Insight-driven growth for business and lifestyle

There’s no shortage of advice on decision-making. Social media feeds, newsletters, YouTube videos, books — all of them promising to unlock the secrets of problem-solving. Most of it sounds like this: “Here’s the one thing you need to know about making better decisions.”

But when you open the link or buy the book? That “one thing” turns into a bloated checklist of vague ideas. Classic clickbait.

I’ve learned to be sceptical. Especially when it comes to decisions that actually matter — like your health.

Think about it: is it easy to make good decisions about your health in South Africa? Not when you’re working with limited funds, not when your medical aid is really just glorified insurance, and definitely not when you’re navigating deliberately confusing options.

Take health plans. Decision-making doesn’t feel so breezy when you’re drowning in fine print, co-payments, exclusions, and meaningless package names. I’ve had several consultants try to help me find the “most affordable” plan — none of them were affordable. And don’t laugh too hard at the commission they earn. Most of them disappear before the job is done anyway.

In my case, it took a year to finally land on something halfway workable. A year. So don’t tell me decision-making is easy.

And then there’s the whole “consulting” industry. Everyone wants to be a consultant now. Everyone wants to sell the idea that consulting is simple, profitable, and slick. But the truth? Consulting is hard. You need time, effort, and a stomach for relentless sales pressure. I’ve met more than one self-proclaimed “marketing guru” whose real talent was just convincing people to buy — often at shocking prices.

So how do you “make consulting easy”? You don’t. It isn’t.

That’s the real issue. Too many people want to sell “easy.” Easy money. Easy consulting. Easy decision-making. But life isn’t easy — and the advice that pretends otherwise isn’t doing anyone any favours.

Let me end with this:

How many important decisions do you make in a month?

Are you equipped to solve every problem coming at you?

If you’re not sure — good. You’re thinking. That’s a much better place to start than pretending it’s all easy.

The spell has finally been broken. After a string of predictable Formula 1 Sundays dominated by the same two cars at the front, the 2025 Canadian Grand Prix delivered a thrilling shake-up — a race that reminded fans why they fell in love with the sport in the first place.

George Russell stormed to victory, clinching his first win of the season in commanding style. Behind him, Max Verstappen showed grit to hold onto second place, while the breakout star of the day — Kimi Antonelli — claimed his maiden podium with a remarkable third-place finish. Two Mercedes in the top three, and a Red Bull between them — this was not your usual 2025 Grand Prix.

For weeks now, race fans have been groaning as Sundays turned into processions, with the same front-runners cruising to easy wins. But Montreal broke the monotony. The starting grid itself was a breath of fresh air, and by the time the chequered flag dropped, the order had been well and truly shuffled.

Antonelli, just 18 years old, proved he’s not just hype. Starting fourth on the grid, he made a bold move into Turn 1 and claimed third — and there he stayed, fending off pressure and keeping his cool like a seasoned pro. Even after pit stops and a change of tyres, he fought his way back and never let go of the position. At times, he was just a hair’s breadth from Verstappen’s gearbox.

Let’s be clear: Kimi Antonelli is still a rookie, but so far, he’s easily been the best of the bunch. Full credit must go to the Mercedes development program, which picked him up young and nurtured his rise through the ranks. While Isack Hadjar has shown flashes of potential, he’s still finding his footing. And unfortunately for Red Bull, Yuki Tsunoda continues to struggle — his performance this season has been underwhelming, and he hasn’t managed to contribute meaningfully to Red Bull’s team results.

The next race takes place in Austria on June 29th, and after Montreal’s excitement, fans will be hoping this marks a turning point in the season — a shift toward more competitive, unpredictable racing.

P.S. I grew up reading Formula 1 reports in the Cape Times, written by my father, Brian Grobbler, and later by Adrian Pfeiffer. Their words brought the sport to life for so many readers in South Africa. We could use voices like theirs again in today’s Formula 1.

Scene: The Scruffy Pint, a low-lit bar with the faint smell of fried food and regret. Sloppy Joe is hunched over a beer. Julia Primm walks in with a tote bag full of books and sits beside him.

Sloppy Joe:
You ever hear of a woman who burned her notes every day and still won the biggest math prize on earth?

Julia Primm:
Sounds like a hoax. Or performance art. That’s not how academia works, Joe.

Sloppy Joe:
Exactly! That’s what makes it genius. Karen Uhlenbeck. Real person. Math whiz. Didn’t follow the rules. Ripped up her notes, walked away from problems for months, then came back and solved ’em fresh. Boom—Abel Prize.

Julia Primm:
You’re telling me she forgot everything on purpose? That’s absurd. What about building on your previous work? That’s what progress is, Joe.

Sloppy Joe (sips beer):
Nah, see, that’s the trap. You build too much on old junk, and you can’t see the new stuff. You get stuck thinkin’ the answer’s gotta look like yesterday’s failure. It’s like trying to fix your car with the same busted part that broke it.

Julia Primm (rolls eyes):
Oh please. That’s not how complex problem-solving works. Ideas evolve. They don’t just fall out of the sky.

Sloppy Joe:
Exactly. And sometimes the best way to evolve is to forget the dumb ideas you were married to. She called her brain “uncooperative.” Wouldn’t behave. So she let it wander off. Like a drunk uncle at a wedding. Then—bam—one day it comes back with a diamond in its pocket.

Julia Primm (defensive):
Well, sure, the occasional break is good. But destroying notes? That’s self-sabotage. That’s chaos.

Sloppy Joe:
No, that’s gardening. You prune the dead stuff so new stuff can grow. She knew if she kept staring at the same scribbles, she’d just keep thinking the same stale thoughts. That’s what she was unlearning—herself. Her own habits.

Julia Primm:
That’s inefficient. Breakthroughs come from discipline.

Sloppy Joe:
Tell that to the breakthrough. It don’t care how you found it. It just shows up when the path’s clear. And sometimes clearing the path means tossing the map.

Julia Primm (pauses):
Still sounds like luck.

Sloppy Joe (leans in):
You ever try to remember something, and you can’t, so you stop trying—and boom, it pops up?

Julia Primm:
Of course.

Sloppy Joe:
That’s your brain working without you. Sometimes the best thing you can do is shut up and get outta its way.

Julia Primm:
You sound like a Zen monk with a beer gut.

Sloppy Joe (smirks):
Beer’s just part of the enlightenment process.

Julia Primm (laughs despite herself):
Alright, Joe. So what—you think we should all start burning our notebooks now?

Sloppy Joe (grinning):
Only if you want to stop thinking like yesterday. Sometimes the best ideas ain’t the ones you write down. They’re the ones that sneak in when you’re not lookin’.

[end scene.]

Disaster strikes. And it can come from anywhere.

Sometimes it’s a small thing — a leaking roof, a dent in your car, a broken window, a cracked tooth.

Sometimes it’s something bigger, and you find yourself in a kind of shock. Everything slows down. You feel a twist in your stomach, or an ache in your shoulder. Your body knows something is wrong before your mind has even caught up.

Everyone handles sudden calamities in their own way. Some cry. Some freeze. Some go into action mode straight away. But most of us need a little time — time to settle our nerves and figure out what just happened.

One of the hardest things in those moments is the feeling of being overwhelmed. We start to believe we’re not up to the challenge. That we’re too tired, too stretched, too vulnerable.

That’s when it helps to pause. Just for a moment. To take stock.

How big is the damage? What’s the real loss? Can it be fixed — and if so, how?

And then there’s money. It always seems to come down to money. These days, everything costs more. That panel beater job you paid R2,000 for a few years ago might cost you R4,000 today. Every repair, every crisis, every emergency — it hits your wallet, and it hits hard. Especially if you’d already budgeted for something else.

That’s the double whammy, isn’t it? Not just the problem itself, but the ripple effect it causes.

But here’s the thing: no matter how overwhelmed you feel, the only way forward is through action.

Even small action helps. Make the call. Get the quote. See the dentist. Book the contractor. Write it down. Make a plan. Tick the first box.

What helps, too, is memory. You’ve survived chaos before. Remember when your house was ransacked? When your car was stolen? When the roof beams cracked and the whole structure had to be redone?

Back then, those things felt like the end of the world. But they passed. You dealt with them. You paid for them. They’re part of your story now — not your future.

This latest challenge will also fade into the past. One day, it’ll just be something you vaguely remember.

And hopefully, there’ll be a stretch of calm ahead — a season of peace.

But life being what it is, surprises are always waiting just around the corner. That’s not meant to scare you — only to remind you that you’ve done it before. You can do it again.

Until recently, I had never heard of the term “pink tax.” I stumbled upon it through a newsletter I subscribe to—one of the few places where the value of real information still shines through, compared to the noise of social media. The article I read focused on the U.S. market, but the concept was instantly fascinating: almost identical razors, one pink and one blue, priced differently simply because they’re marketed to different genders. And the pink one? Always more expensive.

The idea that women are subtly (and not so subtly) charged more for everyday products isn’t just a quirk of the American retail system. Is there any hard evidence of this happening in South Africa? I did some digging—and while I’m no expert, what I found was both intriguing and frustrating.

What Is the Pink Tax?

The “pink tax” refers to gender-based price discrimination where products marketed to women are more expensive than similar products marketed to men, despite similar production costs. Think of two t-shirts—one in the men’s section and one in the women’s section, identical in fabric and fit, but with a price gap. The difference? Often just branding, packaging, or colour.

Let’s take a closer look at what the evidence says, specifically in the South African context.

? Evidence Supporting the Pink Tax in South Africa

1. Sanlam Surveys (2018 and 2024)
Financial services group Sanlam found that women not only earn less than men, but often spend more—thanks in part to pink tax. In a 2024 update with over 400 respondents, 53% of women said they “sometimes” encounter pink tax, while 19% saw it “often.” Notable disparities were reported in personal care items (like razors) and even in car insurance pricing.

? Caveat: These are self-reported perceptions, not a systematic audit of product prices.

2. Business Insider SA Investigation (2018)
They compared prices across three retailers—grocery, clothing, and health & beauty. On average, women’s versions of similar products cost 18% more. Razors, face creams, and basic apparel showed the biggest differences.

? This is hard price data—but limited in scope (only three retailers).

3. Use Your Voice (UYV) Non-Profit Report (2018)
UYV found that women pay up to 13% more for personal care items. While the study was widely shared, it’s more anecdotal than academic.

? Helpful snapshot, but lacking large-scale rigor.

4. Social Media Evidence
In 2022, a viral X (formerly Twitter) post showed two identical lotions at Dischem—one for men at R65, and the women’s version at R80. That’s a nearly 19% markup, just for marketing it to women.

? Not a study, but the kind of real-world observation that supports broader trends.

? Evidence Questioning the Pink Tax in South Africa

1. University of Stellenbosch Law Clinic (2018)
Their research found no conclusive proof of widespread pink tax. Pricing appeared more linked to subjective factors like design, packaging, or specific ingredients.

? Their stance: price differences exist, but they aren’t necessarily discriminatory.

2. Contro Study (2023)
This wellness brand compared six similar men’s and women’s products. The results were mixed—women paid more for most items, but the gap had narrowed in some areas (like razors).

? Suggests improvements, or at least variability in pricing practices.

3. Global Context
A 2021 study by University of Chicago and Northwestern found that men’s products were more expensive in 3 out of 5 personal care categories when brand and ingredients were held constant. This was in the U.S., but worth noting.

? The takeaway? Not all pricing gaps are about discrimination—some are about how products are formulated or branded.

? So, What’s Really Going On?

The evidence suggests that while some products in South Africa are indeed more expensive when marketed to women, it’s not always clear whether this is intentional discrimination or a side effect of branding, marketing, and consumer behavior.

• Razors and personal care products are common culprits.
• Clothing, particularly basics like t-shirts, can show mysterious price differences.
• Financial products like insurance may also reflect gender-based cost differences.

But—there’s no sweeping, large-scale study in South Africa akin to the 2015 New York City Department of Consumer Affairs report, which looked at 794 products. Until we get something on that scale, we’re left with a patchwork of smaller studies, anecdotal posts, and limited investigations.

? How to Avoid the Pink Tax

Here are some tips women in South Africa can use to protect their wallets:

• Buy gender-neutral or men’s versions of basics (like razors or t-shirts).
• Compare ingredients, not just labels, on personal care products.
• Support awareness campaigns like #AxThePinkTax.
• Push for transparency and demand price justification when disparities are obvious.

Final Thought

The pink tax is not a myth—but it’s not fully proven as a systemic, across-the-board issue either, at least not in South Africa. It lurks in some shelves and product categories, occasionally surfacing in obvious price differences. In other cases, it’s buried in marketing fluff and brand strategy. Still, even marginal disparities—when multiplied across a lifetime of purchases—can cost women thousands of rands.

Until we have better data, staying informed and skeptical remains the best defense. Just because it’s pink doesn’t mean it should cost more.

News of Brian Wilson’s passing this week stirred something deep in me. It feels only right to take a moment to reflect, celebrate, and express gratitude for the incredible music and vision he gave us. For those who truly listened, Wilson didn’t just write songs—he created soundscapes that painted the inner world of a genius both joyful and tormented.

As a youngster growing up far from California, I knew of The Beach Boys mainly through their upbeat surf tunes—songs like Surfin’ USA and I Get Around. They sounded like sunshine bottled in harmony, and while I enjoyed them, they felt more like background to my life than something central. I was trying to keep up with the rock of the early ’70s— Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Yes, Jimi Hendrix. The Beach Boys were already seen as a bit old-school by then.

But later, I began to really listen.

And that’s when I discovered Pet Sounds.

What an extraordinary achievement. It wasn’t just a pop album—it was a spiritual and emotional journey. The textures, the harmonies, the strange yet tender mood that lingered between joy and melancholy. This wasn’t surf music. This was soul-searching set to orchestration. Pet Sounds changed how I thought about music. And I wasn’t alone—The Beatles themselves credited it as a major inspiration for Sgt. Pepper’s.

Then came the deep appreciation for specific songs: God Only Knows—what a heartbreakingly beautiful piece. And Lady Lynda—romantic, sweeping, elegant.

But the moment that truly floored me was the release of SMiLE.

I had heard of it as a kind of musical ghost, this mythical unfinished album Brian Wilson had begun in the 1960s but never completed. When word came out in the early 2000s that he was finally ready to release it—decades later—I couldn’t wait. The minute it landed in my local shop, I bought it. I listened. Then I listened again. And again. SMiLE echoed the grandeur of Pet Sounds, but it was its own universe—surreal, childlike, witty, and filled with the strange light only Brian Wilson could create.

To hold onto a creative vision for nearly 40 years and still bring it to life after all the pain, breakdowns, industry fights, and personal loss… that’s a level of artistry and resilience that deserves awe. It felt like he had finished something not just for himself, but for all of us who believed in music as more than just entertainment.

A Few Highlights of Brian Wilson’s Legacy

1. The “California Sound” Architect

Wilson crafted The Beach Boys’ signature blend of surf, harmony, and optimism—capturing a version of American youth that the world fell in love with.

2. Pet Sounds (1966)

An emotional, intricate masterpiece—often cited as one of the greatest albums ever made. Tracks like Wouldn’t It Be Nice and God Only Knows set a new standard for pop.

3. Good Vibrations

A psychedelic mini-symphony. Costing a then-astounding $50,000 to make, it became a #1 hit and showed what was possible in a pop single.

4. SMiLE—The Myth, the Masterpiece

Originally abandoned in 1967, then completed and released in 2004. This “teenage symphony to God” is a story of redemption through music.

5. Studio Innovation

Brian Wilson pioneered multi-track layering, modular recording, and experimental instrumentation—bicycle bells, sleigh bells, and even barking dogs. He was as much an inventor as a musician.

6. The Harmonies

Wilson’s arranging genius gave us The Beach Boys’ unforgettable harmonies—lush, precise, and ethereal. Songs like Surfer Girl, In My Room, and Their Hearts Were Full of Spring showcase this best.

7. A Solo Career of Quiet Brilliance

Even after decades of struggle, Wilson returned with albums like Brian Wilson (1988) and Imagination (1998), proving his creative spirit had never left him.

8. Cultural Impact

From influencing The Beatles to shaping entire sub-genres of indie pop, Brian Wilson’s music gave voice to emotion in a way that transcended generations.

For me, Wilson’s work will always represent something deeper—something about the long road to peace, about not giving up on your inner symphony. SMiLE is more than an album. It’s a life story set to music. A reminder that even after silence, even after collapse, it’s still possible to create something breathtaking.

Thank you, Brian Wilson.

You gave us Good Vibrations, yes—but you also gave us the sound of fragile beauty, the ache of memory, and the quiet hope of starting again.

People walk briskly along the coastal walks, trying not to make eye contact. Suspicious figures occupy benches, watching. Drop something on the pavement and it’s gone before you turn around. In dark streets, vagrants sleep in corners. The smell of urine hangs in the morning air. In a Birkenstock sandalled seaside resort, marijuana is sold openly on the street.

Tourists hiking scenic mountains get mugged. Some lose everything — passports, phones, peace of mind. They leave the country shaken and silent.

On a local WhatsApp group, a car was reported stolen almost every day last week. Syndicates are active. Everyone knows it. But official statistics and public messaging paint a far milder picture.

Why? Because too many people — across society — have too much to lose by telling the full truth.

SAPS is under immense pressure to show that crime is decreasing. This leads to the manipulation of stats, downgrading of serious crimes, and discouraging victims from reporting. On top of that, many South Africans simply don’t trust the police enough to report crimes in the first place — especially when they doubt anything will come of it. The result? What’s reported is only a fraction of what’s happening.

High crime is politically damaging. It suggests failure. So, the government messaging focuses on selective successes: arrests, crackdowns, “task teams.” Annual stats are released with spin — not necessarily lies, but careful omissions and emphasis on marginal gains. The goal isn’t transparency. It’s to reassure voters, investors, and tourists that things are under control.

Tour operators can’t sell a holiday destination by highlighting muggings and hijackings. Their strategy is to insulate visitors — luxury lodges, guided transport, private security — and avoid the issue unless asked directly. They don’t deny crime exists, but they create a curated version of South Africa that feels safe, beautiful, and contained.

For guesthouses, B&Bs, and backpackers, crime is bad for business. A single robbery or bad review can destroy future bookings. So they often stay quiet, resolve incidents discreetly, and avoid making crime part of their sales narrative. In small towns, there’s often social pressure not to “talk down” the area — even when locals know things are getting worse.

No single group hides the full truth. But together — through spin, silence, denial, and survival instinct — they all help mask the scale of the problem.

Meanwhile, ordinary people lock themselves in at night, glance over their shoulders during the day, and live with fear. They lose their cars, their phones, their peace of mind — sometimes their lives. Suburbs decay. Streets hollow out.

But don’t expect honesty. That’s not in anyone’s interest.

There’s money to be made in pretending it’s not that bad — those who benefit from smoothing over the extent of crime aren’t about to give up their slice of the fantasy.

So while communities unravel, while people lose their lives, their homes, their vehicles, even their sanity — someone, somewhere, is profiting from the illusion that everything is under control.

It’s sad news to hear of an author like Frederick Forsyth passing this week. I remember when his book The Day of the Jackal came out, and how it was subsequently made into a movie.

For those aspiring writers, The Day of the Jackal was fascinating because it was written in such a tight, economical way. Some say it might’ve been because he was a correspondent for Reuters. But I think he was a natural novelist.

A few years ago, I read his autobiography titled The Outsider: My Life in Intrigue. It was fascinating. He was one of the youngest—if not the youngest—RAF jet pilots in the history of the Royal Air Force.

Later in the same book, he talks about a meeting he held with a South African minister called Pik Botha. Forsyth did some intelligence work for the British intelligence agency, and they were curious to know what South Africa was going to do with—I think it was—six atomic bombs then in the country’s possession. Minister Botha, according to Forsyth, told him not to worry and to reassure his intelligence contacts that all those bombs would be dismantled.

Fascinating that this information would come from a British thriller author. In the book—and I’m paraphrasing—he intimates that the British were concerned about those atomic bombs falling into the hands of certain people in South Africa. We know who they are, but I’m not going to mention them here.

Thank goodness the South African government at the time had the foresight to dismantle those bombs. One can only boggle at what could’ve happened if those atomic weapons were still armed when the country was given away to the new regime.

But that’s an aside.

Forsyth gave us many fantastic tales, and I can still remember lying in bed at night reading his wonderful novels. He also had a short story collection—No Comebacks, I think it was—published in 1982. Boy, what a number of great short stories were in that collection.

Frederick Forsyth may be gone, but for those interested in his life, his work, and in his particular kind of affection—for drama, justice, and danger—his words live on.

Farewell to a great British author.

The sewage press is at it again, trying to topple a local government. They’ve been at this for years—attacking a political party as if they’re still relevant. These two newspapers, whose circulations have dropped below that of a modest community paper, are shadows of what they once were.

At least they’ve been put out of their Saturday and Sunday misery. Their weekend editions died under the weight of their own filth—victims of their eagerness to please their Nero-like masters.

But let’s ask the real question:

Do newspapers actually topple governments?

No. People do. It’s the actions of citizens that change things.

Still, we’re surrounded by negativity.

If it’s not the sewage press spewing spin to curry favour with their political darlings, it’s acquaintances flooding WhatsApp with doom and gloom. Screens filled with irrelevant complaints and recycled outrage. What’s going on here?

Step outside. If you’re looking for a dose of despair, just walk down the main road of any town.

Blankets huddled around vagrants on a winter morning. The sharp smell of urine lingers in the air—no worse, frankly, than the stench of those newspapers. Alcoholics and addicts staggering on the pavement, caught in some frozen twilight. Litter piling up. Filth. Decay.

Yes, there are still bins. And yes, some people still use them.

So the question becomes:

What are you focusing on?

If you came here expecting me to tell you what to focus on, you’re mistaken.

Only you know what lifts you. What keeps you grounded. What matters to you.

Focus on that.

And yes, it takes discipline. In a world overrun with negativity, choosing what to focus on isn’t just a coping mechanism—it’s an act of rebellion.

Let me know if you’d like a more humorous, ironic, or poetic tone.

Many years ago, I was driving to my first life drawing session on a bitterly cold Highveld morning. The sky was steel-grey, the roads icy, and the car heater barely doing its job. It was one of those mornings where even your bones feel the cold.

As I turned onto the highway, the radio began to play Nana Mouskouri’s Song for Liberty. I turned up the volume. Something in the clarity of her voice cut through the gloom. There was joy in the melody—but also sadness. A kind of longing. That song stayed with me long after I arrived and unpacked my drawing board. That morning, I realised how central liberty is to the human spirit.

Liberty—real liberty—is rare.

Just last week, I was leafing through a book on Berlin Wall graffiti, a catalogue of the wall before and after its collapse. I was once again struck by the sheer humanity etched into its concrete skin. Every spray-painted face, slogan, shape, and scratch told a story of resistance, longing, hope—and endurance. Not polished, not commissioned. Raw and real. A public scream against confinement.

And I found myself asking: Where is liberty to be found today?

We’re not building walls anymore—we’re writing laws. Surveillance, censorship, biometric IDs, internet restrictions, imposed ideologies—liberty is slowly being swapped for security, conformity, and control. In the country I live in, people have lost more freedoms than they’ve gained. The socialist bureaucratic net tightens, quietly and daily. It’s not as dramatic as a wall, but it’s just as enclosing.

The old Berlin Wall, especially on the West Side, became a giant protest canvas. Artists like Thierry Noir painted rows of colourful cartoon heads, each one a silent witness. Dmitri Vrubel gave us the unforgettable Fraternal Kiss—an ironic, haunting embrace between Brezhnev and Honecker. Kani Alavi painted It Happened in November, showing the flood of East Germans finally crossing to freedom—so many faces, filled with joy, fear, uncertainty.

One mural shows a Trabant, the iconic East German car, crashing through the Wall. Painted by Birgit Kinder, it wasn’t just an image—it was a prophecy. The wall would fall. The world would change. People would breathe again.

But now, decades later, I wonder: Did liberty win? Or did it just change shape and move out of sight?

So, where do we find liberty today?

Not in institutions. Not in international bodies. Not in the ever-expanding rulesets of governments or the ideologies of either Left or Right. Both sides, when unchecked, tend to treat people as parts of a machine rather than individuals with souls.

No, I’ve come to believe that liberty now lives inside. In the heart. In the soul. In the mind that dares to think freely. That holds on to dignity. That resists—even quietly.

Sometimes liberty is the decision not to conform. Sometimes it’s the refusal to hate when you’re told to. Sometimes it’s art. A sketch on cold paper. A mural on a wall. A note in a song. Lines from a poem.

When the world grows dark, and bad people do bad things to good people, liberty retreats inward. But it doesn’t die.

The Berlin Wall artists knew this. Their work wasn’t only protest—it was survival. It was a poignant reminder that even in concrete and barbed wire, even in states that crush the human spirit, liberty can still find expression.

If you’re curious, take a virtual walk along the East Side Gallery in Berlin. These murals speak more honestly than most headlines today. They speak of what it means to be human.

So, the question remains: Where is liberty to be found?

Answer: Inside us. And in every act—small or large—that honours the freedom of the human spirit.