The missing measure

A company builds affordable homes. Families move in. The project meets its targets.

But the new homes are three hours from work. Parents lose access to neighbours who previously helped with childcare. Housing improves, while daily life becomes harder.

It is a contradiction that concerns Thomas Abuhanian Neto, co-founder of Social Impact in Brazil.

Speaking with Charlie on The Responsible Edge, Thomas questioned whether businesses are measuring the right things when they invest in communities.

Their discussion began with a Boston Consulting Group article arguing that local civic engagement can strengthen employee retention, recruitment and corporate trust.

Charlie identified a gap. The commercial benefits were well documented, but what about the impact on communities themselves?

Thomas welcomed the business case. Companies need commercial reasons to invest. His concern was how businesses decide what communities need in the first place.

“The dangerous one for me that we know what’s best for you.”

For Thomas, this assumption sits behind many poorly designed social initiatives. Businesses identify a problem, develop a solution and commit resources without sufficiently understanding the people affecte

When listening becomes uncomfortable

Charlie challenged Thomas with a hypothetical scenario.

What happens when a construction company consults local residents and discovers they want the very land it intends to develop left untouched?

Thomas acknowledged the commercial reality.

“Charlie, there are two options. One is they do it anyway.”

A developer might proceed regardless. But understanding local concerns could influence how it attempts to reduce the consequences.

Consultation would not eliminate the conflict. It would make the competing interests visible.

The distinction matters because businesses often retain control over both the investment decision and the definition of success.

Delivery is not impact

The conversation moved to how companies measure their contributions.

Houses built, meals delivered and people reached are straightforward figures to report. Whether those activities improve lives is considerably harder to establish.

Thomas returned to affordable housing. A new property might provide greater security while increasing commuting costs or disrupting childcare arrangements.

A programme can deliver precisely what was promised and still leave people worse off.

“There is still a very big gap from good intentions and improving people’s lives.”

Thomas also described an account involving a Brazilian chef who supplied meals to Indigenous communities in the Amazon. According to his account, the packaging subsequently created a significant waste problem.

The example, which was not independently verified during the interview, illustrated how an intervention designed to address one need can create another.

The consequences of a project are not necessarily captured by the measures used to declare it successful.

The commercial cost of getting it wrong

Charlie pressed Thomas on the economics.

Why should businesses invest in detailed community research when they can demonstrate completed activities and communicate their contribution?

Thomas argued that the cost of research should be weighed against the expense of delivering an ineffective programme.

“The other cost is about you directing the resources of a whole intervention into something that don’t generate any value to you.”

His argument also challenged the assumption that corporate trust can be built through storytelling alone.

If communities experience little benefit, the company’s account of its achievements may differ sharply from their own.

The interview did not establish how much additional commercial value better impact measurement might generate. But it raised a question about whether companies can reliably claim reputational benefits without understanding the outcomes of their investments.

Who decides what communities need?

Towards the end of the conversation, Thomas described an ambition to create a map of community needs, existing initiatives and gaps in provision.

Businesses could use that information to identify where their capabilities might make a useful contribution, rather than beginning with programmes they already want to deliver.

The system remains an ambition, not a completed solution. Questions about funding, governance and how competing community priorities would be represented remain open.

Thomas nevertheless sees resource allocation as a central problem.

“The problem is not the lack, of course, there is a lack of resources, Charlie, but about the direction of resources.”

It brought the conversation back to Charlie’s original concern.

Businesses can establish how much they spend, what they deliver and what commercial benefits they receive.

Whether the people affected are better off requires a different kind of evidence.

And without it, corporate success and social impact may remain two very different measures of the same investment.

One email, one lie

A man changes careers and joins financial services. He is struggling, but working hard. A difficult client emails: “I need to speak to you urgently. Give me a call.”

He means to ring back. He keeps finding easier things to do. The client complains to his boss, who asks: “Did you get that email?”

He says no, then deletes it. IT checks. He is fired.

He was not a fraudster. He was an ordinary employee who made a bad call under pressure. His story appears in The Fault Lines of Finance, and it sums up the book’s argument.

A good person problem

Philippa Hann became chief executive of Paradigm Norton Financial Planning, a B Corp and employee-owned firm, in April 2025. Before that, she spent 20 years as a litigator suing financial advisers, wealth managers and banks.

She met a few psychopaths along the way. Most people across the table were nothing of the kind.

“They didn’t have horns and big teeth.”

Her conclusion became the thesis of the book, co-written with neuropsychologist Dr Moira Somers: “this isn’t a bad person problem. This is a good person problem.”

They know. They do it anyway.

A recent Ethico article, recapping a panel featuring behavioural economist Dan Ariely, argues that most misconduct comes from well-meaning people rationalising small steps. It says they do not believe they are doing anything wrong.

Philippa disagrees with that last point. “We do. It’s just that we clock that and we justify and we rationalise.”

The driver, she says, is discomfort. People see themselves as good professionals. They also want to pay the mortgage and please the boss. When those pull in different directions, the mind finds a way to make it feel acceptable.

“Ethical boundaries don’t snap with a bang,” she says. “They gently fade away as you rationalise.”

Most ethics training, she argues, only tests whether people can spot a dilemma and know the right answer. In a classroom, nearly everyone can. The harder test comes later: acting on it when the boss says “that’s not how we do things around here”.

What Paradigm Norton does differently

Every Thursday, staff spend 15 minutes on training, often stories of what went right or wrong. They talk about how decisions feel: the stomach lurch, the heat rising. “You feel before you think,” she says.

Every person gets 30 minutes a week with their line manager. Managers are trained not to speak first. An anonymous staff survey asks:

“Do you see people getting away with things?”

Her COO once asked whether her strategy was to create “an emotionally healthy firm”. She accepts the description. She says the firm has just had its best organic growth year ever.

The boss is a risk

Every employee, she says, asks two questions.

“What does good look like around here? And can I trust what you say?”

She rejects the idea that culture grows from the bottom up. “It’s not. It’s top down.” Her reason is simple. “I control people’s wages and whether they keep their job.”

That creates a tension she cannot fully design away.

The safeguards depend on staff telling the most powerful person in the firm what she may not want to hear.

Even in informal sessions, she has to remind colleagues that bad news is allowed.

She calls the firm an experiment. “Am I right? Are there flaws in that thinking?” So far, she says, the results are good. For now, the evidence is the firm’s own.

What the body already knows

Asked for one change to the commercial world, Philippa chooses emotional awareness.

“Your emotions are neither good nor bad, but they are telling you something.”

The man who deleted the email probably felt it coming. Nobody had taught him what to do with that feeling.