until then I’d been largely focused on my own little world and, I hate to admit it, I poorly understood life for other people in other places. Jersey can do that to you. These days we have little excuse for not paying attention given the rise of the World Wide Web, online news and social media. Back in the 1980s, news occasionally bubbled slowly up out of the ground. There was no such thing as ‘breaking news’ that you could follow. Instead, an event would often come straight out and hit you like a ton of bricks. One minute there was no famine, and the next minute there was, and a biblical one at that.”

When is enough, enough?

If you’re the kind of reader who wants to cut to the chase, here’s the link to my new project, apathy to action. The following post gives a little background and context, and explains what drove me to create it, if you’re at all interested.

As many people might know from my work over the years, I’ve dedicated most of my life trying my best to develop, and help others develop, meaningful and impactful social and environmental solutions to some of the world’s biggest problems. On the surface I’ve done a pretty good job of it too, and have the recognition and best-selling books to prove it.

But it’s never felt enough.

People are often surprised when I say that I feel powerless to all that’s wrong in the world today. It feels like nothing less than radical change is what’s needed. I can’t help but think that this is not the time to tinker around the edges. It’s time to stand up, use our voices, get out on the street, be ‘more activist’ (whatever that means) and put what we believe in on the line. “That’s all very well and good,” my inner voices says, “but you’ve never been brave enough for any of that.” And it’s right. I’ve never even been to a demonstration.

But I can use my voice – it’s just taken me far too long to wake up to it. I’ve been so slow off the mark that I’ve only recently started sharing posts – mostly on LinkedIn – about all the horrific things being inflicted on innocent civilians in Gaza and the West Bank. It’s also been a topic of conversation with my children, something I remember doing with my mother as a child. Has this crisis really been going on that long? And why are my LinkedIn posts met with a wall of silence? Why are good people seemingly ignoring what’s going on, perhaps hoping it will go away?

It’s the same with many other conflicts destroying peoples lives around the world, whether they be in Sudan, Yemen, the DRC or Ukraine. And let’s not forget the refugee crisis, climate crisis or threats to democracy, to name just a few more. None of our collective silence on many of these issues makes much sense to me. I know we all care, so what gives?

So I decided it was only right to try and figure out why so many others, like me, have struggled to adequately respond to these unfolding global issues. A couple of weeks ago I kicked things off with a post about my apathy, and I attended a War on Want event in London a few days later. I continued writing LinkedIn posts about Gaza, posts which continued to be met with a wall of silence. And in quiet moments in between that thing called everyday life, I wondered how many other people out there cared like I did, but simply didn’t know what to do, or where to begin?

So this is what I’ll be doing.

First, find as many people who feel like me, but do little like me. I know there are a lot of you out there. Once we’re together, we’ll collectively unpick our apathy and explore how we might find ourselves, and everyone else, a way out. I won’t promise you an ‘app for that’, but hey, there may end up being an app for that. Help me decide.

So, welcome to apathy to action, the first new kiwanja initiative since I published my memoir three years ago. As always, I’ve put together a website where you’ll find more details, a little background, and a link to a short 3-minute survey which acts as your registration of interest. I know there are a lot of people out there who feel as disempowered as I do, and I’d love to bring as many of us together so we can collectively move from a state of apathy to one of action.

Because we need it. And the world needs it. 

Hope to see you there.

Time to get my feet dirty?

I’m old enough to remember the euphoric tech-optimism of the mid-2000’s, a time when the Internet and mobile technology were blazing a trail across much of the developing (read: offline) world. Soon, the argument went, everyone would have a voice and that could only be a good thing for human rights, democracy and economic empowerment, to name a few.

And for a while it was. But not so much now.

I was incredibly fortunate to get caught up in what was fondly known back then as the ‘mobile revolution’. As long ago as 2003 – that glorious Nokia-dominated pre-smartphone era – Richard Burge and I carried out research in an attempt to capture and document how phones were being used across Sub-Saharan Africa, and what lessons could be learnt from that use. Most of the evidence was anecdotal, and it’s funny to think that one of our conclusions was that mobile phones had potential for conservation and development work, but whether or not they would reach it was unclear. I still refer to that time as a ‘golden age of discovery‘, one where you could fit everyone innovating around the technology into a small room, and where you could try almost anything in the knowledge that it had likely not been tried before.

Of course, those days are long gone. And so has all that optimism.

We all know you can’t blame the technology for how people choose to use it. Mobile phones and the Internet have clearly revolutionised communication and access to information, but their widespread use has also contributed to the erosion of democracy and societal cohesion, particularly over the last 15 years. The rapid spread of misinformation, polarisation through algorithm-driven echo chambers and manipulation of public opinion via social media have weakened trust in democratic institutions and fragmented communities. The evidence is all around us.

Dumb phones, once occasional tools of convenience, have become smart and are now constant companions, contributing to rising levels of anxiety, attention disorders and feelings of isolation, especially among young people. Today’s always-on culture, social comparison and digital overload have created a mental health crisis as we struggle to disconnect from a world designed to keep people scrolling rather than reflecting, connecting or engaging meaningfully in civic life.

Steve Jobs launching the original iPhone in 2007

But we are where we are. And it could have been so different. Jonny Ive, designer of the iPhone, has publicly acknowledged the down side of one of his greatest triumphs. ‘Humanity deserves better‘, he says. And it does.

My contribution to the ‘mobile revolution’ was the founding of kiwanja.net and the creation of FrontlineSMS. I always did my best to take something of a back seat, to remain relentlessly focused on the end user and to provide tools and access to information and resources that helped social and environmental activists do their own work better. It’s with fondness that I remember a conversation I had with the marketing team at National Geographic when I won my Explorer Award in 2010. I was asked for photos of me in the field working with FrontlineSMS users, and I didn’t have any. Users took the software and did all the work themselves, I told them, without needing me to get in the way. I remain convinced that this is why it worked so well, and the reason it created genuine empowerment and excitement.

That approach seems less compelling today and, as I look back exactly 20 years on, it feels like time to figuratively ‘come in from the cold’. Remaining quiet or passive (or whatever you want to call it) doesn’t really cut it anymore as so much crumbles around me. The big question, of course, is what to do. What might make a difference? How might I contribute? Is it even worth trying? I could easily write a book about all the things that trouble, anger or upset me, but there are probably five that spring immediately to mind.

The erosion of US democracy
Increasing political polarisation, attacks on voting rights, disinformation and the undermining of democratic norms have placed the US under serious internal strain, with global implications for us all.

The ongoing crisis in Palestine
Decades of occupation, repeated military conflict and a deepening humanitarian catastrophe have left millions of Palestinians without security, rights or hope, raising urgent questions about justice, statehood and international accountability.

Buildings hit by Israeli airstrikes, Gaza (Photo: Hatem Moussa)

The climate emergency
Extreme weather, rising sea levels, biodiversity loss and worsening climate-driven inequality threaten global stability. Despite overwhelming scientific consensus, political inaction continues to delay any kind of meaningful progress.

The global migration and refugee crisis
War, climate change, economic collapse and persecution are displacing millions worldwide. Yet the response from wealthier nations is often defined by border walls, detention centres and xenophobic policies rather than compassion or responsibility.

The rise of authoritarianism and digital surveillance
From China to Hungary to parts of Africa and Asia, autocratic regimes are consolidating power, often using digital tools to monitor, censor and suppress dissent. This trend threatens human rights, freedom of expression and global democratic norms.

I’ve been fortunate to have built more than enough social capital over the years, and much of it continues to fuel the work I do today. But despite a life largely spent trying to doing good, it no longer feels like enough. Boots on the ground might be a more appropriate response, causing ‘good trouble’ as US Senator John Lewis described it. “Speak up, speak out, get in the way. Get in good trouble, necessary trouble, and help redeem the soul of America” was his civil rights rallying cry.

What it boils down to, at the end of the day, is what we have to lose by taking action, and whether we’re prepared to do it. Throughout history many people have paid the ultimate price for standing up for what they believe in, for getting their boots on the ground. What could I possibly lose for standing up and speaking out compared to those who have given their lives?

Plenty of things keep me awake at night, in particular a sense that I’m not doing enough. Having young children who will inherit this mess doesn’t help. But not knowing what to do is only a part of it. We can always start by speaking up.

So that’s where I’ve decided to start. beginning with this post today. Who will join me?

Compassion in the face of conflict

A few weeks ago I took part in a weekend retreat at the Cambridge Buddhist Centre, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Meditation, Buddhist teachings and vegan food were the order of day, but for me the greatest insight came from conversations I had with the monks about their journeys, beliefs and opinions on Buddhism and modern life. Seeking personal enlightenment felt all well and good, I said, but how does that square with issues on the ‘outside’? You know, such as my frustration and anger with all the needless conflict and suffering going on around the world?

Image courtesy Wikipedia

Despite many great conversations, I never did get any answers that sat well with me. As someone whose work has been driven by empathy and rooted in action for so many years, stepping back and focusing my energies on how I deal with my own feelings didn’t feel like much use to anyone experiencing the suffering.

I’ve had plenty of time to think about this, and thought it might be helpful to write some of it down. But first, a caveat. While it may not have given me the answers I sought, Buddhist thinking does offer plenty of tools for engaging with situations beyond our control without falling into despair, reactivity or hatred. While Buddhism does not offer geopolitical solutions to problems, it does provide a framework for how individuals and communities might respond to suffering with clarity, compassion and courage. I’ll share some of those tools here, starting with non-attachment.

The Principle of Non-Attachment

Buddhism teaches us that our own suffering often arises from our attachment to outcomes. When we’re overly committed to a desire for peace, or for justice to be delivered in a particular way, we’re more likely to experience intense frustration or helplessness when nothing ever seems to get any better.

We’re also told that this non-attachment doesn’t mean apathy or indifference. Instead, it’s meant to allow people like me (and others far removed from the conflict) to engage constructively without being overwhelmed by feelings of rage, grief or despair. This is supposed to help us remain steady in the face of intractable suffering, continuing to care and act where we can.

To be honest, I find the application of this principle pretty difficult, particularly in the face of intolerable human suffering. Maintaining emotional distance doesn’t sit comfortably with me.

Compassion and the Recognition of Shared Suffering

Buddha taught us that all humans suffer and seek freedom from that suffering, and that compassion comes about naturally when we acknowledge this shared vulnerability. The trouble is not everyone does. With the Palestinian conflict, for example, a Buddhist approach would encourage all sides to see the humanity in everyone – Israeli and Palestinian – recognising that fear, trauma and loss are not one-sided. Buddhism invites us to hold both communities in our hearts without taking sides in a way that leads to any kind of dehumanisation.

This is another tricky one, especially in the face of what feels like relentless injustice and violence, but it’s critical for building true peace (think: Archbishop Tutu and South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission). I hate to say it, but this is another concept I have to work particularly hard at. Luckily I’m a good listener, and that might be a helpful starting point.

Right Speech and Deep Listening

Buddhism encourages speech that is truthful, kind and unifying. Sadly I don’t see much of this, particularly from our political leaders (don’t even get me started on social media). Buddhism also teaches the value of deep listening, and asks that we truly hear the suffering of others. Polarised narratives often dominate public conversation about conflict. A Buddhist-informed approach would encourage listening deeply to all sides and all stories without defensiveness or premature judgment. The objective here is to foster empathy and reduce the tendency to vilify or dehumanise the ‘other’.

The Impermanence of All Things

A central tenant of Buddhism is that nothing is fixed, and even the most entrenched suffering and conflict will eventually change (and hopefully improve and go away). Recognising this allows us to maintain hope and counteract despair by reminding us that today’s reality is not forever, and that seeds of peace, however small, can take root at any time. While any of this is hard to disagree with, I struggle with relying on others to plant those seeds. I’ve always felt that I needed to be there doing the planting with them. Maybe not.

Acting Without Ego

Buddhism discourages acting from a place of self-righteousness or moral superiority. This is perhaps one of the easiest concepts for me to grasp. I’ve worked hard throughout my career to suppress ego, and to genuinely listen to and empower others without agenda. In activism and humanitarian response, acting without ego encourages humility. We can all support peace, justice and dignity for all without needing to be right all the time (whatever that might look like) or to dominate the discussion. All of this reminds me of the importance of putting the needs of those suffering front, right and centre – not any opinions we might have about the conflict.

Mindfulness and Inner Peace

Mindfulness allows us to observe our emotions without being consumed by them, something I’m slowly getting better at. In moments of helplessness, mindfulness allows us to notice our pain without turning it into hatred or numbness. This creates space for grounded, thoughtful action rather than reactive outrage. Sadly, in today’s short-term attention economy, sitting back and reflecting before reacting and responding is becoming increasingly rare. I sleep on things a lot more these days before deciding what steps I might take, if any.

FINAL REFLECTIONS

In all my Buddhist reading, study and practice over the last couple of years, trying to balance my deep feelings about conflict and human suffering with my gut reaction to get active and do something about it has been by far my biggest challenge. I get the need for enlightenment, to better understand ourselves and to manage how we process things, but I’m yet see how any of that makes much of a difference to people being bombed out of existence every day.

In its defence, nowhere does Buddhist thinking ask us to withdraw from injustice, but it asks us to engage in a way that does not create more suffering. It encourages action rooted in understanding, presence and compassion, all qualities that are desperately needed in the face of seemingly impossible and never-ending conflict. Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk who lived through the Vietnam war, often said that ‘Peace in the world begins with peace in ourselves.’

He’s probably right. I’ll let you know if I ever get there.