YAMOURA BOARDROOM, TOKYO – 6 APRIL
‘Bring on the recession, I say,’ said Lumo Kinotoa, with a twinkle in his eye.
The board members looked up. They were chatting about the Nikkei and the world economy, during a tea break.
‘Nothing like a good recession to boost sales of drugs,’ continued the smiling chairman. ‘People without jobs always get sicker!’
‘Ha ha, very good,’ laughed Tsan Yohoto and there were chuckles around the table. The silver-haired chairman called the meeting back to order for the last item on the agenda.
‘Now, Tsan,’ he said, ‘we are all looking forward to hearing of your Grand Plan. Are you ready to tell us?’
‘Yes, thank you, Chairman,’ said Tsan Yohoto putting his glasses back on. ‘Please feel free to refer to the paper which I have left on the table for each of you. But first, please have a look at the screen.’
He pressed a button on a remote control and a large white screen was lowered from the ceiling at the end of the room. Tsan Yohoto started into another presentation, which, as always, he had practised carefully. His board members would have approved a few notes written on the back of an envelope, but Tsan wanted to take no chances. He spoke emotionally about the tens of thousands of Africans who were dying each year from a whole range of infections, from pneumonia to bowel infections to kidney infections to gonorrhoea – because they did not have the basic medicines to fight the bacteria. The presentation was heavy on close-up shots of starving black babies and skeletal women carrying children long distances, in the hope of getting medical help at a field hospital or clinic. The images included a heart-breaking slow-motion video of dying babies, accompanied by a soundtrack of Peter Gabriel’s ‘Don’t Give Up’. The last image on the screen was the face of a beautiful little black girl, sitting on her mother’s grave, with her arms outstretched in an appeal to the camera. The music faded and the lights came up slowly. There was a long silence. Tsan Yohoto could see that many of the board members had tears in their eyes. Someone sniffled and blew their nose. He chose his moment.
‘Gentlemen, all they need is an antibiotic. Simple cephalosporin tablets. My plan proposes that we multiply our production of cephalosporin tablets fiftyfold and give them free to the people of impoverished African nations. The cost will be maybe ten million dollars, but the PR will be invaluable. Most importantly, it is the right thing to do. For this, my last strategic recommendation, I ask that you support me in saving the African people from diseases that do not have to kill them.’
‘I’ll propose the motion,’ said the chairman.
‘I’ll second,’ said the finance director swiftly.
The board members added their rapid approval. The motion was passed unanimously. The production director was instructed to boost manufacturing of cephalosporin immediately. The chairman rose to his feet and began to applaud his chief executive, Tsan Yohoto. One by one, the directors also rose and joined in a standing ovation to their leader and to this, his last great initiative. Tsan Yohoto waved an acknowledgement of their applause and thought of his mother, Saina – she would be so proud to see him now. With a teary eye, Lumo Kinotoa managed a wink to Tsan Yohoto.
The plan was moving forward. Perfectly.