I’m sitting at a conference with impact investors. The room is filled with people discussing breakthroughs, strategies for capitalizing on “climate tech,” and the fact that 73% of all venture capital now goes to impact-driven companies. It should feel hopeful. But something feels off. Because while we continue to invest in AI, anything with “tech” in its name, and the energy sector - racing to be the biggest and first - our ecosystems are collapsing in silence. It’s like we’re building ever-smarter houses on a foundation that is slowly crumbling. At one end of the room sits someone with an idea that could help reverse parts of this grim trajectory. I’ve followed her work for a long time, seen how she thinks beyond the conventional, how she understands the interplay between humans and nature in a way that few others do. But her project is too radical for traditional investors. It doesn’t fit the investment mold. Too long-term for venture capital. And too business-oriented for grants and public funding. She’s not alone - I meet visionaries like her all the time. People who see what needs to be done but can’t secure funding because their ideas don’t fit the template of what we consider scalable or profitable enough. It’s become a pattern I can’t unsee. While money keeps flowing into AI, battery technology, and life sciences, critical areas for our survival remain unfunded. Biodiversity, regenerative food systems, ecosystem restoration - fields that research shows are essential for our future - continue to be systematically underfunded. It ’s as if we’re stuck in a strange paradox where we overinvest in technology and underinvest in life. The randomness of how things get funded is striking. There seem to be no broader conversations between researchers and investors, no systematic strategies to direct capital toward the biggest challenges we face. Instead, money follows the path of least resistance - it flows into areas where risks are familiar and returns are proven. We keep repeating past success formulas instead of writing new ones. As Charles Eisenstein puts it: “True courage lies in investing in what has yet to prove its potential, in nurturing what the world has not yet learned to value.” If we were to overlay a map of current investments onto the planetary boundaries, the imbalance would be glaring. While development driven by fossil fuels, intensive agriculture, and large-scale infrastructure continues - almost inexplicably - to attract capital, fields like ecosystem restoration and regenerative food systems are left practically empty-handed. And somewhere in the middle sits venture capital, where each investor seems to believe they’re contributing to a positive shift, yet the collective sum of their efforts falls far short of what’s needed. We need a radical shift in how we allocate capital. The climate crisis isn’t just about replacing fossil fuels with renewables, optimizing transportation, or developing tech solutions to measure what’s happening. We need to restore lost ecosystems, rebuild soil health, and revive biodiversity - and we need to find ways to make this happen. The real innovation today isn’t about carving out new products within existing structures. It’s about designing new systems and investment models for everything that the current financial paradigm considers an outlier. Because while we wait for the market to solve these problems, the clock is ticking. It’s as if we’re standing before the greatest investment opportunity in history, yet we keep placing our bets on yesterday’s winners instead of tomorrow’s necessities. The secure future we envision is unlikely to be funded in time if things continue as they are. But it’s not because we lack resources - it’s because we lack courage. I look around the room again, wondering how many people here truly see it. How many understand that while we talk about progress, we are still investing in our own downfall. I know that some do - I’ve met them in other settings where these conversations happen. But the gap between theory and action feels impossibly wide. Time is working against us, and it’s time to invest in what truly matters, even if it means rethinking our expectations of returns. Will anyone have the courage to take the first step? Published in Impact Loop

Photo by Brandon Bell, AP Understanding Trump's successes cannot be done through the lens of traditional political logic. He is not a new kind of conservative; he is, quite simply, the CEO of the USA once again and the world is his marketplace. This is the foundation of his entire worldview. He doesn't care about politics, he builds businesses. And that's why his actions feel logical to so many voters - it’s a mindset that dominates the Western world and has infiltrated all our systems, from healthcare to education, turning everything into a transaction. The fact that this perspective has now fully entered the realm of politics should not be a surprise to us. In Donald Trump's world, countries are not nations but enterprises where deals are negotiated, and resources optimized. He views Greenland as a potential asset to be strategically acquired from Denmark to strengthen the U.S.'s position and create synergies. He explores the possibility of merging with Canada to streamline operations across North America. Panama, on the other hand, is described as a business partner that must align with the U.S.'s corporate model or risk losing investments and support. It also defines how he appoints individuals to high-ranking positions. Ministerial and ambassadorial roles often go to businessmen and corporate leaders rather than political experts. An example is the appointment of a former CEO of a fracking company to oversee energy and environmental policy. This corporate logic pervades everything he does today: relationships, statements, appointments, and political decisions. With the U.S. as his company and voters as shareholders, Trump has created a new global framework where short-term gains and business opportunities overshadow traditional diplomatic values and long-term collaboration. Perhaps the clearest example of this is Trump’s relationship with Elon Musk, who acts as COO and does some of the dirty work. Musk has already shown the power to influence international relations and conflicts - in ways previously reserved for nations - in Ukraine and now, he is off micromanaging Great Britain and Germany. Nothing is more dangerous to democracy than when politics is run like a corporation. All of its core values - participation, accountability, and long-term vision - risk being undermined. While the focus on short-term, measurable results can provide decisiveness - especially during crises - what happens when societal needs and climate crises are completely eclipsed by market logic? The world needs a politics that doesn't view the world as merely a market full of transactions but as a shared home that must be safeguarded for future generations. To achieve this, we must move beyond the outdated dichotomy of left and right and instead frame our decisions in terms of long-term versus short-term thinking. It’s not about ideology anymore but about building a safe home for future generations.

Photo by Arthur Tess Is it really a coincidence that so many of us feel overwhelmed by the constant flood of news at the moment? I doubt I’m the only one who barely has time to process one scandal, crisis, or political upheaval before the next one erupts. In The Shock Doctrine, Naomi Klein explains how crises throughout history have been used to push through changes that would otherwise face resistance. When society is in turmoil, drastic decisions can be implemented with little debate. After Trump took office, we saw an extreme version of this play out in the media: a relentless stream of shocking headlines, contradictory narratives, and abrupt political shifts, all contributing to a sense of cognitive exhaustion. When everything feels like a crisis and no one knows what to focus on, it becomes easier for those in power to push their agendas forward. Klein argues that neoliberal reforms - privatization, deregulation, and welfare cuts - have often been introduced not through democratic consensus but in moments of chaos. In a state of shock, we are far more likely to accept radical changes than we would under normal circumstances. She calls this "disaster capitalism" - a model in which corporations and governments view crises as business opportunities rather than tragedies to be prevented or mitigated. This creates a vicious cycle: every new catastrophe becomes a chance to push through market reforms that benefit a small elite, often at the expense of the majority. And it doesn’t stop at legislation or economic policy. An overwhelming flood of information can have the same effect as a shock. Klein’s ideas build on psychological experiments by researcher Ewen Cameron, who used sensory deprivation and conflicting information to erase memories and disrupt thought patterns. Applied to politics and media, we see similar effects: - Decision paralysis: When everything seems equally urgent, it becomes difficult to know what to prioritize, making it harder to grasp the consequences of policy changes. - Diminished critical reflection: Information overload weakens our ability to question power structures and recognize manipulation. - Normalization of chaos: When every new scandal, crisis, or reform feels equally complex and impenetrable, it becomes easier to passively accept them as just “the way things are now". Does this feel familiar? If we apply this theory to what’s happening now - how social media and the news cycle create a constant sense of crisis and uncertainty - it suggests that this flood of information may not be accidental. Instead, it could be a deliberate strategy to push through rapid changes with minimal resistance while we, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information, remain almost paralyzed. Information has always been a source of power, but now even its excess has become a tool to preserve that power. So who stands to gain from us being exhausted, divided, and disoriented? And how do we reclaim our ability to understand, question, and take action?

When markets rule democracy, every purchase is a vote. As citizens, we've been taught that our primary influence lies in how we vote every few years, but the forces that truly govern our lives aren't subject to democratic processes. Market logic has crept into every corner of our systems - politics, work life, leisure time, and public spaces. Decisions that should be about what's best for people, communities and the planet are increasingly made based on what's most profitable. It happened slowly, so slowly it was almost imperceptible. Another health center privatized. A government agency hires a PR firm to "manage its brand." A library closes. A street corner that used to be a meeting place becomes a chain's ninetieth café, a gig worker bikes past, hands frozen to the handlebars. All wrapped in some kind of silent acceptance. This is how we live now. This is how it is. Natural parts of our lives. And amid all this, someone says it gives us freedom of choice. But what does it mean to have a choice when the alternatives slowly disappear? It has always been difficult to live in line with your values, perhaps especially for those trying to hold onto something other than pure survival logic. There's so much pulling in other directions. Advertisements, algorithms, subsidized prices on what destroys the most, a daily life where time is scarce and the easiest path is to take what's offered. But perhaps it's right there, in the everyday, where the real question lies. Not in what we choose to consume, but in what we maintain. What we approve of through participation. And by now we know what we need to do, don't we? - Who made this, under what conditions, and what does it really contain?  - Do I really need this, or is someone whispering in my ear?  - What am I really supporting with my money? - Local instead of global.  - Repair instead of dispose.  - Less new, more reused.  - More knowledge about where pension money goes, who I'm supporting with all my choices.  - Less stress, more reflection. Each choice a whisper, barely heard alone. But many choices add up to something bigger. It's easy to believe that change will come from the top - through legislation, regulation, innovation. But what if it's already stirring in our smallest choices? In the split second before we act, in the quiet voice of conscience, in every time we choose differently than yesterday.