Hi, it's Anna here.
The word “hope” has been coming up a lot lately, as well as its shadow: hopelessness.
It feels like we’re all oscillating between the two. As I write this I’m feeling positive about tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I’ll be heading to the Dubai Future Forum: an event where futurists from across the world will come together and imagine better ways of being on this planet. The night I land, I’m going to an event called The Hopeful Dinner, which promises to be an immersive listening and culinary experience to foster dialogue about hope and creativity. Then, I get to spend three days hanging out with my favourite optimist.
Packing for the trip, I’ve had one of my favourite albums on repeat: Hopelessness by Anohni. It’s not what you’d call an optimistic record. Written during the Obama years (remember those?), it tackles themes of surveillance, climate catastrophe and drone warfare. It doesn’t shy away from the darkness. But beneath it all, there’s a defiance. We’re still here, after all.
That’s what hope feels like to me. It’s not about blind optimism or ignoring reality. It’s about creating something that pushes us forward, even (or perhaps especially) when everything feels difficult.
And lately, the 'difficult’ has been omnipresent.
Most meetings I’ve had in the past two weeks have started with a sombre check-in. Many of my clients and collaborators live in the United States, where the recent and incredibly divisive election has left them grappling with a feeling of political death.
As a creative community, we’ve just lost two brilliant artists far too young. While I didn’t know either of them personally, I’ve been pouring over their paintings and press clippings that have been shared in memorials on LinkedIn.
And then, of course, there’s Instagram, where death is violent and ever-visible.
A recent YouGov survey revealed that 58% of Brits would rather time travel to the past than the future, and 73% of young people feel anxious about what lies ahead. These numbers are bleak, but not surprising.
Sometimes it’s hard to imagine a brilliant tomorrow.
And yet, we have to try.
When I’m asked to define the kind of work I make or the themes that hold my favourite projects together, it’s about ideas that shift culture, even in small ways. There’s a perception that this kind of work lives exclusively in CSR or charity campaigns, but that’s not the case. I believe in using creativity to get people to imagine the world they want to live in, and to believe that those worlds are possible.
At RADAR, we’ve been working on a project called tomorrow.radio; it’s a platform for sharing small but meaningful stories of hope from communities across the world. The idea is simple: amplify what’s already good and working. It’s about real voices and real moments that show us things can get better.
We’re asking people to share what’s happening around them, on their streets and in their communities. From bees returning to gardens to otters returning to the River Lea. If you’ve got a story, and I’m sure you do, I encourage you to share it. Because hope isn’t a luxury; it’s vital. And right now, every bit of hope matters.
There’s no simple fix for the challenges we face. The world is complex, and change is slow and non-linear. But platforms like tomorrow.radio remind us of the small things in our lives that are moving in the right direction. And when we take the time to share those stories, we create something bigger: a collective belief that there’s plenty worth fighting for.
So, what’s happening near you that makes tomorrow feel like it could be brilliant? Let’s hear it.
Anna Rose Kerr
Freelance Creative Director & Consultant
Further reading:
Tomorrow radio: Add what makes you hopeful
What to do when someone you care about has lost hope