Few tasks by PR practitioners are as tough as responding to a tragic death.
 
Yet that was the job to befall the team at UnitedHealth Group last week. A shooter gunned down Brian Thompson, CEO of insurance giant United HealthCare, outside a New York hotel. Police believe the killing was deliberate and targeted. The three bullets removed from Thompson’s body had etched into them the words “Deny,” “Defend” and “Depose”—shorthand among industry critics describing how health insurers reject claims.
 
UnitedHealth’s statement contained what you’d expect under the circumstances: acknowledgement of heartbreak, appreciation for those who reached out, support for Thompson’s family and friends, and a just wee bit of business messaging that seemed a little tone deaf but not surprising.
 
By and large, that’s fine. But the task won’t be wrapped up by a one-and-done standby. There’s a bigger challenge facing UnitedHealth, the health insurance industry, and perhaps the corporate world as a whole. This tragedy quickly morphed into a much broader discussion about the ethics and behavior of the industry. PR practitioners must address it head-on.
 
Almost immediately after Thompson’s death, social media lit up with FAFO messages. Among the more tame yet disturbing posts: “My thoughts and prayers were out of network.” “…might be the most celebrated death on [X, formerly known as Twitter] since Henry Kissinger.” "When you shoot one man in the street, it's murder. When you kill thousands of people in hospitals by taking away their ability to get treatment, you're an entrepreneur."
 
Yolanda Wilson, a professor of Health Care Ethics at St. Louis University, told NPR that the response reflects deep-seated frustration and anger at health insurers; Thompson’s killing gave them the opportunity to speak in unison.
 
While I’m no fan of health insurers’ meddling, I find the celebratory posts about Thompson’s murder distasteful and chilling. He was a human being and a family man. Hating a company’s practices shouldn’t give license to applauding how a wife has been widowed and children have lost their father.
 
However, it does appear that this “wake-up call” isn’t rousing the right discussion in this or any other industry. Deleting executive photos from websites and beefing up security fail to address the real issue of what’s stoking the rage.
 
Here is where PR needs to step up and show its value—to the business, to the customer, and to society. And that step will probably involve some discomfort.
 
We cannot merely serve as a mouthpiece for the organization. Part of making sure our client’s voice is heard is listening. What are stakeholders saying in full? Are we making sure the organization hears and understands that in full? Are we engaging in those uncomfortable conversations—as tough as they are—to help find meaningful solutions? If we aren’t, then we’re not serving anyone.
 
I’m under no delusion that health insurers will transform its business model, nor that patients will become industry cheerleaders. The truth is, both parties have very different priorities.
 
But as communicators who believe in two-way, relational, mutually beneficial dialogue, PR pros need to gather the voices, be willing to deliver the tough messages, and lead the effort to help all parties find a path that doesn’t involve people dying—on a sidewalk or in a bed.

Here’s the scenario: A company announces major layoffs. It offers interviews with its spokesperson over Zoom. The spokesperson hits the key messages perfectly every time, including the company’s  concern and support for those affected, and answers a few questions. Reporters post their stories, quoting the spokesperson on the facts.
 
Now the twist: No actual spokesperson took part. The reporters interviewed a virtual clone created by generative artificial intelligence.
 
Using AI to make avatars isn’t all that new — relatively speaking, anyway — but the speed of its development is unsettling. Deepfakes, digitally replacing one person with the image and/or voice of another, are increasingly sophisticated and harder to tell from the real thing. (Watch for lots more of them in the run-up to the election).
 
Then along comes this report from NPR about a Chinese AI company that can create a seemingly real digital replica of a human from just a one-hour scan and 100 spoken phrases. In one example, it allowed a social media influencer to hawk products during multiple, simultaneous livestreams —  all without actually being on camera. (In another, an executive digitally cloned his cherubic son to maintain their father-son bond when the child grew into surly teen.)
 
What’s seen as a boon for e-commerce worries me from a PR standpoint. How long before we start using avatars to speak on behalf of companies and clients? Digital spokespersons are always available, always fresh and always on message. Best of all, you don’t have to pay them, offer health insurance or contribute to their 401k. And as long as they deliver the message accurately, should it matter?
 
Yes. Profoundly.
 
Fundamental to our profession is trust. Read the PRSA Code of Ethics, and you’ll find that word aplenty. Trust is rooted in the human experience — what we say, how we say it, how we engage with one another in the saying. It’s rooted in being accountable and reliable. Remove the human element, and you have the words but not the ownership. Not the soul.
 
I’m especially thoughtful of this when it comes to delivering bad news. No one likes to do it. As technology advances, it’ll be more than a little tempting to tap a few keys and let a virtual you do the dirty work.
 
But here’s the thing: Delivering bad news should suck. It should hurt. We should feel at least some of the pain felt by those directly affected.
 
Over my career, I’ve served as a media spokesperson for over two dozen major layoff announcements, affecting scores of people to thousands — not to mention whole communities. Every last one of those experiences was awful. But by being there with the people affected, doing what I could to support them, demonstrating how my clients were doing what they could (or at least what they were prepared to do) to ease the impact, brought a vital human element. Maybe that didn’t stop the breaking of trust, but I believe it was essential to the long process of rebuilding it.
 
If nothing else, it was the human thing to do. No AI avatar will ever pull that off.
 
I’m partly relieved that the U.S. and other countries are talking about ethical guidelines for AI development and use. I hope such talk becomes concrete action. The PR profession must take a lead role in making it so.

I’ve done my share of seemingly daft things in my career.

I once invited a reporter to interview soon-to-be-laid-off employees, and the only counsel I gave them was, “Forget talking points. Say what’s on your heart.” Another time, I arranged a media tour of a highly contaminated industrial site when not so much as a plan for cleanup existed. And then there’s the time I convinced a worried and slightly defensive HR group, facing retirees incensed by benefits changes, not only to admit they’d communicated poorly but – no doubt unsettling a lawyer or two – to make that admission to the retirees themselves, in person.

Incredibly, every one of those examples came out positive. Was I lucky? Probably. Was I reckless? I don’t think so.

That’s not to say the risks weren’t huge. So why make those choices when the easy thing to do was to send out carefully worded statements?

One, my clients embraced compassion, transparency and authenticity.

Two, I was – and am – rooted in PR as a relational endeavor. (It’s even in the name.) That means making connections, having empathy, being champions of openness and honesty.

Never before in the history of our profession, or in our society, has relational PR been more important than it is right now.

Public distrust of once-respected institutions is at an all-time high. Conspiracy theories abound. People no longer agree to disagree; you’re either “right” or you’re “wrong,” and “wrongness” calls down the harshest penalties. There’s no middle ground because people aren’t connected to one another or to those institutions.

That’s where knowledgeable, experienced PR professionals make a difference.

Building Connections

We demand truth, transparency, integrity and empathy from our clients. We stand upon those principles when we engage with our audiences. We build the connections – mutual understanding if not agreement – by lifting up what’s done right and driving change when it’s done wrong.

Sadly, there are institutions out there that think PR is no more than sanitized statements, cheery social posts and creative ways to say “no comment.”

Those of us who embrace relational PR know better. We also demand better.

That’s where the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA) shines. As a network of professionals, we share a strong commitment and powerful insights that can repair the disconnect. We can – we must – be the conscience of our clients, holding ourselves and them accountable. That’s best done collectively, with each of us connected through an association that educates and advocates.

And it’s also a lot of fun!

For those who aren’t part of PRSA and our West Michigan chapter, now’s the time to join. For those who are, I encourage you to take every advantage that membership offers.

Can PR change the world? That I can’t say. But I believe we can change our companies and our communities, guiding the discourse with empathy, transparency and integrity.

That, in my view, is a pretty good start.


This blog originally appeared on the website for the West Michigan chapter of the Public Relations Society of America, tinyurl.com/2hn28hhc.

I hate vegetables.
 
It’s a lifelong dislike. (I wish I could blame this genetic hypothesis, but my love for coffee and dark chocolate says otherwise.) As a kid, I’d scowl at a pile of peas while my mom hovered, wagging her finger and saying, “There are kids starving in (name a country) who would love to eat those peas!”
 
I took her argument as out of context. How would my gobbling greens in Michigan assure full bellies elsewhere? And how would browbeating me change my perspective and behavior? To Mom, however, it was an opportunity to raise my awareness of hunger and waste—and, maybe a little bit, to get the last of the dishes in the dishwasher.
 
I needed to understand that “context” was much bigger than the plate in front of me. She needed to understand that the plate in front of me had enormous meaning.
 
So when video of MillerKnoll CEO Andi Owen chiding employees for asking about their bonuses went viral this week, I found myself revisiting that battle of wills.
 
To be clear, the biggest share of blame rests on Owen—who, if you watch the video carefully, was obviously triggered by something that knocked her off a seemingly reasonable message of focus, teamwork and (ironically) empathy. Her subsequent apology, “I feel terrible that my rallying cry seemed insensitive,” didn’t help. It didn’t seem insensitive—it was insensitive. And arrogant, dismissive, tone-deaf, you name the poor trait. She needs to own her failure far better than she has.
 
But I don’t want to pile on Owen—there’s plenty of that happening. My counsel for communicators arises from a statement to CNN by a MillerKnoll spokesperson:
 
“Andi fiercely believes in this team and all we can accomplish together, and will not be dissuaded by a 90-second clip taken out of context and posted on social media.” (Emphasis added)
 
One wonders what context, even in the full 75-minute video, could possibly justify Owen’s rant. My guess is: none. As is usually the case, the "context" excuse falls flat.
 
“Out of context” is a flaccid get-out-of-hot-mic-jail card. It gets waved whenever a business leader or politician is caught saying something they wished they hadn’t. We need to use it sparingly, if at all.
 
It’s true that context is always bigger than what’s presented in a soundbite. But in an era when every word is captured and rebroadcast, whether we like it or not, context needs to be part of offense, not merely defense.
 
I find it hard to believe Owen, or at least her PR team, didn’t anticipate a question about employee bonuses. So I have to assume they agreed on a narrow context for her response—if everyone focuses on delivering, the bonuses will come. But by looking only at the business trees, they missed the forest of financial worries that employees bear for themselves and their families.
 
Is it important for leaders to remind workers of the bigger business context? Absolutely. But they can’t do so with a handwave at the plate right in front of their employees—and then use the handwave to justify their own failure.
 
The context is always bigger than you think—and also far smaller. We must consider both proactively if we’re to communicate effectively, authentically and with empathy.

Seems like we’re all tired of the remote vs. office work debate.
 
When the pandemic hit nearly three years ago, there was no dispute. Working from home (WFH) became a necessity. Covid hasn’t gone away, but with vaccines and other measures in place, gathering in offices is (usually) less risky. 
 
That doesn’t mean employees are eager to start commuting again. Most insist that working remotely makes them more productive, brings better work-life balance, and leaves them more inclined to stick with an employer who allows it.
 
But not every employer agrees. Just this week, Disney CEO Bob Iger joined a growing chorus of business leaders summoning employees back to the office. Forgoing the carrot for the stick, Igor insisted that the power of collaboration and creativity dims outside of an in-person setting.
 
The office requirement risks fallout. This recent piece from Fortune magazine described it as “the Four Horsemen of forced return to the office”: resistance, attrition, “quiet quitting,” and loss of workforce diversity.
 
So what’s a business leader to do? Offer the carrot of remote work? Or wield the stick of an in-person mandate?
 
I’ll confess I’m not a fan of the stick as a leadership tool. Yes, sometimes it’s necessary. But in my experience, the more a leader turns to it, the less effective they prove to be.
 
This debate is a classic case of the need to think and act differently. As is often true with issues like this, it’s more complicated than it seems. That means the solution isn’t going to be simple. We need to move past the either-or argument by starting from a place of trust and collaboration. Communicators can play an important role.
 
Are you a champion of working from home? Show the measurable benefits, starting with the business impact. Track productivity improvements, how WFH affects recruitment and retention, where the company saves money, and how creativity, professional growth and employee morale are enhanced through tech tools.
 
Are you convinced that in-person engagement is essential? Demonstrate how that’s true. Intentionally create ways for people to interact while in the office. Report on how that engagement makes a measurable difference. And be present yourself; requiring people to show up while you don’t, even for good reasons, won’t help your case.
 
Finally, wherever you stand on this argument, be open to compromise. Many businesses have turned to hybrid options – some days in person, some remote. Success isn’t guaranteed, as it depends on the business, each worker’s role and desires, and available technology. Even so, this approach can work if leaders and employees are open to doing what it takes reasonably and equitably.
 
Communicators can help both sides come together by helping them explore their own reasoning, understand others’ perspectives, and collaborate on what’s best for everyone. In doing so, we show the vital business role we can play as conveners and relationship builders.

If the author of the biblical Ecclesiastes were around today—or if the late Pete Seeger could rewrite his song, “Turn! Turn! Turn!”—he’d probably add this line to his famous section about time:
 
“A time to text, and a time to refrain from texting.”
 
It’s good advice for communicators—and something a UK surgery center will likely heed from now on.
 
Askern Medical Practice in Doncaster, England, bungled big time after a text message it sent to patients to wish them a happy holiday instead told them they had aggressive lung cancer. It also directed recipients to fill out a form for claiming benefits under a terminal illness.
 
After an hour of panic among possibly hundreds of people, the surgery center followed up with another text message: “Please accept our sincere apologies for the previous text message sent. This has been sent in error. Our message to you should have read [w]e wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. In case of emergency please contact NHS 111.”
 
(I’ll bet more than a few recipients are ringing up that National Health Service emergency number.)
 
As far as crisis communication goes, Askern got the first part right. They realized their error and quickly used the same platform to apologize and correct it. But by adding the intended holiday greeting—which looks like a weak attempt to tap people’s goodwill and humor—Askern comes across as shockingly insincere (not to mention making itself the butt of countless memes). Nearly a week later, Askern has yet to respond to media queries or do any other follow-up with patients. That makes their faux pas a lot worse.
 
Organizations often treat crisis communication like a Band-Aid: slap it on quickly and ignore the wound till it heals on its own. That might work for a paper cut; it’s useless for a severed artery.
 
Regardless of the crisis, every organization should think through the immediate and long-term communication needs. Start with empathy, transparency and accountability—acknowledge the impact on those affected, sympathize, take responsibility for addressing the crisis. Be clear on what’s happened, who is affected directly and indirectly, what do they need to know, how can we tell them, how quickly can we tell them, how often will we update them.
 
The other issue raised in Askern’s case is the use of texting. Yes, it’s convenient and often useful. But communicators may want to take a hard look at whether it’s being used appropriately—and not just in crisis situations. Some messages, even process-related ones, are best delivered in a more thoughtful and personal way. A phone call, video chat or in-person meeting seems infinitely better for a cancer case than a text message.
 
Communicating effectively isn’t a checklist. In good times or bad, it means understanding what your audience needs, and being both empathetic and thorough in bringing that to them.

Now I know
She has a built-in ability
To take everything she sees.
—Genesis, “Invisible Touch”
 
When facing the most crucial moments of communication, many of today’s leaders have become cowards.
 
Yes, I’m referring to the mass layoffs at Twitter, where half the workforce was pink-slipped via email. Yet that’s hardly the first time a company booted people by impersonal means. Last December, for instance, Better.com CEO Vishal Garg laid off 900 employees on a collective Zoom call. In 2020, restaurant chain Dig opted to alert its downsized workers via text message.
 
These practices aren’t limited to employers, either. Last week the firm that’s handled my accounting for the past decade opted to cut its smaller-client base. While I understand the business reasons, I didn’t find their approach—a largely impersonal form letter topped with a bold-font headline, “Notice of termination of our engagement”—particularly client-friendly.
 
What’s driving this lean into using tech tools to deliver bad news? True, no one likes to be the bearer of it. I’ve had to deliver layoff news to individuals four times in my career, and speak to news media and communities on behalf of companies dozens of times more. Every one of those experiences was gut-wrenching. But emotional distress isn’t an excuse for lobbing notes from behind a digital wall.
 
Technology is supposed to support good communication, not replace it.
 
The leadership at Stripe understands that. When the payment software company alerted its workforce of layoffs, it started with a remarkably honest memo from its founders explaining why. As I understand it, that will be followed by personal outreach to those affected.
 
When I met with my new accountant this week, I mentioned how the last one parted ways. They noted how they, too, had let small clients go in the past, and that it always involved a letter--after a personal phone call.
 
Is it fun? Absolutely not. But courage and empathy are essential for great leaders and great communication.

It’s time we started holding organizations—and ourselves—to that standard again.

There’s a lesson most of us learn at a very young age: Don’t take someone else’s stuff without permission.
 
But it seems not everyone got the memo.
 
For example, a hunger relief charity in Kalamazoo, Michigan, launched an online fundraising drive to build a library named in honor of actor LeVar Burton. The website included the actor’s name and image, along with the library’s logo. Problem is, Burton didn’t know anything about it—and he wasn’t impressed when he found out.
 
Now the charity is dealing with negative press on a national scale, the potential for legal action by Burton, and an investigation by the Michigan Attorney General.
 
If anyone deserves to have his name on a library, it’s LeVar Burton. A champion of child literacy, Burton hosted the PBS-TV series Reading Rainbow for 23 years. (On the off-chance you missed that award-winning show, you might know him as Lt. Commander Geordi LaForge on Star Trek: The Next Generation, or from his breakthrough role as Kunta Kinte in the 1977 mini-series, Roots.)
 
That, of course, isn’t the issue.
 
The charity’s founder insists that while planning the library, he reached out to Burton “numerous times” asking for his endorsement, but the actor never responded. And so the nonprofit apparently embraced that old Latin proverb, “Qui tacet consentire videtur”—in short, "silence gives consent."
 
For the record, that’s not how any of this works.
 
Using someone’s name without permission to solicit money is an obvious no-no. But communicators would do well to recognize another teachable moment here and ask themselves a hard question: How often do we appropriate someone else’s materials for our own use?
 
The internet makes puts an enormous amount of intellectual property literally at our fingertips. It’s easy to convince ourselves that it’s okay to use—and if someone objects, well, it’s simpler to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.
 
Again, that’s not how any of this works. Good intentions (like starting a library in someone’s name) don’t make it right. Neither does ease of access. Content creators bring talent and expertise to their work, and they deserve to be paid when their stuff is used.
 
Even an honest mistake is still a mistake. Last year I found myself paying a modest-yet-painful, settlement after using three news images to go along with related blogs. While I still believe I used the photos appropriately under fair use—and there’s evidence to suggest my experience was essentially “legal extortion”—I chose not to fight it. Even if I was right, I felt they had a point. Someone else created those images and deserved both credit and compensation for their use. When I sent the check, I added an apology.
 
I often talk about how PR should serve as the conscience of the organizations we serve. That’s a tremendous responsibility, one that’s vital today more than ever. It means asking the tough questions, even when the organization doesn’t want to hear them. It means checking on our own behavior, making sure it’s ethically above board at all times. It means owning our mistakes when we make them, learning the lesson and doing better.
 
Let’s make sure the lesson from the Burton library brouhaha sinks in for all of us.

Almost exactly two decades ago, on a humid July day, I’d just finished an early morning workout—especially early, in fact, as my boss had asked me to come in at 6:30 a.m. for a reason he didn’t share—when I checked my voicemail:
 
A local business reporter left a message asking about an announcement that our company was being acquired.
 
I still remember the emotions that bubbled up in that moment. As it was my third merger or acquisition in just seven years, so I wasn’t particularly surprised; indeed, the deal seemed to make sense on paper. But that didn’t dim the natural anxiety nor the apprehension over how my life, and those of many others, had just taken a huge left turn.
 
Today I’m thinking of the thousands of Kellogg employees who might be feeling the same.
 
Kellogg Co. marked the summer solstice by announcing it would split into three independent companies. The biggest one will focus on global snack foods, along with international cereal and noodles, and frozen breakfast foods in North America. The other two will target cereal and plant-based foods in North America.
 
It’s a tremendous change for the Michigan-based company that employs 31,000 people worldwide. No doubt the people at the current headquarters in Battle Creek—not to mention those across the community—are wondering what it all means for them.
 
For the record, I worked briefly at Kellogg years ago, and I have collaborated with their team many times while supporting my nonprofit clients. I know many of their communication pros, and I’m confident they’re doing all the right things to connect with employees.
 
For the rest of us in the profession, we ought to take this news as a reminder to do two things: brush up on strategic planning for communicating big changes, and recommit ourselves to robust communication with employees. On the latter, here are some things to keep in mind:

• Prioritize internal communication planning. Companies are limited in how transparent they can be about mergers until they’re officially announced, and most of the immediate attention goes to informing investors and the news media. But that’s no reason to put internal communications on the back burner during the lead up. Employees will feel blindsided when the announcement comes. If there isn’t a plan to engage with them right away, their anxiety and resentment will grow. They will also create a narrative of their own very quickly—one that isn’t helpful to anyone. Have an internal communication plan ready to roll at once.
• Make internal communications robust and frequent. Consider employees just as important (at least) as shareholders or journalists or government leaders. I’m not suggesting you move the priority list around; I’m saying you must put staff on equal footing with external audiences when it comes to your communications. Resist the temptation to make employee communication an “and also” exercise.
• Empathize and humanize. It’s easy for leaders who’ve been “in the know” for a while and have had time to process the news emotionally to forget that employees need that time, too. They need to hear that it’s okay to feel anxious. They need to hear (and see evidence) that leaders care about them. They’re looking for tools to help them cope, from how to process their feelings to channels for learning and understanding what happens next. Think of it like this: If your doctor suddenly told you that you have a life-threatening illness, what information and emotional support would you expect right away? How frustrated and frightened would you be if you didn’t get it? What employees need post-announcement is just as important.
• Bring all the answers you can. I’ve seen leaders speak to employees after a merger announcement with little or no effort to bring answers to basic questions. That’s silly (and disrespectful) because those questions are going to be the same regardless of the deal’s details. People want to know how the merger affects their job, their co-workers, their day-to-day tasks, their future, their benefits, etc. It’s okay if the answer to some questions is “We don’t know yet.” Acknowledging them, providing even partial answers, and committing to bringing solutions as soon as possible—and keeping that promise—helps quell the initial anxiety while helping them focus on the next steps. That in turn can reduce losses in productivity and strengthen retention.
• Listen and adapt. If you honestly pay attention to your employees, they’ll tell you how they’re dealing with the news and what they need to get through it. Listen to what they say. Update your communication strategy. And give them credit.

 
Big changes in the workplace, whether it’s a merger or a major restructuring, don’t have to throw the workforce into panic or the business into chaos. Communication that’s strategic, meaningful and empathetic can smooth the transition.

“In my view, the best of humanity is in our exercise of empathy and compassion. It's when we challenge ourselves to walk in the shoes of someone whose pain or plight might seem so different than yours that it's almost incomprehensible.” – Sarah McBride, Delaware State Senator
 
My last blog pushed the idea that communicators should be champions of empathy to their leaders. Then along came an example of what happens when leaders don’t pay attention.
 
Vishal Garg, the CEO of digital mortgage company Better.com, invited 900 employees, about 15% of the company, to a Zoom session on December 1. Once everyone was logged in, he fired them.
 
“If you’re on this call, you are part of the unlucky group that is being laid off,” Garg told his workers. “Your employment here is terminated effective immediately.”
 
Garg did offer those affected some severance. However, his attempt at empathy soon turned to the last person on the call it should go to: himself.
 
“This is the second time in my career I’m doing this, and I do not want to do this. The last time I did it I cried. Um, this time, I hope to be stronger,” Garg said.
 
A few things worth noting:
 
One, it’s not unusual for companies to lay off employees at year’s end before new corporate budgets kick in. I’m no fan of this, of course; if layoffs have to happen, businesses should let people know far in advance. There are ways to mitigate the risks of operational disruptions and early exits. Better.com deciding to do it in December, and to immediate effect, is not out of the norm—though it should be.
 
Two, for good or ill, taking to Zoom is the pandemic era’s version of a mass meeting of employees. I’ve participated in the latter, and it can be heartbreaking to watch as people learn their jobs are going away. What makes such an in-person meeting valuable, though, is the chance for employees to ask questions (and for leaders to answer), support one another, and collectively come to grips with what’s happening. Options like Zoom, Teams or Skype take away that opportunity while making bad-news delivery a little too convenient. If a virtual gathering is the only option, it needs to be structured so the same opportunities exist—Q&A, directly engaging leaders, providing tools for connecting with resources, even optional breakout rooms for people to gather. As far as I know, none of that was part of Better.com’s approach.
 
Three, and this is the big one that Garg either dismissed or was too tone deaf to realize: It’s not about the CEO. Not even a little bit. While I can sympathize to a degree with his discomfort, whether he weeps when telling 900 people they don’t have jobs is irrelevant. Those people (and their families) are what matter.
 
Not that Garg is an empathetic character, if other reports are true.
 
On the other hand, Better.com’s communication leadership chose a tough, personal path. When Garg refused their counsel for a more sensitive approach and pulled his Zoom stunt, they quit en masse.
 
Perhaps Garg is starting to recognize his monumental insensitivity. Today he issued an apology, stating that he “failed to show the appropriate amount of respect and appreciation for the individuals who were affected.” No doubt the deluge of negative publicity has something to do with it.
 
This devastating event underscores the consequences when we don’t continually exercise empathy: The heart turns flabby and cold, people suffer, and business reputations are trashed.
 
I admire the communicators who left Better.com when their CEO rejected their guidance and embraced his own indifference. The fallout should show the business world what happens when it fails to listen to the champions of empathy. Let's hope it's a lesson learned.