Influencing policy change through simple messaging

Not all revolutions start with hashtags. Some begin with posters. Earlier this month, the Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) quietly issued a directive that may well become one of India’s most consequential health communications interventions—without a single ad film, media blitz, or CSR campaign. By July 15, every CBSE-affiliated school must install a Sugar Board, a simple, visual chart showing students how much sugar hides in the packaged foods they eat every day.

That means two-crore children, and by extension, their families, will encounter a message that is clear, consistent, and impossible to ignore. No hyperbole, no scare tactics. Just sugar cubes next to familiar snacks.

It may seem like a small intervention, but it is anything but that, if you pause to look deeper. In fact, as someone who has worked in communications, public affairs, and sustainability across some of the world’s leading consumer companies, I would argue this is one of the most effective examples of public communication we have seen in recent times. Because it was right—right message, right medium, right moment! And it wasn’t led by a government think tank, global NGO, or corporate alliance but a content creator.

The Sugar Board is the brainchild of Food Pharmer—a digital creator, pharmacist, and health advocate who built a community by exposing misleading food labels and unmasking the sugar and salt content in everyday products. His tools were simple: short-form videos, strong visuals, and consistent storytelling. What made it powerful was the fact that the message stuck. Over time, what began as an Instagram movement turned into a national conversation. Schools took notice, parents started asking questions, and policymakers couldn’t ignore the momentum. And now, CBSE—one of India’s most influential educational bodies—has made it mandatory.

That is the kind of communication most brand managers, campaign strategists, and policy consultants only dream of achieving. And yet, there were no big-budget ads, no celebrity endorsements, or no glossy annual reports. What worked here was clarity, consistency, and community—three things often overlooked in an age of hyper-targeting and high-production messaging.

There is a reason why the Sugar Board worked: it doesn’t preach, it shows. It doesn’t overload the audience with medical jargon or moral pressure. It simply places, in a school corridor or classroom, a visual guide comparing the sugar content of popular products. One glance, and you get the point. It is the kind of nudge that behavioural economists talk about—not coercive, just quietly persuasive.

What fascinates me most is how this story flips the script on how policy is usually communicated and enacted. Traditionally, we think of change happening top-down; committees, white papers, long-drawn debates. But here, the demand came from the bottom up. Students, parents, teachers, and an ever-growing online audience drove the change. The public was already convinced, and the policy simply followed suit. This is a powerful reminder for communicators in any sector: if your audience truly owns your message, the message travels far beyond your original circle of control.

For brands, the Sugar Board movement is full of lessons, if we are willing to see them. In a world of information overload, simplicity remains a superpower. The most effective communication doesn’t necessarily shout the loudest; it just knows how to land softly but persistently. While many health-focused campaigns get lost in complexity, the Sugar Board succeeds because it’s visual, contextual, and relatable. It lives where it matters most—within the physical environment of schools—and speaks directly to the habits and choices of young consumers.

Another key insight here is that influence today isn’t just about institutional authority. In fact, many consumers now trust creators and citizen voices more than they trust traditional experts. Food Pharmer didn’t have a government badge or a corporate title—but his credibility came from his transparency, repetition, and evidence-backed content. That trust was built organically. And it made all the difference. In many ways, he is doing what brands often struggle with: staying true to a single message over time and letting the community take ownership of it.

There’s also something to be said about purpose. Brands love to talk about it. Annual reports are filled with it. Campaign decks present it in polished lines. But too often, purpose lives in the realm of intention, not action. The Sugar Board reminds us that purpose, to be meaningful, must show up in the everyday—not just in campaigns, but in behaviour, in design, in experience. It must be ambient. Not just a pitch, but a presence.

As someone who has worked across sectors—from FMCG and healthcare to tech and advocacy—I see the Sugar Board movement as a kind of blueprint. It bridges education, health, and communication in a way that is scalable, low-cost, and deeply human. It meets people where they are. It doesn’t wait for their attention; it gently earns it.

And this is just the beginning. There are already whispers of what comes next: Salt Boards. Sleep Boards. Exercise Boards. If done thoughtfully, this could evolve into a new public language of wellness—a way of making invisible health risks visible through simple design. A form of social communication that lives on classroom walls, not just policy PDFs.

When we talk about the future of communication, it’s tempting to get caught up in technology—AI, metaverse, interactivity. But perhaps the future is more analog than we think. Perhaps the future is a poster. A poster that sits in a corridor. A poster that makes a child think twice before reaching for a sugary drink. A poster that leads to a conversation at home. A poster that ends up shaping habits. And eventually, policy.

The Sugar Board is more than a piece of paper. It’s proof that when communication is clear, contextual, and community-led, it doesn’t just inform, it transforms. And that’s a lesson every communicator, brand, and policymaker would do well to remember.

— Kanika Bedi, communications strategist and founder, PersonaKraft.