"KitKat to Care: The Power of Early Influence"

 

What can Nestle teach us? 

Apparently a very important basic lesson....

    In the early 1970s, Nestlé faced a serious challenge in Japan. Their core product, instant coffee, was met with resistance in a culture deeply rooted in tea consumption. Early marketing efforts failed, and conventional strategies to convert adult consumers proved ineffective. But instead of pulling out, Nestlé took a long-term view. They got in Clotaire Rapaille, a child psychiatrist. 

What? 

A child psychiatrist for coffee makers? 

Yes!!! Its true.

    They redirected their focus — not toward immediate sales, but toward the generation. Rather than pushing coffee on adults, they introduced coffee-flavored sweets and desserts to children and families. One of their most culturally impactful moves was the introduction of KitKat, branded with the phrase “Kitto Katsu” — a pun meaning “surely win.” The campaign linked KitKat with academic success and exam rituals. Over time, KitKat became a kind of good-luck charm for students, embedding the product into childhood experiences and family traditions. 

    In 10 years time, these children were everywhere, in all workplaces from small warehouses to big corporate GBM's. Those children grew up with positive emotional associations toward Nestlé products, making them more receptive to coffee as adults. The strategy paid off: today, Japan is one of Nestlé’s most creative and profitable markets, particularly for KitKat, which has become a cultural icon. Imports rose from 15000 tonnes (in 1960) to 4440,000 tonnes in 2023. This is a striking example of a powerful truth: if you want to create lasting change, start with the young. Nestlé’s approach was ethical and culturally sensitive — using familiarity, emotion, and time to shift societal behaviour. 

    

    But the same principle, when applied unethically, can have devastating consequences. Consider Nazi Germany. The regime also targeted children — not for consumer behaviour, but for ideological control. Through the Hitler Youth (Hitlerjugend), the Nazis aimed to reshape identity from the ground up. Children were taught unwavering loyalty to the Führer and the state, often above their own families. In some cases, they were encouraged to report their parents for dissenting political views. These actions could result in arrests, interrogations, or worse. I agree this was not education; it was indoctrination. The regime exploited the plasticity and trust of youth to ensure generational compliance. It is a chilling reminder of how influence over children — when driven by authoritarian goals — can be used to dismantle the very fabric of society, including the bonds of trust between parent and child. 

Why are we talking about this?

    As medical educators in particular and as parents around our children, we occupy a uniquely influential role — not only in transmitting (clinical) knowledge and (technical) skills, but in shaping the very character, mindset, and moral compass of future physicians. Whether we realize it or not, each lecture, each bedside interaction, each word of feedback, and each moment of mentorship contributes to the formation of a student’s professional identity. 

    Our influence is not incidental — it is deliberate. Students do not only learn what we teach, but also how we behave. They observe how we treat patients, how we navigate uncertainty, how we interact with colleagues, and how we respond to ethical dilemmas. In this way, our values become theirs, subtly but powerfully shaping their future practice. 

The principle is simple 

If we want to change the future of medicine, 

we must begin with those who will carry it forward.

 

    But the means of doing so matter just as much as the goal. Education, especially in medicine, must be grounded in respect for human dignity, intellectual honesty, and compassionate care. We must avoid the trap of producing highly skilled technicians who lack the moral clarity, empathy, and critical thinking needed to lead in complex healthcare environments. In this sense, the act of teaching is not neutral.

    Targeting the young is not inherently virtuous or manipulative — it becomes ethical or unethical depending on our intent, our methods, and the outcomes we foster and the kind of care we give our patients. Are we teaching them to question? To reflect? To care? Or are we unintentionally encouraging conformity, cynicism, or emotional detachment?

    The classroom, the clinic, and the mentoring relationship are not just platforms for instruction — they are instruments of cultural transmission. The values we model and the behavior we normalize will ripple outward through our students. Thus, our responsibility is twofold: Firstly, to provide scientific and clinical excellence and secondly to cultivate in the student (or our children) the values of curiosity, humility, ethical awareness, and emotional resilience. Because ultimately, we are not merely preparing students to pass exams or complete procedures.

Let us teach with that clarity of purpose. 

Let us educate with care....

Our future doctor might be in class right now in front of us

Swing, Miss, Repeat — How Golf Kept Me Sane (ish)!!

 

    They say golf is a good walk ruined. I say it’s a controlled mental breakdown — and that’s exactly why I needed it. Let me explain.

I’m a doctor. Which means I spend my days juggling patient charts, calls, and the kind of stress that makes your eye twitch involuntarily during meetings. A few months ago, I found myself sitting in the call room at 2 a.m., staring at my 12th cup of coffee and trying to remember if I had eaten that day — or yesterday. My phone buzzed. Another consult. Another day saving lives and losing mine, one “urgent” call at a time.

Then something strange happened: I remembered my golf clubs. They were in the garage, under a pile of old journals and broken dreams. I hadn’t touched them since residency, back when I thought I’d have hobbies and a spine that didn’t ache when I sneezed. But something in me — the part that hadn’t completely burnt out — said, “Screw it. Let’s go whack something.”

So I took a Friday off. (Yes, doctors can do that). I showed up at the course in wrinkled gear and sneakers because I couldn’t find my golf shoes. My swing? Hideous. My aim? Questionable. My caddie? Nonexistent. But by hole three, something wild happened:

I smiled. Genuinely. Like a person. Not like someone pretending to be okay while writing notes at 10 p.m. By hole six, I stopped checking my phone. By hole nine, I forgot about the WhatsApp. By hole twelve, I was talking to trees. (Okay, yelling at them. But still.)

Then came the moment of glory: a perfect drive on the 14th. I stood there, stunned, as the ball soared into the sky like all my frustrations had finally taken flight. “Nice shot, doc!” someone called from another fairway. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s the first thing I’ve done right all week for myself.”

The truth is, I didn’t become better at golf that day. I hit more sand than a beach umbrella. But something in me shifted. For the first time in ages, I wasn’t a doctor, or a problem-solver, or a walking to-do list. I was just a person… missing putts and laughing about it. Now, every Friday afternoon, I schedule a recurring appointment titled “Follow-up with Mulligan.” No one asks questions. (They assume it's a difficult patient. In a way, they’re right). Golf didn’t fix my life. But it gave me space to be human. And some weeks, that’s more than enough. So to all the doctors out there — tired, overbooked, over-caffeinated, and still showing up....

Happy Doctors’ Day.

Take the swing. 

Take the break. 

Take the mulligan. 

You’ve more than earned it.