Triperot Truths: Lessons from The Twits

This four-part reflection was first shared on my LinkedIn page some time ago, inspired by Netflix’s The Twits.
Though it’s a children’s story, it says things that some grown-ups still avoid, about truth, power, kindness, and the courage to change.

What began as a spontaneous weekend thought became a quiet study of how the absurd mirrors reality, how leadership, culture, and conscience can get tangled when noise wins over truth.

Each part below carries a piece of that reflection, first written for social media, now gathered here for deeper reading.

Part 1 — When lies wear makeup and truth is just a child in the corner

(Originally posted on LinkedIn)

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴.”

That line hasn’t left me.

I watched this animation during my weekend, and it is a story full of lessons and real-life metaphors.

Beesha, a child, 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 in a city called Triperot. She sees the manipulation. She questions the illusion. But those in power, "the Twits" dismiss her.

She’s too small. Too inconvenient. Her truth doesn't sell.

So they create a better story.

A saviour project.

A promise of order.

A Triperotic miracle.

Something 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 the crowd. Because when people are 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞, even a 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩.

The Twits are outrageous. But also uncomfortably familiar.

They remind me how easy it is to stay quiet when the truth is inconvenient. How tempting it is to nod along when it feels safer. How do we convince ourselves it's not that bad, just because the alternative would shake everything?

So I ask myself, and maybe you too:

• In my organisation, who plays the Twits?

• Who is quietly holding truth like Beesha?

• And who have we ignored, simply because they don’t have a mic?

Children’s stories often carry truths that adults still need to hear. This one? It is political theatre, dressed in beard glue and pie.

Part 2 — Belonging doesn’t require blood; only kindness

There’s a moment in The Twits that’s quiet but piercing.

“𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶… 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺.”

In the middle of all the chaos, manipulation, and distractions, this line felt like a soft place to land.

We spend so much time talking about organisational culture. We build EVP frameworks. We run team-building sessions. We promote “inclusion” in campaigns and reports.

But in real life? What makes people stay is not slogans. It’s not the ping pong tables or the townhalls. It’s the colleague who notices you’re not okay. The manager who checks in without an agenda. The teammate who says “I’ve got this, go rest.”

Those are the ones who become your work family.

Not by hierarchy.

Not by title.

Not by blood.

But by presence.

And maybe that’s what The Twits was really trying to say in that moment; that kindness is not soft. It’s what holds the world together.

And in the workplace?

It’s what builds the kind of culture we don’t need to recover from.

Part 3 — When villains sell themselves as heroes... and win

There’s something disturbingly familiar about The Twits. Mr. and Mrs. Twit, grotesque, loud, and wildly manipulative, create chaos in the city of Triperot.

Then they do something genius. They spin a story.

A distraction.

A big, shiny, made-up “solution.”

And just like that, the very people who caused the crisis become the ones “saving” the city. How?

By talking louder.

By controlling the narrative.

By making truth sound suspicious, and themselves look brave.

This isn’t just fiction. It’s how manipulation works in real life, in politics, in business, and in boardrooms.

We’ve all seen it:

• The leader who crushes morale but launches the “well-being” campaign.

• The manager who breeds toxicity but gets praised for “culture change.”

• The organisation that silences dissent, then proudly publishes its “employee voice” report.

The most dangerous form of manipulation is not what’s done. It’s how it’s told.

And the most courageous act? Naming it.

Even when you’re small.

Even when you’re Beesha.

Because villains will always dress like heroes. And not everyone will notice the costume.

Part 4 — Awareness isn’t change. And change isn’t easy.

“It’s not enough to learn something. You have to want to change. And then make an effort to actually do so.”

We live in a world that celebrates “learning”:

Courses. Talks.

Self-assessments.

Another online module.

But learning is not growth if it ends at knowing. And change never happens passively. It takes intention. Discomfort. A thousand small decisions to try again, this time differently.

I’ve seen organisations that:

• Run townhalls but never listen.

• Design values they don’t live.

• Launch “culture transformation” but reward the same old behaviours.

And I’ve seen individuals, myself included, nod at truth, but resist the hardest part: the doing.

So maybe the better question isn’t “What have you learned lately?” But: What are you doing differently because of it?

The Twits is a satire soaked in chaos, but it ends with this quiet provocation: Knowing is step one.

Wanting to grow is step two.

But change only happens when we do the work.

No shortcuts. Just a choice. And the courage to try, again and again.

Closing reflection

Sometimes, the most haunting truths come disguised in stories written for children.
The Twits may be fiction, but Triperot feels familiar, a reminder that power, left unchecked, always becomes a theatre of mirrors.

And perhaps, in every organisation, there’s a Beesha somewhere, small, brave, and inconvenient, still daring to tell the truth.