The Launch of The Society Matters Foundation.

One Pair of Shoes. One Broken System. And the Cost of Looking Away.

Jess is 12 years old. She wants to be a hairdresser—to own her own business when she leaves school. But she’s on the verge of being excluded from education.

Her attendance is shocking. No health issues. No behavioural problems. No transport barriers. Every system designed to identify a problem has drawn a blank. Attempts to engage her mum haven’t worked. Nothing makes sense—until it does.

Jess shares a pair of shoes with her mother. One pair. So, when her mum goes to work, Jess can’t go to school. And when Jess goes to school, her mum can’t go to work.

That’s it. That’s the barrier. And that’s the reality behind the statistics when we talk about the working poor. Not just “a bit hard up”—but families living in deep poverty, forced into impossible choices between education and employment, school and survival.

A few months ago, Alison Dunn and I sat down over coffee to talk—not about a single program or project, but about the deeper challenges we saw playing out across our region.

We asked a question that felt both simple and impossible: What if we built something that could meaningfully shift the odds for people trapped by systems they didn’t design and couldn’t escape?

From that conversation, the Society Matters Foundation was born—not from a press release, but from a shared urgency. And just a few months later, as I watched Alison speak, I felt my throat tighten and eyes well up. She told Jess’s story. And in that moment, I stopped thinking like a strategist or a founder—I thought like a father. I imagined my daughter, Lyra, in Jess’s place. I imagined my sons, Albie and Freddie, being turned away from school because their mother needed the same shoes they did.

That’s when the abstract became visceral.

Since moving back North, this kind of hardship no longer feels rare, or distant, or someone else’s problem.

It’s here. It’s personal. And it demands collective action.

Yet just a few hundred miles away, in London’s Notting Hill, 4,600 homeowners made more money simply by owning property between 2012 and 2019 than the combined working populations of Newcastle, Liverpool and Manchester. No innovation required. No jobs created. Just the right postcode.

That’s the system we’re living in—one where unearned wealth is accumulating faster than potential can rise. Where a 12-year-old girl’s future is limited by lacking a pair of shoes, while property assets appreciate in silence.

The First 1,000 Days

As I write this, I find myself returning to Alice Wiseman’s insights about the first 1000 days of a child’s life. The science is unambiguous: by the age of two, children from higher socio-economic backgrounds already outperform those from disadvantaged communities, regardless of their initial abilities.

“This is not about talent or ability,” Alice emphasised, “it’s about opportunity.”

The room fell silent. It’s a truth that’s as self-evident as it is devastating—we are losing immeasurable talent by failing to create environments where all can thrive.

Alice called inequality “an entirely preventable disease,” and the metaphor landed with force. We can spend endless resources treating illness, she argued, but unless we address the conditions that create poor health in the first place—unsafe housing, food insecurity, limited job opportunities—we’re simply applying expensive bandages to systemic wounds.

In that moment, the connection between a child’s early development and those 4,600 homes in Notting Hill became crystal clear. The same systems that concentrate wealth in a few postcodes determine which children will thrive—and which will struggle before they can even form full sentences.

The Ghost of Growth Past

With all eyes turning to Westminster for Wednesday’s Spring Budget, the usual rituals will unfold: the red box, the soundbites, the promises of growth. But behind the theatre, a quieter truth is emerging.

According to a recent KPMG survey, 58% of people believe the economy is getting worse, and just 1 in 10 believe it’s improving.

It begs the question: growth for whom?

That same question echoed across the room when Praful Nargund from The Good Growth Foundation took the stage. With his background in tackling health inequality through innovation in IVF, he brought a different kind of economic lens—one focused on people’s lived experience.

“That’s your bloody GDP, not my GDP,” he quoted from his research. The room paused—but it was the uncomfortable kind of silence that acknowledges a difficult truth.

Praful’s Mind the Growth Gap report revealed something paradoxical: economic growth has become, for many, a signal of failure, not success. People have grown sceptical that GDP increases will translate into better lives. Especially in regions like ours, the idea of growth has become almost meaningless. The numbers go up—but nothing changes.

“We should never disrespect the public,” he said. “They’re not making these judgements because they’re stupid or wrong. They’re judging it through their experience.”

And their experience? Since the 2006 crash, many regions have seen no more than 0.125 percentage points of growth. Meanwhile, productivity in the North East sits 12.6% below the UK average—and a staggering 38.8% behind London.

This isn’t just about numbers. It’s about dignity. The ability to provide. The chance to build a life. It’s the difference between a percentage point in a spreadsheet and a parent being able to buy their child their own shoes.

The Mayor’s Vision

That stark contrast provides the perfect backdrop for Kim McGuinness’s mission. When she took the stage, her presence carried the weight of both lived experience and pragmatic optimism.

“I want the North East to be the home of real opportunity,” she said, her voice steady. “I want young people to know they can achieve their potential, regardless of background—and do it here.”

Kim’s story was the counter-narrative to the Notting Hill effect. She grew up in the West End of Newcastle in the 80s and 90s. Her father, a scaffolder, was often out of work. Her family relied on community support when the benefits system came up short. She wasn’t speaking from a briefing note—she was speaking from experience.

And what made her message powerful wasn’t just its heart—it was its substance. 

• £200 million for public transport to connect people to jobs and training. 
• A Mayor’s Childcare Grant to help parents return to work. 
• Auto-enrolment in free school meals. 
• £1 transport fares for children. 
• A Living Wage region.

These aren’t slogans. They’re structural interventions—policies aimed at reducing the friction between potential and progress. Kim’s vision recognises that economic growth without social inclusion is just acceleration for the few.

“I can’t do this alone,” she said. “Nobody can. No one person knows everything. No one organisation can do everything.”

It was a moment of humility—and a reminder that real change is a collective endeavour.

The Strength of Weak Ties

Nicola Headlam brought the conversation back to the connective tissue—the informal power behind formal change.

“The real power isn’t in the official channels,” she said. “It’s in the hallway conversations, the quick coffees, the texts that build networks far more durable than any policy document.”

She was talking about what economists call “the strength of weak ties”—the loose, unexpected connections that end up moving mountains.

Her point was simple and profound: institutions are only as strong as the relationships between them. Real change doesn’t come from plans filed in manilla folders. It comes from people introducing people, building trust, creating momentum.

“Stop being something that can be taken down,” she challenged the room. “Start being part of the permanent infrastructure of change.”

In her view, the real transformation must be local, networked, and stubbornly collaborative.

And in that context, those 4,600 Notting Hill homes take on even more meaning. They represent not just wealth concentration—but the lack of “stickiness” in our own regions.

Capital flows where relationships, ideas and opportunity are connected. If we don’t build that locally, we lose it nationally.

How Big Is Your “Us”?

As the day closed, one question lingered in the air:

How big is your “us”?

Is it your family? Your neighbourhood? Your region? Or the entire country—and beyond?

Because for the owners of those Notting Hill homes, “us” might mean fellow landlords and investors in Zones 1 and 2. But for the Society Matters Foundation, “us” includes Jess, her mother, and the thousands of others walking in borrowed shoes.

This launch wasn’t just about policies. It was about reimagining our state—and what, and who, belongs to “us.”

The future won’t be built by one person or one department. It will be built by the relationships between them. By creating an ecosystem where talent is nurtured, dignity is restored, and children can go to school with their own shoes—not just hope.

The Road Ahead

As I dropped Albie off at primary school this morning, and the twins at nursery, I couldn’t help but think about Alice’s 1000 days —and how many of the children we passed on the way will have their dreams shaped, limited or lost if we don’t collectively act. If we don’t work together to make the North the home of real opportunity. If we don’t finally confront the harsh truth that talent is everywhere, but opportunity is not.

The road ahead won’t be built by those who were in that room alone. It will be built through the connections formed as a result—through the strength of weak ties and the courage to believe in something better.

As Alice quoted from the Marmot Review:

“It doesn’t have to be like this.”

And after yesterday, I believe more strongly than ever that it won’t be. 

Now is the time to believe.

Before 5 on Friday is Peter Bell's weekly newsletter exploring leadership, innovation, and cultural transformation in primarily the gaming and entertainment industries. This week is slightly different with the launch of the Society Matters Foundation. Join us every Friday for more insights that challenge, inspire, and spark your imagination, delivered straight to you every week.