Creating change with distributed leadership

Marshall Ganz gives a substantial introduction and summary of his work in this video, but it’s long, so if you’d like a summary, read on.

Marshall Ganz defines leadership as “Accepting responsibility for enabling others to achieve shared purpose, in the face of uncertainty.”

In this fanastic introduction to his work, from MIT world, Ganz describes how to build leadership, build community, build power. You can’t, he explains, rely on super-talented extraordinary leaders, so you have to figure out how to grow & spread leadership. The only way you get to scale is by developing the capacity of lots of people to lead.

Social movements have rarely been successful as an isolated local movement, nor as someone sitting in capital central. It’s the combination of national purpose and local action that builds a social movement. Local action gains meaning and significance from being part of greater whole.

This is rich food for thought for my work at the Australian Conservation Foundation, as I think ACF can be powerful in this role.

It’s not sufficient to rely on systems and procedures, because in social change we are constantly confronted by uncertainty, says Ganz.

How do you adapt to change? Unless you build leadership capacity all the way through, he says, it will snap. You need multiple locations of leadership. You need to create the capacity to adapt to change, learn in real time, and discover.

Because Goliath usually wins, but sometimes David does.

In the 2008 Obama campaign, 13.5 million citizens contributed. Four thousand young people were trained, and thousands of local leadership teams were responsible for local objectives. There were 1000 volunteer teams in Ohio alone.

Ganz calls it, “The biggest investment in civic capital that has ever been made.” Civic capital is the skills and practices of working together and self governing in a democracy. Ganz believes leadership is a learned capacity.

In a recent piece, How Obama lost his voice, and how he can get it back, Ganz argues that Obama went from being a transformational leader in the campaign to a transactional one as president. It didn’t work, and he must reverse course.

In the 2008 campaign, Obama had a story of hope. He wasn’t stuck on issues and policy. This is important because values drive engagement, not issues. Ganz believes that issue campaigning fails if it tries to put issues in boxes – “Let me know when you get to trees, I don’t care about fish & birds.” Public narrative is discourse that taps into the values that motivate us to engage in public life.

Ganz describes a people turning up to a hall for a community organising training for a whole weekend – a big ask.

“Often making thing really easy to do for volunteers, trivialises, rather than motivates. We know that serious things require serious commitment. If you can do things with the click of a mouse, that’s cool, but how serious can it really be?” This is an interesting observation as we try to make online action easier and easier.

The first thing taught at the community organising training was how to tell their story. Why? “Because the fundamental challenge in organising and social change work is motivation. When we are calling on people to act in new ways, it requires letting go of habit, it requires letting go of certain kinds of safety. It requires venturing into the domain of the uncertain. The motivational challenge is enormous.”

Addressing the emotional challenge is not a matter of argument or policy or facts. It’s a matter of emotion. The significance of this, says Ganz, is often missed. If you are going to engage around values you have to speak the language of emotion. To try to make choices without emotional understanding is nonsense, you can’t do it. Ganz gives the example of people with damage in the brain in the amygdala can reason around options. They can come up with option after option after option, but they can’t make a decision. Because decisions come back to a value judgement. Value judgements rest on emotional understanding about yourself and the world around you.

Some emotions support intentional action, and some emotions inhibit it. Urgency is a powerful motivator as the first challenge is simply to get people’s attention.

If you can create a sense of urgency, perhaps a little anger, and then mobilise hope, community and a sense of self efficacy, then you have the power to motivate people into action. And how do you do this?

You tell a story.

This is why parents teach children through stories. Faith traditions teach through narrative. They teach us how to access sources of love, imagination and capacity. Stories describe how people face uncertainty.

When people came to the public narrative and community organising training we did at the start of the Say Yes campaign, they were very concerned about not knowing all the detail of policy and science. It was a challenge to show that the stories they told about why they care, and how their communities have risen to the challenge of climate change are good enough.

After learning story-telling, Ganz teaches would be leaders about relationship building. It sounds like this: “Let me tell you a little bit about myself and why I’m here, and then let me learn a bit about you. Let’s try to identify our shared values and common interests. Then we’re in a position to make commitments to each other.”

The next thing Ganz discusses is structure. He mentions how in certain phases of the feminist movement people tended to believe structure was in itself oppressive, but any time you get a group together they will structure themselves. But it may be invisible.

When structuring interdependent leadership teams, it is important that our team decides what norms they will operate with.

For example, when I had babies, my circle of mothers defined an explicit norm that it was ok to be late to a get together, even two hours late. It was more important to come than to be on time, and everyone understood that babies do things on their own schedule. We valued each woman not being isolated over punctuality. This is obviously a different norm than most groups would make.

The next thing is to define roles. Which sounds obvious, but in volunteer groups is rarely done. The team cannot achieve purpose without everyone doing their part. It is an interdependent structure. Ganz says that with this interdependent structure, they found they could create effective teams on a huge scale.

The next piece of the puzzle is teaching people to strategise. This is not about transforming people into a little cog in a big machine. You cannot motivate and then try to constrain or prevent any real ownership. People had to decide how they were going to do things.

Self organising is a myth, according to Ganz. He says the mortality rate of Meetup groups is huge because they don’t know how to work together.

The powerful combination in the 2008 campaign was brilliant new media and online tools coupled with solid organising training, structure and techniques.

All volunteers were given access to the voter file to contact people in their communities. It was a strategic choice, but also expressed a certain kind of values.

How did the campaign get to scale?

The key, says Ganz, is a cascade of leadership training.

Early on, the campaign invested in getting good organisers. Then organisers learned they would move up to become regional directors and then field directors. Over the campaign people moved up in responsibility, scope and possibility. They were continually given opportunities for more responsibility.

The internet is a set of tools, not a carpenter, says Ganz. You need to train carpenters, and then give them good tools. The internet was useful creating portals of access, sharing information and bringing new people in. It worked because the people knew what they wanted to do. It can help get to scale, but only if we understand its limitations as well as its benefits. It helped to facilitate a constant transparent reporting of what was happening, what people were a part of.

In the campaign there was no internet strategy, there was a strategy.

Ordinary people are leading on the climate crisis

Human sign on St Kilda beach. Photo: L.I.V.E./Beyond Zero Emissions

Check out my latest op-ed piece, published recently in the Sunday Age: When politicians fail, people do it for themselves.

If you look at the structure of this story, you will see there is a distinct story of self, story of us and story of now, which combine into a whole. This is the structure taught in the “Camp Obama” community organising and public narrative workshops. It’s a simple, effective formula for a persuasive and engaging story.

Why you should let your kids do dangerous things

Kathryn, aged 10, standing on the “Jaws of Death”, The Grampians/Gariwerd.

As paranoia around kids’ safety grows, kids become more cut off from their environment. Gever Tulley wants to shake things up.

His number one recommendation?

Play with fire.

The mysteries of nature and physics revealed through fire can only be understood by playing with it.

As he told Babble,

“When you don’t let kids climb trees or you don’t let them put their arms out the window to feel the wind, you’re actually preventing them from developing interest in the world around them.”

Tulley, a computer scientist and sculptor, runs the Tinkering School, a US summer camp where kids can deconstruct appliances, climb trees and build wild structures with power tools.

He says, “The world is a marvelously complicated place, and simple rules are insufficient to protect kids from danger.”

By letting kids engage with real tools, try and fail, improvise, muck around and get dirty, they learn that all projects have setbacks, and they learn to manage risk for themselves.

Danger, according to Tulley, is socially constructed:

I was recently in Wyoming chatting with a science teacher. On a typical weekend, her children — nine and twelve — leave the house at nine in the morning carrying a backpack with water, a sack lunch, and a flashlight. And I said, “Really? Your son is out there in the wilderness and you’re not worried?” And she said, “Well, at least they’re not going to the mall!”

Tulley’s exploits echo concerns of scholars in the fledgling field of ecopsychology, who argue that a child is born into a social context, but also an ecological context. And that unstructured hours in nature as a child have a strong relationship to engagement with nature in later life.

The nature child (me) standing on the “Jaws of Death” in the photo above is with me always in my work on behalf of the earth.

Tulley’s book – self-published, as the publishers were way too nervous – is Fifty Dangerous Things (You Should Let Your Children Do). Check out his TED presentation below.

Telling the story of self, the story of us, and the story of now

Photo: kk+

Last year I was lucky enough to go to a workshop based on “Camp Obama” style community organising and public narrative. It blew me away. As someone who has told stories for a living for nearly 15 years, I learnt so much it was almost embarrassing.

There were around 40 climate activists in the room and when I started to hear the stories of why they cared, it switched on my emotional being.  A young man whose grandfather survived the holocaust and instilled in his grandson the belief that you fight for what’s right. A loner who made the decision to reengage with others because there are no solutions to climate change alone.

Stories help to bring alive motivation that is rooted in values, highlighting each person’s own calling, our calling as a people, and the urgent challenges we face.

The analysis, the statistics, the science are important, but telling a story has the power to articulate the deeper values that motivate you, to transcend issue silos and polarized political debate. In my work communicating climate change I find myself constantly being dragged into excruciating detail, dragging me away from story and into something much less engaging.

Yes we need that detail. We need the policy wonks. They may yet save the world! But we can’t expect to engage millions with complex probabilities and formulas.

As Marshall Ganz of Harvard University and the New Organizing Institute teach us:

“Values are experienced emotionally and help people access the moral resources – the courage, hope, and solidarity – that are required to risk taking a new direction. Telling your story effectively builds trust and engages others. Creating a public narrative is the art of translating values into action through stories. Each of us has a story to tell that can move others to action. Narrative is how we learn to make choices and construct our identities – as individuals, communities and nations.”

When we are really confident in telling our stories, we can fully take up our roles, not as consumers, but as citizens who have a right to be heard in our democracy.

The Story of Self
Why are you drawn to this work? You are not reading this on a whim. What’s your story?

What is the challenge you, personally, faced? What choice did you make in response to this challenge? What was the outcome?

If you can tell your story, link it to the story of all of us, and the challenge we face, your advocacy will be charged with a memorable power. People will “get” what you’re saying and feel connected with you.

The Story of Us
Who are we as citizens taking action.? As organisations trying to find a way to respond? What unites us and what is our collective challenge? It may seem obvious – we’re the local government, or we’re the community group – but it’s not. There are deeper values that bring groups together.

The Story of Now
The Story of Now is about the challenge we face – together, here, now – and the action that is required to rise to it.

We need to tell this story loud and clear in our communities, and do it over and over and over again. We tell it when the naysayers spread fear. We tell it when the politics goes sour. We tell it when we come together. We tell it when we’re drifitng apart. It connects us and powers our best efforts, and then becomes our future.

The Obama campaign pioneered the “Camp Obama” community organising sessions based on these ideas of “Public Narrative”.

A small group from my region who went to the Melbourne workshop liked it so much we have decided to organise one of our own.

If you’re interested, take a look.

And for my effort at a story of self, story of us and story of now, check my post “Ordinary people are leading on the climate crisis.”

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Events

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On being lost and found in the mountains

Written as Victorian politician Tim Holding was rescued, lost on Mt Feathertop.

As Tibetan mystic Milarepa said, “Deep in the wild mountains is a strange marketplace where you can trade the hassle and noise of everyday life for eternal light.”

And you can trade your everyday perception for a fresh take on your self and your place in the world. Mountain-climbing exploits are often told as a quest to conquer nature with the mountain as trophy.  But delve a little deeper into the vast bookshelf of mountaineering stories and you’ll find obsessive quests for things more intangible, even to the protagonists themselves.

Mountain landscapes are repeatedly described as sources of personal inspiration and renewal. For many climbers, the landscape is not something to conquer, but something to respect, even something to enter into in a way that transcends the self. And underlying the narratives is the idea that an acceptance that the natural forces of land and weather are infinitely more powerful than human will is a crucial part of the bargain the climber enters with risk.

In the words of mythologist Joseph Campbell: “[T]hough terrors will recede before a genuine psychological readiness, the over-bold adventurer beyond his depth may be shamelessly undone.”

Our assessment of risk – and our place in the world of ecological life – has come askew. We have come to consider ourselves as separate from the more-than-human world. We consider that we live in a technological, ethical, and cultural order that is not constrained by ecology. Animals, the world and its atmosphere exist in an ecological order that is not constrained by ethics.

We systematically overestimate human knowledge and control. We have forgotten that as in mountain climbing, humility in the face of nature is appropriate, that it does not diminish us as human beings, and that it is, in fact, a characteristic of a hero.

As the enormity of the risks that really do threaten us bank up, we focus on eliminating smaller, more identifiable risks with greater and greater zeal. Maybe Tim Holding should have taken an emergency beacon to make it easier for rescuers to find him. But maybe we’re missing the bigger risks our behaviour creates, because they are not so obvious, because the consequences happen at another time, in another place, or to another generation.

Most of us now live in a world of endless comfort. A person who chooses to venture into wild nature is acclaimed as a hero or derided as a fool. Either way, they’re considered a freak. This polarised response admires heroes who dare to leave the comfort of ordinary life, and on the flipside, disapproves of personal risk-taking so intensely that it borders on a kind of moral panic. Tim Holding is copping both admiration and the tut-tut.

In times past, unsuccessful adventurers like Ernest Shackleton or George Mallory could be forgiven poor preparations, hubris, and insensitivity to the wild place, and hailed an heroic failure. But in the age of Gore-tex and the Global Positioning System, such failures are not tolerated, especially if the unsuccessful adventurer needs the help of others to escape a self-imposed predicament.

Whether triumphant, disapproving, or something in between, the public seems fascinated by wilderness risk-taking. Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer’s account of the 1996 Everest tragedy where eight climbers died, sold millions of copies, and, bizarrely, seemed to increase business for adventure travel operators. Everyone wants to go to Everest, where despite oxygen tanks and safety ropes, it is still possible, even easy, to die.

Perhaps this fascination is a kind of tragic katharsis, as Joseph Campbell described in his classic explorations of the social role of myth, where the emotions of the spectator of the tragedy are somehow purged or purified through exposure to pity and terror.

Like me, when I walked 700 kilometres alone through the  mountains from Walhalla to Canberra, Tim Holding is both a hero and a fool.  We shouldn’t quibble over the cost of helicopters. We should thank him for allowing us to feel deeply the fear that all was lost, and then the love when all was found.

And we should relax our grip on the idea that wild nature is an inherently risky place where modern humans do not belong. Unchallenged, our perception grows flat and bland. Enclosed entirely in a word of human making, our solutions become predictable, our innovations self-referential.

I have hiked Feathertop in wintertime and there, my gaze, and somehow my whole self, was drawn into the million diamonds embedded in the fabled cornice of windblown ice and snow flowing in a magnificent feathered crest along the mountain’s spine. It looks more like a huge, foaming, snap-frozen wave than a ridge. And below it, the exhilarating space in my peripheral vision where the ground usually is. This combination of exquisite detail and massive depth of vision made me feel expanded, my senses refreshed in the beauty of the world.

If we want to survive our species’ dark night on the mountain, we need to reclaim this wonder. We need to disrupt the imagined separation of  human and nature, and reclaim the overlap, extending ethics into ecological realms, and ecology into human realms. Our technology can help us, but we must  integrate our technology wisely into the world of ecological life and to succeed in this we must also transform ourselves.

If our political leaders want to remind themselves that such transformations are possible by getting themselves lost in the mountains, I’m all for it.

Why carrots and sticks won’t solve the climate crisis

Before watching Dan Pink (former speechwriter for Al Gore), in this outstanding TED talk, I was aware of the idea that intrinsic motivation – like doing something for the fun of it – was more powerful than extrinsic motivation – like financial rewards – in many situations.

But I didn’t fully appreciate what those situations were. Pink makes the case that simple, mechanical tasks may be performed better and faster with carrot incentives – but when problems have even the slightest cognitive difficulty, the incentives make performance worse.

Think about it. Carrots and sticks may be a necessary part of our response to climate change, but they will not solve the problem.

We need wild, beautiful, creative and divergent thinking of the sort that comes from an intrinsic motivation for this problem.

The Australia Institute elaborates this argument in their recent report Zero-sum game? The human dimensions of emissions trading.

The structure of Australia’s proposed Carbon Pollution Reduction Scheme sets its target reduction in emissions at an unambitious cap. It also sets a floor under emissions reductions so that voluntary reductions by ordinary Australians actually free up pollution permits for the big polluters to use.

All that effort of people insulating houses and paying more for green power will reduce exactly zero tonnes of Australian emissions.

Price is not the only motivator for emissions reductions, the Australia Institute argues. People are highly motivated intrinsically to do it. Why?

Because it makes sense, its morally right, they want to.

According to Pink, the powerful intrinsic motivators are autonomy, mastery and purpose.

Carrots and sticks represent outdated, 20th century thinking. Autonomy, mastery and purpose beat carrots and sticks every time.

The Australia Institute is not arguing against using a price on carbon to drive reductions, they just want it recognised that it should not be the only motivator.

A huge amount can be achieved if we simply decide we want to.

The policy solution, according to TAI, is to create a “CAP AND SLICE” scheme, where voluntary reductions reduce the overall cap every year.

And then all that community energy and desire to solve the problem I see everywhere – with no expectation of personal reward – can be part of the solution.

Thanks to The Climate Project team for pointing out this video.

What would you do with $150 billion?

Photo: A Bangladeshi Woman searches for drinking water. ABIR ABDULLAH/Oxfam

I like to listen to a man talk about big numbers, and Andrew Hewett, Executive Director of Oxfam Australia did just that at The Climate Project Asia-Pacific Summit in Melbourne this month.

He knows exactly what to do with $150 billion.

How about spare the world’s poor from climate change?

“It’s a perfect storm,” he told the 300 delegates. “We have the combined impact of increasing costs of food and fuel, increasing impacts of climate change, and now the global financial crisis. It is Oxfam’s judgement that the world’s poor are at immediate risk from crop failure and extreme weather.

“We need to find a low carbon path to massive poverty eradication.”

That path can be facilitated nicely by $150 billion to help the developing world address and adapt to climate change. Every year.

And before you go thinking that’s a lot of money, consider that it is a mere sniffle compared to the 1.3 trillion per year in military spending, or the four trillion on financial bailouts.

Just for fun, I’ll write that out in full. That’s $4 000 000 000 000.

According to Hewett, we need a finance mechanism that does not depend on pledges being made and then maybe, or maybe not, fulfilled. It’s gotta be automatic, with funds going through the UNFCCC rather than the World Bank. Poorer countries with less capacity to act would get more funding.

Doesn’t sound too hard now, does it?

The UN’s Millenium Development Goals have been estimated to cost about $40-60 billion each. Now that’s a bargain. If you could:

* 1: Eradicate extreme poverty and hunger
* 2: Achieve universal primary education
* 3: Promote gender equality and empower women
* 4: Reduce child mortality
* 5: Improve maternal health
* 6: Combat HIV/AIDS, malaria, and other diseases
* 7: Ensure environmental sustainability
* 8: Develop a global partnership for development

Then you would be well on the way to solving the climate crisis, the population crisis and a whole lot more.

We’re used to viewing these as intractable, unsolvable, excruciating problems. Sure, it’s complex, but I just don’t believe it’s that hard to make the choice to spend these small amounts of money for such massive reward.

Organisations like OxFam and World Vision get that solving the climate crisis and solving poverty can go hand in hand. Indeed, they must.

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Ten rules for communicating climate change

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From the mob at Futerra Sustainability Communications.

ONE.  Big Picture:

make connections, demonstrate long term thinking, blow myths

TWO.  Technically Correct:

be trustworthy, provide transparency, give real facts

THREE.  Be Cool:

be sexy, mainstream, non-patronising, brave–stand out!

FOUR.  Belong:

join a massive worldwide change, start positive conformity, join a success

FIVE.  Only Stories Work:

empathy and emotions are powerful, use stories to hold people’s attention

SIX.  Optimism:

sustainable development is achievable, avoid too much guilt

SEVEN.  Glory Button:

‘sustainable development makes you a great person and we love you for it’

EIGHT.  Change is for All:

break stereotypes,use inclusive language and images, push mass ownership

NINE.  We Need More Heroes:

introduce icons to emulate – ‘be like me’

TEN.  Personal Circle:

relate big ideas to everyday life, give them a familiar context

Download a PDF of the 10 Rules here: 10-Rules

Non-existant toxic gas causes panic

bubble_370x370Fort Worth, Texas, last week.

Initially only two call center workers complained of dizziness and shortness of breath. An announcement was made instructing anyone with similar symptoms to leave the building.

Panic spread, firefighters and paramedics were called. Ambulances and buses evacuated 34 people to hospital and a further 110 were treated at the scene with suspected toxic fume poisoning.

But the fire chief soon discovered the source of irritation was a colleague who had sprayed herself with perfume.

He said the hysteria had escalated because of ‘psychosomatic behavior’. The Mail Online reported that medical experts regard ‘contagious fear’ as serious because it can often bring on actual symptoms.

Unlike this woman’s perfume, carbon dioxide is an odorless, colorless, invisible gas that does threaten our existence. But we are not panicking.

Why not?

Psychologists tell us the human brain is beautifully evolved to jump up and respond to immediate threats, but the long-term, insidious nature of climate change is harder for it to grasp.

As a young climate scientist in the 1970s, Graeme Pearman was one of the first to investigate links between CO2 and rising temperatures. He now advises governments, businesses and even Al Gore on climate science.

After years of presenting impeccably-researched information about the climate threat, last year he found himself sinking into a deep personal depression.

He saw the same thing happening to his scientific colleagues at the Copenhagen meeting earlier this year.

He realized he had been presenting the information, thinking that would be all that was needed to create change.

I have seen Pearman present three times and I could sit there all day listening and examining his complicated graphs and tables measuring multiple scenarios and risk probabilities.

But I’m not normal.

“I thought irrationality and denial can be overcome by more information. I was wrong,” he said.

So Pearman decided to change tack. He understood the biosphere as well as anyone else on our beautiful orb, but the people on it were another matter. Pearman moved quite deliberately from climate science to social science and formed partnerships to investigate why we seem unable to act.

He says it’s time for physical and psychological scientists to work together to understand and overcome our brain’s tendency to stare compulsively at a harmless flickering thing, but blank out a massive threat.

It’s time to understand the social dynamics that make people look to others for clues on how they should behave.

He’s realizing that fear can paralyze and lead to anger, dissociation and denial. But it can also mobilize. With super power.

Pearman’s findings will be published soon, in a psychology journal this time, but in the meantime the new study has brought him out of his depression, and given him new strategies to create that change he has known for three decades has to happen.

How “social proof” can make your message backfire

If everybody else is doing it, it must be OK. This is social proof, a powerful shaper of human behaviour.

It can be used to build support for an idea, but sometimes it can get into the stories we tell and make things go horribly wrong.

In their book “Yes! 50 Secrets from the science of persuasion,” Noah Goldstein, Steve Martin and Robert Cialdini tell the story of the Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona, where a prominent sign tells visitors:

“Your heritage is being vandalized every day by theft losses of petrified wood of 14 tons a year, mostly a small piece at a time.”

The researchers couldn’t believe it when a former student told them about his visit to the forest. His normally law-abiding fiancee read the sign, nudged him and said, “We’d better get ours now.”

So they decided to conduct an experiment. They placed marked pieces of wood along visitor pathways and observed what happened when they varied the information on the sign at the entrance.

“In a finding that should petrify the National Park’s management, compared with a no-sign control condition in which 2.92 per cent of the pieces were stolen, the negative social proof message resulted in more theft (7.92 per cent). In essence, it almost tripled theft. This was not a crime prevention strategy: it was a crime promotion strategy.

…These results are consistent with the idea that when the social proof for a situation indicates that an undesirable behavior occurs with regrettably high frequency, it might indeed cause unintentional damage to publicize this information.”

So it is much more important to focus on what behavior you want, rather than on what you don’t want. And to focus on the people who are doing the right thing, rather than those who are doing the wrong thing.

This experiment is interesting for climate communicators. How much of the information put out by organizations trying to promote change actually has the opposite effect?

How do you balance describing reality with keeping it positive?

If people are told everyone uses too much power and most businesses aren’t doing anything about climate change, according to this social proof experiment, this will not only mean they don’t change, it will mean their behavior will actually get worse, as they are reassured by the idea that no-one else is doing anything either.

Telling stories of people doing the right thing makes it more likely others will copy, but context is important.

Goldstein, Martin and Cialdini tell another interesting story. Their team got permission to record the energy use of 300 households in California.

They then hung a little card on the front door telling each household whether their energy consumption was above or below average for their neighborhood.

Positively, the households who discovered they used more than the average reduced their consumption by 5.7 per cent. But alarmingly, those who learned they used less energy than the average increased their consumption by 8.6 per cent.

Social proof inspired the energy guzzlers to move closer to the norm. But it made the efficient households also move towards the norm. How crazy is that?

If everyone else is guzzling power, why shouldn’t we?

So the researchers wondered how they could frame the message so that the social desirability of using less energy was reinforced. They added a simple image of a smiley face :) if the household used less energy than average, and a frowning face :( if they used more.

This addition made no difference to the behavior of the frown-receiving high energy users, who continued to reduce their use towards the norm at similar rates.

But for the smiley low energy users, the addition of this affirming symbol made them maintain their efficient ways. This is a great example of how little things can make a big difference.

When communicating solutions to climate change, how can we use social proof?

We can tell stories of people, regions, cities or countries who have responded and are succeeding. We can tell stories of how people have risen to challenges in the past – to solve the threat of CFCs to the ozone layer, to abolish slavery, to give rights to women, to defeat Nazism.

Paul Hawken’s enormous list of all the organizations around the world who are working for social change, ecological health and human rights is a great example of the positive use of social proof.

It’s been said that if his list was typed in a small 8.5 font with one space between each name, the list would go for 27 kilometers.

If all these people are working for change, why don’t I?