#Strongwomen. "I write about the power of trying, because I want to be okay with failing. I write about generosity because I battle selfishness. I write about joy because I know sorrow. I write about faith because I almost lost mine, and I know what it is to be broken and in need of redemption. I write about gratitude because I am thankful – for all of it." Kristin Armstrong
It’s not about choosing sides but rather about choosing the Earth, time and again, with every decision we make. Only by recognising the value in both traditional wisdom and innovative technologies can we hope to find holistic solutions to the pressing environmental issues of our time.
Image Source unknown
As we navigate the challenges of the 21st century, it’s clear that the environmental decisions we make are more significant than ever. Recently, an image circulating online has sparked a conversation about the perceived dichotomy between traditional agricultural practices and modern renewable energy solutions. The image juxtaposes cattle farming against a vast array of solar panels, with a provocative caption that criticises choosing one over the other. This serves as a stark reminder of how the environmental discourse is often riddled with oversimplifications.
Understanding the Complexity
Firstly, it’s essential to acknowledge that environmental issues are not a monolith; they are as diverse as the ecosystems of our planet. Traditional practices like cattle herding have evolved over thousands of years and are woven into the cultural fabric of many societies, including Australia’s. These practices can be sustainable and in harmony with nature when managed correctly.
Conversely, the spread of solar panels across landscapes signifies humanity’s leap towards addressing climate change. This modern solution to our energy needs represents a crucial step towards reducing our reliance on fossil fuels. However, the production, installation, and disposal of solar technology also have environmental footprints that must be addressed.
The Need for a Balanced Dialogue
Constructive discourse should avoid casting aspersions on one method in favour of another. Rather than creating divisions, our focus should be on how traditional and modern practices can complement each other. In Australia, for instance, there is potential in integrating solar technology with agriculture to create a synergistic relationship that benefits farmers, consumers, and the environment.
Innovation Within Tradition
On the traditional front, there are numerous ways to enhance sustainability, such as regenerative agriculture, which revitalises soil health and sequesters carbon. Livestock can play a role in these systems, with managed grazing mimicking the natural movements of wild herds to promote ecological balance.
Modern Solutions for Present-Day Problems
On the innovation side, we must continue to advance in the development of renewable energy sources. The goal is to make them more efficient, less resource-intensive, and fully recyclable, thereby reducing their environmental impact. It’s not just about implementing new technologies but also about refining them to coexist sustainably within our environment.
The Way Forward
As Australians, we have a deep connection to our land and a history of pioneering spirit. By embracing both the wisdom of the past and the innovations of the present, we can forge a sustainable path forward. The key lies in our ability to have nuanced, fact-based conversations that lead to actions reflecting the complexity of environmental stewardship.
It’s not about choosing sides but rather about choosing the Earth, time and again, with every decision we make. Only by recognising the value in both traditional wisdom and innovative technologies can we hope to find holistic solutions to the pressing environmental issues of our time.
The future of farming is not just a story of challenges; it’s a narrative brimming with opportunities waiting to be seized.
In the realm of Australian agriculture, there’s a curious tendency to spotlight the challenges and hardships that befall the sector. It’s almost as if a narrative of gloom and doom has become the default mode of communication, casting a shadow over the industry’s incredible resilience and innovation. 🤔 But what drives this inclination towards the negatives, and is it really the best approach to garner support and inspire solutions?
#ShiftingTheFocus 🔄 – While it’s undeniable that Australian farming faces its fair share of adversities, from climate variability to market pressures, the focus on these issues often overshadows the sector’s triumphs and the tireless efforts of those within it. The narrative seems to be stuck in a loop, where highlighting the negatives is seen as a way to attract sympathy, support, and possibly, solutions.
#ResilienceAndInnovation 💡 – However, this perspective misses out on celebrating the incredible resilience and innovation that characterises Australian agriculture. Farmers across the country are adopting cutting-edge technologies, embracing sustainable practices, and finding novel ways to thrive in an ever-changing environment. Isn’t it time our stories reflected this dynamism?
#ChangingTheNarrative ✍️ – By reframing the narrative, we can acknowledge the challenges without being defined by them. It’s about striking a balance between realism and optimism, ensuring that the stories we tell encapsulate the full spectrum of the agricultural experience. After all, inspiration often stems from seeing what’s possible, not just what’s problematic.
#InspiringAction 🌟 – Moreover, a narrative centred on innovation and success has the potential to inspire. It can attract a new generation to the farming industry, encourage public support for sustainable practices, and foster a collective effort towards solving the very real challenges that exist. It’s about showcasing agriculture as an industry of opportunity, growth, and vital importance to the nation.
#ThePowerOfPositivity 🌈 – This isn’t to suggest that we gloss over the issues. Instead, it’s a call to balance the conversation, to share stories of success as loudly as we discuss the hurdles. By doing so, we not only pay tribute to the resilience of our farmers but also invite a broader engagement with the sector’s future.
The narrative of Australian agriculture is ripe for change. Let’s weave tales of triumph, innovation, and resilience through our discussions and media portrayals. Let’s inspire, not just sympathise. After all, the future of farming is not just a story of challenges; it’s a narrative brimming with opportunities waiting to be seized.
The Venus Flytrap, a fascinating emblem of nature’s contradictions, thrives on sunlight and soil nutrients yet engages in what can be seen as an act of ‘violence’ against insects. It’s an apt metaphor for one of humanity’s most enduring paradoxes: the pursuit of peace through the turmoil of war. This plant, seemingly peaceful in its green stillness, ‘chooses’ a path of aggression as a means of survival, reflecting the complex measures often taken in the name of security.
This dichotomy isn’t unique to war. We find it woven throughout human history and behaviour. Consider the medical field, where we inflict pain to heal – surgeries cut to remove disease, and needles break skin to deliver vaccines. We destroy certain cells with radiation and chemotherapy to give the body a chance to rebuild healthier ones. It’s a necessary aggression for a greater good.
In environmental conservation, we sometimes cull one species to save another, deciding which species thrive for the overall health of an ecosystem. It’s a tough decision, reminiscent of the Venus Flytrap’s stark survival strategy.
In our quest for comfortable living, we’ve constructed concrete jungles, often at the expense of the very natural landscapes we retreat to for solace and rejuvenation. We seek connectivity through technology, yet lament the loss of personal interactions, finding ourselves isolated amidst a networked world.
Moreover, in an attempt to uphold law and order, societies establish punitive systems that sometimes fail to rehabilitate or prevent crime, and the debate rages on about the effectiveness of such measures.
These contradictions are a fundamental part of human society, and they raise important questions about our values and the means we use to achieve our ends. Is there a way to align our methods more closely with our objectives, or are these contradictions an intrinsic part of the human condition?
As we reflect on these paradoxes, it becomes clear that the key lies in balance and thoughtful consideration of the long-term consequences of our actions. We strive for peace, health, environmental harmony, and societal well-being, often through means that seemingly contradict these goals. It is perhaps a testament to our complex nature and an indication of the intricate balance we must navigate in our efforts to progress and thrive.
By examining these contradictions openly, we can begin to understand their roots and perhaps find ways to resolve our goals more harmoniously, just as we marvel at the Venus Flytrap and contemplate its role in the delicate balance of nature.
Contradictions are the threads that weave the complex tapestry of human existence. Acknowledging them is the first step towards a deeper understanding and possibly, a more coherent approach to the world we shape and the legacy we leave behind.
This guest blog is brought to you by Eden Fairywren, a voice for sustainability and an advocate for harmonious living with our planet.
G’Day fellow Earth dwellers! 👋 Let’s have a chinwag about our big blue marble and the mark we’re all leaving on it. Imagine a vast coal mine, almost like a set from an action film, then flip to a suburb, where homes stand snug where wild fields or farms once sprawled. These snapshots capture a tale of change, of what’s been lost and what’s grown 🏠🌾.
We’re bidding adieu to coal and embracing the breezes that spin wind turbines and the sunshine that fuels solar panels 🌬️☀️. It’s a switch-up that’s kind of like trading in an old banger for a nifty electric ride. Yeah, some might natter on about how renewables alter the view, but isn’t it brilliant how we harness nature’s own power?
Now, as our towns stretch wider, where will all the koalas go? Each new dwelling, each road, takes a bit from places that used to be untouched and free 🐨. But don’t fret, we humans are a clever lot! From crafting the first wheel to streaming the latest series, we’re pros at puzzle-solving 🧩.
Sure, our green gadgets aren’t quite there yet—they’ve still got a bit of a fossil fuel habit. But we’re making strides on the path to a more earth-friendly way of living 🌍.
And let’s face the music, our planet’s guest list isn’t getting any shorter, so roofs over heads are a must. How about we build abodes that are mates with Mother Earth? Picture homes topped with living, breathing grass and walls that soak up the sun! We could all chip in on energy creation, living in harmony with our little slice of heaven 🏡🍃.
Those images – the mine and the ‘burbs – are part of our yarn, but we can choose our own adventure. We’re holding the pen, and we can sketch out a future where innovation waltzes with the wild 💃🌿.
Let’s not let a bit of cold feet about changing the old ways stop us from moving forward. Let’s welcome it with open arms! With a dollop of guts and a pinch of creativity, we’re cooking up a tomorrow that’s lush, buzzing, and welcoming for critters big and small 🐘🐜.
So, hats off to the winds of change, the beams of opportunity, and the spark of human ingenuity! Let’s make our home a place to be proud of, a place that’s homey for everyone 🌎💚.
Photo source: Deposit photo purchase with two image superimposed
The journey into the future of food is not just about embracing new technologies but also about understanding and appreciating how they can help us build a more sustainable and ethical world.
Italy’s recent decision to ban lab-grown meat and ‘tofu steak’ serves as a poignant example of the challenges societies face in integrating new technological advancements, especially when these technologies disrupt traditional industries and cultural practices. This situation echoes a broader human experience often summarised in the phrase “we don’t know what we don’t know.” As individuals and societies, we’re often unaware of gaps in our knowledge until new information emerges, challenging our preconceptions and traditional ways of doing things.
Italy’s ban on lab-grown meat and similar products reflects a cautious approach, prioritising the preservation of traditional food production methods over the adoption of new, untested ones. It’s a clear instance of a society grappling with the “unknown unknowns” of food technology and its potential impacts on cultural heritage and existing industries. This scenario underscores the delicate balance between progress and tradition, highlighting the need for thoughtful consideration and dialogue as we navigate the complex landscape of technological innovation.
Upon encountering such novel information or technology, the initial reaction can range from skepticism to feeling overwhelmed. It’s a natural human response to wish we didn’t know about these new complexities, especially when they challenge our established norms or require significant adjustments in our lives. In the context of food technology, like lab-grown meat, this new knowledge confronts deeply ingrained cultural practices and economic interests, such as those represented by Italy’s prosciutto industry.
So lets explore this intriguing development in the world of food technology – the advent of cultured meat and milk. This topic, while complex, is quite fascinating, especially as it points to what the future of food might look like.
For me Clarkes Third Law comes to mind
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
This phrase named after the science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke, aptly describes how we often perceive cutting-edge technology. It feels like magic because it’s so advanced and beyond our usual understanding.
Take, for instance, the concept of cultured meat and milk. This involves creating meat and milk in a laboratory environment, using cell-culturing techniques, without the need for rearing animals. To many, this idea may seem like it’s been lifted straight from a science fiction novel. But it’s very much a reality, rooted in scientific progress, aimed at offering sustainable and ethical alternatives to traditional livestock farming.
Contrast this with the public perception of culturing human cells for medical applications. Generally, there’s a sense of acceptance and even admiration for such advancements, as they align with our hopes for better health and groundbreaking medical treatments. This difference in reception can be attributed to the immediate and tangible benefits that medical technologies promise.
The hesitancy towards accepting cultured food products could be rooted in our deep-seated connections with traditional food sources and methods. Changing these perceptions requires a gradual understanding and acceptance of how these new technologies work and their potential benefits, including sustainability and ethical considerations.
As we move into an era where such technologies become more commonplace, I believe it’s important to keep an open mind and consider how these advancements can positively impact our world. Like the internet or smartphones, which were once new and perplexing, cultured food technologies might soon become an integral part of our lives.
The journey into the future of food is not just about embracing new technologies but also about understanding and appreciating how they can help us build a more sustainable and ethical world.
In the agricultural world, dominated by risk and uncertainty, farmers often prioritise self-preservation and self-sufficiency, crucial for immediate stability.
However, this focus can sometimes limit wider community interaction. Collaborative efforts can open doors to new networks, allies, and innovative growth opportunities.
When combining the pragmatic values of farmers with environmentalists’ universalism and benevolence, a community of practice collaboration model emerges. This model fosters innovation by integrating agricultural knowledge with environmental stewardship.
Understanding individuals’ values, life experiences, and current situations is key in this model, as these factors greatly influence one’s enthusiasm for collaboration. This approach aims to create a resilient, sustainable, and inclusive agricultural community, respecting and integrating diverse perspectives.
How do we do this? Incorporating Schwartz’s Theory of Basic Values into the collaboration model in agriculture can greatly enhance the process of bringing the right people to the table.
By taking a values assessment, stakeholders can ensure a diversity of opinions, including those of ‘devil’s advocates,’ to enrich discussions. This approach acknowledges the importance of various values like universalism, benevolence, and self-direction, fostering a comprehensive understanding of the complex interplay of different perspectives. Emphasizing a range of values ensures that all voices, including dissenting ones, contribute to a more holistic and effective collaboration.
A recent article in The Conversation, titled “Have we been trying to prevent suicides wrongly all this time?” really resonated with me, offering a fresh perspective on a critical issue. As someone with personal experience in this area, the findings hit close to home.
Traditional methods focus on identifying individuals ‘at risk’ of suicide. Despite these efforts, Australia’s suicide rates have disturbingly increased from 2012 to 2022.
This signals a need for a new approach, perhaps shifting the question from “who is at risk?” to “when is a person at risk?”
The article presents intriguing findings. On the day of a suicide attempt, individuals often feel they are a burden to their loved ones. The day before, many experience a profound loss of hope, feeling powerless to change crucial aspects of their lives.
Using this data, researchers developed an algorithm to monitor spikes in these and other key risk factors, signaling increased short-term risk of suicide attempts. This tool is now live in a hospital setting, alerting staff to at-risk patients, enabling targeted and immediate interventions when the risk of an attempt is highest.
This innovative approach could be a game-changer in suicide prevention, offering a more dynamic and responsive way to support those in their most vulnerable moments. It’s a prime example of how data and technology can be harnessed to save lives.
Vale Margaret Robinson ( Robyn ) Lindsay ( nee Chittick ) Born 6th September 1928 Died 4th August 2010
In the shroud of profound loss that suicide casts upon those left behind, memories of the loved ones can be obscured by the weight of their silent struggles.
In the 21st century, there is a growing recognition and compassion for those wrestling with the insidious grip of depression. Families now find solace in newfound support systems, helping them navigate the complex emotions surrounding the tragic choice of a loved one.
This poem seeks to articulate the nuances of my mother’s pain and remembrance, shedding light on the enduring impact of mental health challenges and the evolving empathy that surrounds them.
🌹🕊️ May peace embrace the echoes of her story.
In the heart of farming land, where fields unfurled,
Lived a soul, a woman, in a melancholy world.
Born into the hushed years of the Great Depression,
A beauty with auburn waves, a silent confession.
Amidst the bovine whispers and the country air,
She masked her struggles with grace and care.
A daughter of the farm, in shadows she’d roam,
Bearing a heavy heart, a burden all her own.
Her family, a tableau of rustic delight,
Yet, within her, raged an internal fight.
The effort to don a brave face for all to see,
Veiled the storm within, a tempest silently.
In the dance of sunlight on the landscapes’ embrace,
She wore a facade, a delicate veneer of grace.
Auburn strands caught the winds of despair,
As she navigated a world that seemed unfair.
Depression’s grasp, a relentless, unseen chain,
She carried the weight, endured the silent pain.
A puzzle to those who couldn’t comprehend,
The battles fought when the daylight would end.
Alone in her struggles, she faced the abyss,
In the quiet corners where her demons exist.
The beauty that adorned her like a fragile thread,
Yet, in solitude, she found a path to tread.
The farm, witness to her silent cry,
As she soared beyond the earthly sky.
In the solitude of her departure, a poignant song,
I have religiously stored the records for 3 businesses for almost 35 years. That stuff takes up a lot of space. The tax man says you only have to keep it for 7 years but you just cant put in the garbage bin. So I got my act together and had a secure documents bin delivered .
Mmmh when I saw it I knew it was going to be a longgggg process. The bin is locked and you have to feed everything through the A4 size slit in the top.
The process has also hit a number of distractions along the way including the discovery of old photo albums. in the 80’s and 90’s I was very good at keeping photographs that documented my family’s life. My Aunty Esme was even more impressive and she wrote on the back of all the photos she took and gave copies to all the people in them
This is you Murray Chittick on my first pony in my Aunt and Uncle’s back yard. Uncle Henry is holding Lady. The date is 18th June 1979 ( which just happens to be my father’s birthday – he would have been 49 when that photo was taken)
Its funny the things you think of in the moment. This photo proved to be another big distraction
Me by the pool in New Caledonia when I was 21
It reminded me I was never ever going to have that waist again and not only did I have a room full of boxes and boxes of documents I don’t need I also have wardrobes and wardrobes of clothes I will never be able to wear again
Its a lot easier to fill bags of clothes for Vinnies than it is to push secure documents into a very narrow hole. I am very impressed with how much wardrobe space I have freed up
Re the documents I estimate at the rate I am going I will need another two weeks – it maybe slow but I will do you proud ( eventually ) Marie Kondo
.. the traditional dairy sector must recognise it’s on the cusp of pivotal change. In the face of multiple threats, it should maximise the social benefits of both animal-based dairy and minimise its contribution to climate change. Milena Bojovic PhD Candidate at Macquarie University.
What does the future hold for our rural amenity and the role the cows play in it?
By 1976 Kodak accounted for 90% of film and 85% of camera sales in America. Until the 1990s it was regularly rated one of the world’s five most valuable brands.
Then came digital photography to replace film, and smartphones to replace cameras. Kodak’s revenues peaked at nearly $16 billion in 1996 and its profits at $2.5 billion in 1999. The consensus forecast by analysts is that its revenues in 2011 were $6.2 billion. It recently reported a third-quarter loss of $222m, the ninth quarterly loss in three years. In 1988, Kodak employed over 145,000 workers worldwide; at the last count, barely one-tenth as many. Its share price has fallen by nearly 90% in the past year (see chart).
For weeks, rumours have swirled around Rochester, the company town that Kodak still dominates, that unless the firm quickly sells its portfolio of intellectual property, it will go bust. Two announcements on January 10th—that it is restructuring into two business units and suing Apple and HTC over various alleged patent infringements—gave hope to optimists. But the restructuring could be in preparation for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.
While Kodak suffers, its long-time rival Fujifilm is doing rather well. The two firms have much in common. Both enjoyed lucrative near-monopolies of their home markets: Kodak selling film in America, Fujifilm in Japan. A good deal of the trade friction during the 1990s between America and Japan sprang from Kodak’s desire to keep cheap Japanese film off its patch.
Both firms saw their traditional business rendered obsolete. But whereas Kodak has so far failed to adapt adequately, Fujifilm has transformed itself into a solidly profitable business, with a market capitalisation, even after a rough year, of some $12.6 billion to Kodak’s $220m. Why did these two firms fare so differently?
Both saw change coming. Larry Matteson, a former Kodak executive who now teaches at the University of Rochester’s Simon School of Business, recalls writing a report in 1979 detailing, fairly accurately, how different parts of the market would switch from film to digital, starting with government reconnaissance, then professional photography and finally the mass market, all by 2010. He was only a few years out.
Fujifilm, too, saw omens of digital doom as early as the 1980s. It developed a three-pronged strategy: to squeeze as much money out of the film business as possible, to prepare for the switch to digital and to develop new business lines.
Both firms realised that digital photography itself would not be very profitable. “Wise businesspeople concluded that it was best not to hurry to switch from making 70 cents on the dollar on film to maybe five cents at most in digital,” says Mr Matteson. But both firms had to adapt; Kodak was slower.
A culture of complacency
Its culture did not help. Despite its strengths—hefty investment in research, a rigorous approach to manufacturing and good relations with its local community—Kodak had become a complacent monopolist. Fujifilm exposed this weakness by bagging the sponsorship of the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles while Kodak dithered. The publicity helped Fujifilm’s far cheaper film invade Kodak’s home market.
Another reason why Kodak was slow to change was that its executives “suffered from a mentality of perfect products, rather than the high-tech mindset of make it, launch it, fix it,” says Rosabeth Moss Kanter of Harvard Business School, who has advised the firm. Working in a one-company town did not help, either. Kodak’s bosses in Rochester seldom heard much criticism of the firm, she says. Even when Kodak decided to diversify, it took years to make its first acquisition. It created a widely admired venture-capital arm, but never made big enough bets to create breakthroughs, says Ms Kanter.
Bad luck played a role, too. Kodak thought that the thousands of chemicals its researchers had created for use in film might instead be turned into drugs. But its pharmaceutical operations fizzled, and were sold in the 1990s.
Fujifilm diversified more successfully. Film is a bit like skin: both contain collagen. Just as photos fade because of oxidation, cosmetics firms would like you to think that skin is preserved with anti-oxidants. In Fujifilm’s library of 200,000 chemical compounds, some 4,000 are related to anti-oxidants. So the company launched a line of cosmetics, called Astalift, which is sold in Asia and is being launched in Europe this year.
Fujifilm also sought new outlets for its expertise in film: for example, making optical films for LCD flat-panel screens. It has invested $4 billion in the business since 2000. And this has paid off. In one sort of film, to expand the LCD viewing angle, Fujifilm enjoys a 100% market share.
George Fisher, who served as Kodak’s boss from 1993 until 1999, decided that its expertise lay not in chemicals but in imaging. He cranked out digital cameras and offered customers the ability to post and share pictures online.
A brilliant boss might have turned this idea into something like Facebook, but Mr Fisher was not that boss. He failed to outsource much production, which might have made Kodak more nimble and creative. He struggled, too, to adapt Kodak’s “razor blade” business model. Kodak sold cheap cameras and relied on customers buying lots of expensive film. (Just as Gillette makes money on the blades, not the razors.) That model obviously does not work with digital cameras. Still, Kodak did eventually build a hefty business out of digital cameras—but it lasted only a few years before camera phones scuppered it.
Kodak also failed to read emerging markets correctly. It hoped that the new Chinese middle class would buy lots of film. They did for a short while, but then decided that digital cameras were cooler. Many leap-frogged from no camera straight to a digital one.
Kodak’s leadership has been inconsistent. Its strategy changed with each of several new chief executives. The latest, Antonio Perez, who took charge in 2005, has focused on turning the firm into a powerhouse of digital printing (something he learnt about at his old firm, Hewlett-Packard, and which Kodak still insists will save it). He has also tried to make money from the firm’s huge portfolio of intellectual property—hence the lawsuit against Apple.
At Fujifilm, too, technological change sparked an internal power struggle. At first the men in the consumer-film business, who refused to see the looming crisis, prevailed. But the eventual winner was Shigetaka Komori, who chided them as “lazy” and “irresponsible” for not preparing better for the digital onslaught. Named boss incrementally between 2000 and 2003, he quickly set about overhauling the firm.
Mount Fujifilm
He has spent around $9 billion on 40 companies since 2000. He slashed costs and jobs. In one 18-month stretch, he booked more than ¥250 billion ($3.3 billion) in restructuring costs for depreciation and to shed superfluous distributors, development labs, managers and researchers. “It was a painful experience,” says Mr Komori. “But to see the situation as it was, nobody could survive. So we had to reconstruct the business model.”
This sort of pre-emptive action, even softened with generous payouts, is hardly typical of corporate Japan. Few Japanese managers are prepared to act fast, make big cuts and go on a big acquisition spree, observes Kenichi Ohmae, the father of Japanese management consulting.
For Mr Komori, it meant unwinding the work of his predecessor, who had handpicked him for the job—a big taboo in Japan. Still, Mr Ohmae reckons that Japan Inc’s long-term culture, which involves little shareholder pressure for short-term performance and tolerates huge cash holdings, made it easier for Fujifilm to pursue Mr Komori’s vision. American shareholders might not have been so patient. Surprisingly, Kodak acted like a stereotypical change-resistant Japanese firm, while Fujifilm acted like a flexible American one.
Mr Komori says he feels “regret and emotion” about the plight of his “respected competitor”. Yet he hints that Kodak was complacent, even when its troubles were obvious. The firm was so confident about its marketing and brand that it tried to take the easy way out, says Mr Komori.
In the 2000s it tried to buy ready-made businesses, instead of taking the time and expense to develop technologies in-house. And it failed to diversify enough, says Mr Komori: “Kodak aimed to be a digital company, but that is a small business and not enough to support a big company.”
Perhaps the challenge was simply too great. “It is a very hard problem. I’ve not seen any other firm that had such a massive gulf to get across,” says Clay Christensen, author of “The Innovator’s Dilemma”, an influential business book. “It was such a fundamentally different technology that came in, so there was no way to use the old technology to meet the challenge.”
Kodak’s blunder was not like the time when Digital Equipment Corporation, an American computer-maker, failed to spot the significance of personal computers because its managers were dozing in their comfy chairs. It was more like “seeing a tsunami coming and there’s nothing you can do about it,” says Mr Christensen.
Dominant firms in other industries have been killed by smaller shocks, he points out. Of the 316 department-store chains of a few decades ago, only Dayton Hudson has adapted well to the modern world, and only because it started an entirely new business, Target. And that is what creative destruction can do to a business that has changed only gradually—the shops of today would not look alien to time-travellers from 50 years ago, even if their supply chains have changed beyond recognition.
Could Kodak have avoided its current misfortunes? Some say it could have become the equivalent of “Intel Inside” for the smartphone camera—a brand that consumers trust. But Canon and Sony were better placed to achieve that, given their superior intellectual property, and neither has succeeded in doing so.
Unlike people, companies can in theory live for ever. But most die young, because the corporate world, unlike society at large, is a fight to the death. Fujifilm has mastered new tactics and survived. Film went from 60% of its profits in 2000 to basically nothing, yet it found new sources of revenue. Kodak, along with many a great company before it, appears simply to have run its course. After 132 years it is poised, like an old photo, to fade away.
Image Source unknown
