THAILAND’s financial system has matured dramatically in the past five decades, evolving from a landscape dominated by banks and family conglomerates into one of Southeast Asia’s most diversified capital markets. At the centre of this journey is MFC Asset Management, the country’s first licensed fund manager. Once a pioneer of collective investment, today MFC is undergoing a strategic shift of its own — moving beyond its legacy of stability to embrace sustainability, digital transformation and new forms of investor engagement. It is a reminder that even the oldest institutions must adapt if they are to shape the next era of Thai finance.
The starting point was very different. In the 1970s, Thai households were diligent savers but had limited options beyond low-yield deposits and property. Equity markets remained shallow, accessible only to the wealthy, while most families kept their wealth in cash or gold. The creation of MFC in 1975, backed by the Thai government and the International Finance Corporation, represented a breakthrough. For the first time, ordinary investors could pool savings into mutual funds and access professional management. It was not simply the launch of new products but the beginning of a cultural shift in how Thais approached wealth.
Building a modern financial industry
As the decades unfolded, Thailand’s financial system deepened. Liberalisation in the 1990s, followed by painful lessons from the 1997 Asian crisis, gave rise to stronger regulation and the institutionalisation of capital markets. The Securities and Exchange Commission tightened disclosure standards, strengthened investor protection and laid the foundation for an asset management industry that could thrive.
Within this context, MFC grew alongside these reforms, diversifying into provident funds, property and infrastructure trusts, and private mandates. Its products not only broadened investment choice but also channelled domestic capital into productive assets, reducing dependence on foreign borrowing and strengthening financial resilience.
The challenges now are very different. Household debt hovers around ninety per cent of GDP, among the highest levels in Asia, limiting the ability of families to save and invest. Demographic pressures are mounting as Thailand becomes one of the fastest ageing societies in the region, raising urgent questions about retirement security. These structural issues have placed asset managers at the centre of national priorities. Products such as provident funds and retirement mutual funds are no longer optional luxuries; they are necessities to prevent long-term economic strain. MFC’s early role in developing such vehicles highlights how its history of innovation is closely tied to the country’s social and economic needs.
A digital and retail revolution
The scale of the industry today underscores this evolution. Mutual funds in Thailand now manage more than six trillion baht, and the Stock Exchange of Thailand lists over seven hundred companies with a combined market value in the tens of trillions. Retail investors, once marginal, now account for close to forty per cent of daily trading activity — one of the highest shares in Asia.
Crucially, the way Thais invest is changing. More than half of fund subscriptions are now placed via mobile platforms, a signal that digital transformation is reshaping the link between asset managers and the public. For MFC, with its 428 billion baht of assets under management, adapting to this new dynamic is essential.
Financially, the company remains a symbol of consistency. It has been listed on the Stock Exchange of Thailand since 1993 and continues to reward shareholders with steady dividends. Its valuation — a market capitalisation above three billion baht, trading on a moderate price-to-earnings multiple — reflects a balance of profitability and prudence. Yet this stability is only part of the story. The firm is increasingly positioning itself as a forward-looking player, conscious that younger investors demand more than returns. They want products aligned with their values and global standards.
ESG as a growth frontier
This is where MFC’s recent focus on ESG becomes significant. The launch of its FTSE Shariah Investment Thailand ESG Extra Fund illustrates a strategic shift: combining religiously compliant finance with sustainability criteria, responding simultaneously to local cultural demands and international capital trends. In doing so, the company signals that it is not content to rest on its history but intends to shape the future of responsible investment in Thailand. Regulators have been tightening ESG disclosure requirements, and global investors are screening Thai assets more closely on environmental and governance grounds. By moving early, MFC is positioning itself as a standard-bearer in this transformation.
The regional context reinforces the urgency. Singapore is pushing hard to position itself as a sustainable finance hub, Malaysia has built deep expertise in Islamic funds, and Indonesia is pioneering sovereign green sukuk issuance. Thailand’s strength lies in its large domestic savings pool and active retail base, but its financial institutions must now compete on transparency, innovation and ESG credibility. In that race, MFC’s blend of heritage, institutional trust and renewed strategic direction could prove decisive.
Thailand’s financial system is no longer a fledgling market but a mature ecosystem facing new pressures from debt, demographics and globalisation. For asset managers, the next decade will be defined not by stability alone, but by their ability to innovate while preserving trust.
For MFC, the transition is particularly symbolic. Once the company that introduced Thais to mutual funds, it now has the chance to lead them into a world shaped by digital platforms, sustainable finance and cross-border competition. Its relevance will depend less on its legacy than on its willingness to evolve — and in that respect, the institution that once pioneered access to capital markets is again being tested as a pioneer of transformation.
This article is paid content. It has been reviewed and edited by the Eastern Eye editorial team to meet our content standards.
THE recent debate about flying the national flag has become fierce.
The responsibility for the polarisation of the flag debate lies wholly with left wing councils, like Birmingham, which set a damaging precedent by orchestrating the removal of the Union Flag and St George’s Crosses from public places.
Councils have garnered national attention for their apparent rejection of British symbolism. However, they have failed to adopt the same approach for other flags which have been flying for months and were not subject to the same crackdown. In a bizarre sign of the times even Downing Street had to confirm the prime minister’s patriotism!
The Union Flag and the St George’s Cross are reminders of Britain’s history and honour those who came before us. They represent all who devoted their lives to protecting the nation and the principles it upholds. People of every ethnicity and faith have fought for the ideals that define modern Britain – democracy, liberty and the rule of law.
As a British Muslim MP, I was deeply proud to lead a debate in parliament marking the 80th anniversaries of VE Day and VJ Day. The end of the Second World War saw Britain and its allies unite to defeat fascism and tyranny. We must never forget these sacrifices, including those of the brave men and women from the Commonwealth who served alongside British troops.
My wife’s grandfather, Lance Corporal Samundar Khan, was among them. He received the Indian Distinguished Service Medal as part of the 7th Battalion of the 16th Punjab Regiment, fighting under the British flag with fellow Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, Jews, Buddhists and many others.
More than 10 per cent of British armed forces personnel come from minority groups, and we should not forget the Gurkha regiment of Nepal, renowned worldwide for bravery and dedication. They too serve under our flag – a banner that represents democracy, courage, diversity and tolerance. It does not belong to a political party, any religion or ethnicity. That is what makes it important: the Union Flag and St George’s Cross belong to us all. As a British Muslim of Pakistani heritage, I feel deep pride when I see our flags flying above schools, hospitals and parliament. My religion and background are central to who I am – and so is my nationality. Pride in Britain does not mean denying my heritage, just as pride in my heritage does not deny my Britishness.
We must stop treating these parts of our identity as partisan divides and instead see them as complementary elements of who we are. Modern Britain should be a place where we are proud of both our heritage and our nationality – not forced to choose one over the other.
As a British Muslim, I have often been targeted by political populists seeking to construct ‘us vs them’ narratives. To fellow British Muslims, I say: do not let hate force you to conceal your identity. You are cornerstones of modern society — serving in the NHS, leading in politics and educating our children. Your contribution should be celebrated, and that celebration can begin with pride in our flag, which has symbolised British Asian representation for over a century.
Our parents and grandparents came to Britain with little more than determination and dreams. Through grit and perseverance, they helped shape the modern nation we know today — under the same Union Flag and St George’s Cross that still fly above us. For too long, however, others have dictated what those flags stand for.
Extremists on the far right have tried to twist the Union Flag and the St George’s Cross into emblems of exclusion. But these banners should remain symbols of unity, representing equality, freedom and the many communities and events that have shaped this nation. Whether at sporting arenas, military parades or civic celebrations, the flag must stand for pride and togetherness – never division. We are proud, we are British, we are English, we are one nation.
Saqib Bhatti is a British Conservative Party politician and the MP for Meriden and Solihull East.
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A narrow focus on gender or black–white dynamics leaves Asian professionals overlooked in workplace diversity debates
ACROSS the UK, US, and Europe, we are seeing a political and corporate pushback against diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives.
Critics dismiss them as “identity politics” or as costly distractions. Some of this critique has validity – too many programmes have been tokenistic, more about slogans than substance.
But here is the real danger: when organisations confuse weak DEI practice with irrelevance, they risk abandoning fairness and respect, altogether. This is not only a moral failure, it is a strategic one. Evidence shows that when inclusion is sidelined, toxic workplace cultures flourish, with minorities bearing the brunt.
When people think about toxic workplaces, their minds often go straight to structural stressors: micromanagement, unreasonable deadlines, and workloads that are simply impossible to complete in the time available. These pressures are draining, and they take a toll on wellbeing.
But our research shows that an even more powerful set of drivers lies elsewhere – in what we call the fairness factors. These include bullying, favouritism, sexist behaviour, racist behaviour, sexual harassment, nepotism, and pressure to act unethically. Respondents reported the following:
■ Bullying culture: 42.4%
■ Favouritism: 38.5%
■ Sexist behaviour: 17.5%
■ Racist behaviour: 16.7%
■ Sexual harassment: 12.8%
■ Nepotism: 12.8%
■ Pressure to act unethically: 12.0%
These are not just irritations – they corrode fairness, trust, and belonging. And while structural stressors wear people down, it is the fairness factors that cut deepest. They don’t just affect how hard the job feels, but whether people feel valued and respected at all.
Too often, organisations focus narrowly on managing workload and efficiency while overlooking fairness. Yet our evidence shows that fairness issues are just as potent, if not more so, in shaping whether a culture is safe or toxic. And here lies the inequality: while 6.5% of the general workforce told us they are currently in a toxic workplace, the figure rises to nearly 10 per cent for minorities, including Asian professionals. For them, the fairness deficit is even sharper.
Subtle costs: stereotyping and silence
Toxicity is not only about overt racism or harassment; it is also about the subtle ways stereotypes constrain people. I recently spoke with an Asian manager who worried about coming across as “too assertive.” He was concerned colleagues might see him as brash or self-promoting if he spoke up forcefully. What struck me was that this individual could never be described as a bully or even over-assertive. Yet the fear of stereotyping meant he held back, potentially preventing him from showing the very leadership qualities that organisations claim they want to see.
This is the hidden cost of toxic cultures: they force people to mute themselves rather than bring their best to the table. Over time, that erodes both confidence and career progression. For many Asian professionals, silence becomes a survival strategy – but at the expense of visibility and leadership opportunity.
Why this matters for Asian professionals
Psychological safety – the ability to speak up without fear of punishment or humiliation – is vital to thriving at work. Our survey revealed that psychological safety is consistently lower for Asian employees compared to other groups.
Other evidence echoes this. Our research in 2018 and 2022 showed that a majority of Asian people had experienced racism in the workplace. And legal cases, such as Mrs B Parmar’s recent victory against Leicester City Council for race discrimination, show how hard Asian professionals often have to fight for fairness.
These examples underline what many already know: speaking up can come at real personal risk.
Strategic risks of ignoring DEI
Rolling back DEI is not a neutral act. It actively increases the risks of toxicity, with consequences for individuals and organisations alike:
■ Reputational risk: Toxic cultures rarely stay hidden. From tribunals to media exposés, scandals linked to bullying, harassment, and discrimination dominate headlines and damage brands for years.
■ Legal risk: Discrimination and harassment are not “bad culture” – they are breaches of law. Weak DEI frameworks expose employers to lawsuits and regulatory sanctions.
■ Talent risk: Younger generations expect fairness. Millennial and Gen Z employees, many of them Asian professionals, are quick to leave workplaces where exclusion is tolerated.
■ Cultural risk: Without inclusion, cliques form and favouritism thrives. Asian professionals, along with other minority groups, are often those left out of networks of power.
The answer is not to cling to outdated DEI checklists, but neither is it to walk away from fairness. Organisations need to reframe their approach:
■ Reframe DEI as fairness: Transparent promotions, anti-bullying frameworks, and fair workloads matter to everyone. But they are especially critical for minorities who are disproportionately excluded.
■ Use psychological safety as a unifying frame: By focusing on safety, organisations move beyond “identity politics” toward performance and innovation. When people feel safe to contribute, creativity and collaboration flourish.
■ Tackle bullying and favouritism headon: These were the top toxic behaviours in our survey. They are not personality quirks. They are structural problems.
■ Recognise the full spectrum of diversity: Asian professionals often get overlooked in conversations that focus narrowly on gender or black/white racial dynamics. True inclusion must acknowledge the full range of identities, including ethnicity, age, class, disability, and faith.
■ Hold leaders accountable: Micromanagement and tolerance of toxic “star performers” are leadership failures. Leaders must be trained, measured, and rewarded for inclusive behaviour. Looking ahead
The DEI backlash may dominate political headlines, but it will not last. Fairness, inclusion, and psychological safety are not political luxuries – they are strategic imperatives. For minority professionals, including Asians, whose voices are too often excluded, the stakes are high. Organisations that succeed will be those that ensure every employee, regardless of ethnicity, background, or identity, feels safe, respected, and able to thrive.
The real cost of ignoring DEI is not in budgets or press releases. It is measured in the lawsuits fought, the talent lost, and the corrosive effects of toxicity that spread when fairness is abandoned. Employees of colour know this reality too well. The challenge – and opportunity – is to build cultures where they, and everyone else, can speak up, contribute fully, and belong.
Professor Binna Kandola OBE is a Business Psychologist, Senior Partner and co-founder of Pearn Kandola. Over the past 35 years, he has worked on a wide variety of projects for public and private sector clients both in the UK and overseas.
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Opening India’s farm sector to cheap imports, as critics demand, would be ‘economic suicide’ for millions who depend on agriculture
THERE is a widespread – but fallacious – perception that India’s tariffs are inordinately high.
Tariffs are quantifiable, and there should really be no place for subjectivity, unlike, say for a country, when one factors in liveability, public courtesy or even how foreigners are welcomed.
Let us consider the facts in the case.
It might be useful for the average reader to understand what function tariffs perform in a low-income developing country such as India when compared to a high-income developed country, like the United States of America.
Traditionally, low-income developing countries use tariffs for two reasons: one, to protect their domestic industry and two, to gain revenue from it.
The protection of a nation’s domestic industries is an accepted argument by economists all over the world, especially if the industry is an infant one and the country needs to develop an industrial base.
Then, there is the revenue gaining function, illustrated, for instance, by a country’s duties on alcohol or luxury motorcycles.
India’s tariffs, which were high in the 1980s, were brought down significantly since the 1991 reforms were initiated and during the negotiations related to the Uruguay Round, which led to the establishment of the World Trade Organization (WTO).
Since then, the secular trend in India has been one of gradual reduction of the applicable tariffs, year after year.
From a technical point of view, countries have two kinds of tariffs. One is applied tariffs, which as the name indicates is the actual tariff (normally ad valorem) imposed at the border when a foreign item enters a country.
Bound tariffs are the maximum levy a country can impose on foreign goods from a legal obligation arising from its most-favoured-nation (MFN) commitments to the WTO. It goes without saying the tariff war initiated by the US is in violation of its commitments under the WTO agreements. But then, the WTO itself has been moribund for a while. It is also worth noting that tariffs cannot be the same for all countries.
It is a truism that low-income developing countries will have higher tariffs (for reasons mentioned above) compared to G7 countries. Where does India figure in all of this? When it is judged on tariffs, two parameters are used. One is simple average tariffs, and the other is trade-weighted tariffs.
With the former metric, India’s tariff does seem high (15.98 per cent). But this is in many ways academic, because for most goods imported into the Indian market, it is the tradeweighted applied tariff that matters. And the tradeweighted tariff that India maintains is a respectable 4.6 per cent. This level of tariff gives the lie to claims that India is somehow a tariff king. Simple averages distort the picture since they treat all products alike, regardless of the trade volumes. So, why is there such a big difference between India’s simple average tariff and its tradeweighted tariff?
India does maintain relatively high tariffs in agriculture and automobiles. In both these cases, the main purpose of the tariffs is to protect the domestic industries. Agriculture in India is sui generis and like no other major country in the world. Around 50 per cent of India’s mammoth population directly or indirectly depends on agriculture. Besides, agriculture in India is not mechanised and land holdings are so small that farming is about survival and not about commerce.
Asking India to open its farm sector to imports is akin to asking it to commit suicide, which no elected government in India would agree to. This demand is especially egregious, since Western farmers are beneficiaries of direct and indirect subsidies.
In this context, India does maintain relatively high tariffs for agriculture products, at average rates of around 33 per cent on meat, dairy, fruits, and cereals. But this is not surprising, given that the European Union’s average rate is 37.5 per cent on dairy products, and rising to 205 per cent, and up to 261 per cent on fruits and vegetables.
Compare this with Japan, whose rate is 61.3 per cent on dairy products, going up to 298 per cent, and up to 258 per cent on cereals, and 160 per cent on meat and vegetables.
Or South Korea, whose average is 54 per cent on agricultural goods, with 800 per cent on vegetables, and 300 per cent on fruits.
Who, then, is the tariff king in agriculture? As for automobiles, this sector is crucial as it creates mass employment.
India’s simple average tariff levels at 15.98 per cent are in line with global norms for developing economies. Bangladesh (14.1 per cent), Argentina (13.4 per cent), and Türkiye (16.2 per cent) – which are all countries with comparable or higher GDP per capita – maintain similar or higher tariffs.
On the US saying their exports of non-agricultural products face tariff barriers in India, it is worth noting that US exporters often face equal or lower tariffs in India compared to many Asian peers.
In electronics and technology, for instance, India has zero per cent tariff on most IT hardware, semiconductors, computers and associated parts, with average tariffs of 10.9 per cent on electronics and 8.3 per cent on computing machinery. In comparison, Vietnam has a tariff of 8.5 per cent on electronic equipment, going up to 35 per cent.
China has a tariff rate of 5.4 per cent, going up to 20 per cent on eletronics, and up to 25 per cent on computing machinery. And Indonesia has a tariff rate of 6.3 per cent on electronic equipment, going up to 20 per cent, and up to 30 per cent on computing machinery.
It is true India maintains justifiable tariff protection for its agricultural, dairy, and auto markets for valid reasons. But its trade-weighted applied tariff in other sectors does not justify it being called a “tariff king” at all.
Dr Mohan Kumar is a former Indian ambassador and is director general of the newly established Jadeja Motwani Institute for American Studies at the OP Jindal Global University
IN MY entrepreneurial journey, I have noticed that crises happen out of the blue. In fact, global crises are more than not, unpredicted. Sadly, the same is true in one’s personal and family life, where everything can turn on a dime.
On December 23, last year, at 2:15 am, our 26-year daughter Zara fell off the terrace outside her first-floor bedroom at our house in Cape Town. It was a freak accident, and it happens, her younger brother and sister were awake and saw her fall.
We all rushed down and she was lifeless. We thought she had died.
I was tempted to pick her up and rush her to the hospital in our car, but our nephew – who is trained in first aid – said to not touch her.
This probably saved her life.
Two ambulances arrived within 15 minutes, and they got no response from her. I went with her in the ambulance.
We rushed her to one hospital, who turned her away saying it was too serious, and then to the Vincent Pallotti, a level one trauma hospital, which took her in.
Scans showed she had broken her neck seriously, with a shattered vertebra, and damaged her spinal cord.
As luck would have it, Dr David Welsh, one of the leading neurosurgeons in Cape Town and in South Africa, happened to be on duty that day. He said he had to perform an emergency operation within 12 hours of the accident and wanted permission to administer a controversial drug. He went ahead and said there was no prediction of the outcome.
Lord Karan Bilimoria with his daughter Zara
Zara, of course, was emotionally distraught. Naturally, it was a question of “why me?”, when in the past few years she had had two near death experiences, contracting bacterial meningitis, followed a few years later to sepsis in London.
She said in tears, “Daddy, surely this is the third time and the last time”. In the ICU, I said to her, “we will get through this together.” I did not leave Zara’s side from that moment until two months later.
In the ICU, the miracle of the South African physiotherapists and occupational therapists started to take place. They forcibly moved her limbs which were completely paralysed.
She could not use her thumbs, or hold anything, nor could she turn in bed. It was a pathetic sight, we had no idea what the outcome would be.
I would cry in the bathroom, so she would not see me, and I would cry all the way home late at night after she had gone to sleep, returning early in the morning before the staff on duty changed. Zara left the ICU after eight days. We were told that normally after an accident such as hers, patients are in the unit for 40 days.
I checked her into residential rehab near our home, where they told me she would be there for three months. We had to leave her on New Year’s Eve, in tears, as no visitors were allowed after 7 pm.
Nine days later, Zara walked out of the residential rehab unaided and continued the rehab thereafter as an outpatient. Her attitude throughout this was one of determination, resilience and going the extra mile. Every time she was asked to do certain exercises; she would do two or three extra repetitions.
We took her to see the surgeon who performed her operation, three weeks after her accident.
When she walked into his consulting rooms, he said, “You are one of my Christmas miracles”, and told me and my wife that normally patients do not walk again after such an injury. My wife spontaneously burst into tears, and I felt like I had been punched in the chest.
Zara returned home at the end of February and a month later, on April 1, started work initially from home, building up to today — back at work full time.
From the time of the accident, prayers were said for her all over the world. In Parsi fire temples in Hyderabad, my home city, in Delhi, in Udvada by one of the Parsi high priests in India, in Mumbai, in Iran by the Zoroastrian head priest, in Sikh gurdwaras, in Hindu temples, in Christian churches, in the UK and in India.
My mother would quote Alfred Lord Tennyson, “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of”.
Through those early days, no surgeon I consulted in South Africa, in the UK, in India, and in the United States, could give me any hope except one, the famous UK based neurosurgeon Dr Alagappan Sivaraman (known as Siva), who was introduced to me by our family friend in Hyderabad, Dr Rashna Chenoy.
Siva told me within a few days of the accident, when Zara was showing signs of some improvement, “Please have faith, she will be running within three months”. He ended up being right.
When no one offers hope, and you are staring into the abyss, not knowing whether your daughter might be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, and one person gives you hope – it means more than I could ever express.
Our family has been through a living nightmare, and to hell and back.
However, the stars aligning, the serendipity, the luck, the good fortune, starting with Zara falling and her head missing the stone corner of the veranda by literally an inch, to our nephew stopping me from picking her up which could have severed her spinal cord completely, to Dr Welsh being on duty that morning, performing the emergency operation in time and decompressing her spinal cord, it has all been remarkable, it has truly been a miracle. God is great.
Zara’s attitude and spirit throughout, and her determination, is an inspiration to us all.
What these past nine months have highlighted more than ever, is that your family is the most important thing by far; everything else comes second, by a long way. Looking at Zara now, it is as if nothing had ever happened.
I thank god every day.
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Higher education participation is 50 per cent for British south Asian students
THE headline in the Daily Telegraph read: An 18-year-old with a higher IQ than Stephen Hawking has passed 23 A-levels.
The gushing piece went on to report that Mahnoor Cheema, whose family originate from Pakistan, had also received an unconditional offer from Oxford University to read medicine.
She was quoted in the newspaper as declaring: ‘I was absolutely set on it (studying medicine at Oxford). There was not a world in my mind where I would not get in. That is not cocky but that was my determined life path. If I did not get in I would have reapplied,’
She clearly didn’t need quite so many A-levels to fulfil her ambition, but I suggest there is something psychological about the possible role of an Asian mind-set, which may partly explain the impressive phenomenon that is Mahnoor Cheema.
According to a recent study, rates of Higher Education participation stood at 45 per cent for black British young people, 50 per cent for British south Asians, and 68 per cent for British Chinese, compared to just 30 per cent for the white British ethnic group.
Until recently, however, the same study reported that black British, British Pakistani and British Bangladeshi students have been substantially under-represented at the UK’s most academically selective universities. Research also reveals that BAME applicants to highly selective colleges have been less likely to be offered places than their comparably qualified white British peers.
In response to race discrimination, some opt for complaining, and campaigning, to change the system.
I venture to suggest that perhaps, instead, the Asian way is to keep your head down, stay out of politics, and away from getting grumpy, and instead, get so many A-levels that Oxford University made this young Asian girl, an unconditional offer of a place, a full year before she even finished getting all her A-levels.
In response to her famous school, Henrietta Barnett, objecting to her missing lessons in order to take all these extra exams, she reportedly left, and studied from home.
So this younger generation of Asians, may be more rebellious than their parents.
This can only be a positive signpost for their ability to take the rightful place in society, a position which reflects their hard work and talent. Especially if we see this defiance in girls.
South Asian girls, in my experience, have traditionally been somewhat suppressed by a male dominated family structure, leading to some surveys finding higher rates of mental illness and selfharm. I would, however, like to counsel Mahnoor Cheema, that although she clearly worked hard to understand the rules of the game in terms of academic success, and getting into a highly selective university degree programme, this doesn’t mean the same rulebook applies to success, after you leave the academy.
In the cloistered environment of an elite academic establishment, being smart and signalling your smartness are key. But when you venture out into the wild world, different considerations start to compete.
At an interview to get into a top medical school, the professor grilling you will only be too pleased at the prospect of the intellectual challenge of teaching someone who they suspect may be as talented as themselves.
But when you vacate the academic world and start applying for jobs, beware of appearing too clever, as then your boss and colleagues may feel threatened. A new currency starts to be the key exchange, and this becomes likeability.
There is even a word for it among the old-school elite in the UK, ‘clubbable’. Many a time I have found myself in conversations with the eminent fellow members at The Athenaeum Club in Pall Mall, famously described as the ‘brainy club’ because of its enviable list of Nobel Prize winners who are, or were, members, or even The Reform Club (more politics than prizes), also in Pall Mall, where that characterisation has been deployed to explain why some talented applicant is being excluded from some social, or academic, or professional circle.
Indeed, in my experience, one of the particular issues in British culture that outsiders find difficult to grasp, is that likeability may even count for more than competence. I learned from competing in debating and public speaking competitions, while at school, that deploying the strongest and best researched argument was not nearly as effective as just being funny.
I am sure that Mahnoor is shrewd enough to realise that in the future, instead of declaring that studying medicine at Oxford was her ambition, and she was prepared to be relentless in her efforts at securing a place there, charming though she was in her honesty, a more socially astute move might be, instead to declare how pleasantly surprised she was to have been awarded a place, and to give thanks that she ‘got lucky on the day’.
Also, how she was so busy playing tennis, golf, shooting clay pigeons, going night-clubbing, saving dolphins and painting her nails, that she barely had time to study.
Indeed, she didn’t.
Most of the time.
Because naked ambition is something a bit embarrassing in Britain today. Also, if she didn’t get into Oxford, she would accept the decision of the panel, and she declares she would re-train as a paediatric nurse.
Because she loves the uniform.
And children.
But the Asian mind-set is so impressed by hard work, talent and achievement, it forgets what’s actually needed to survive in Britain, where the rules of how to be socially and professionally accepted are the hardest, compared to anywhere else in the world, to figure out.
Particularly if you were not born into the aristocracy.
But in my clinical private practice in Harley Street, I see many members of the ruling class, and so I have had the rules of their game patiently explained to me, by those who write the rulebooks. These instructions include that after you turn up at Lord’s cricket ground and score a hundred, you apologise at the subsequent press conference that you are still hung-over from pulling an ‘all-nighter’, celebrating with your old regiment who had just returned from a posting overseas.
The members in the MCC pavilion will then raise a glass to you and confirm, you are indeed a jolly good chap.
So let me boil it down for you, particularly for all those pushy Asian parents who just don’t get it.
Sometimes, the smartest move to make in life is ... to know when to play dumb.
Peter Searle
Dr Raj Persaud is a consultant psychiatrist in Harley Street London and is author of the only guide on how to survive in a post covid world – the Mental Vaccine for Covid 19 published by Amberley Publishing
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