Twice this week I was reminded that, for all the public relations strategies, tactics, measurements and tools, solid customer service is still the best way to connect with and build relationships with your audiences—and lousy customer service is the best way to shatter those relationships.
 
Let’s accentuate the positive first.
 
Having shelled out countless bucks for store-bought razor cartridges over the years, I signed on with Dollar Shave Club a little over a year ago. (If you haven’t seen it yet, click on the link and see their promo video on the home page. It’s a hoot!) Each month, DSC sends me a set of four cartridges, four blades each, for just $6. Whereas I used to stretch my store-bought cartridges to more than two weeks to save some shekels, I can change out DSC cartridges weekly at lower cost. I have a tough beard, so my face is grateful for the fresh blades each Sunday.
 
My only complaint is the handle. The connection between the handle and the cartridge is a bit wimpy, and I’ve busted two of them in a year. The DSC handles aren’t pricey, so for my next order I had a couple thrown in. At the same time, I sent DSC an email through their website saying I was a fan of their product overall, but they ought to take a look at quality control on their handles.
 
Immediately after I submitted the email, I received an automated confirmation with a promise to follow up. That follow-up happened just four hours later. I received a personal email response from Nicole. She addressed me by name, apologized for the broken handles, promised to pass it along to DSC’s quality team, and then said she had removed the two extras from my upcoming order and added two higher quality handles at no charge.
 
I was pleasantly surprised. I immediately wrote back, thanked her for her responsiveness and added that this is why I tell people about DSC. Less than an hour later, she wrote back to thank me for promoting their product and for being a customer they value.
 
That, my friends, is how you do customer service. It was fast. It was positive. It involved both an apology and prompt action. And they affirmed my importance to them as a customer in a very personal way.
 
Contrast that with a certain technology company—which I shall not name—that provides VOIP telephone service to a nonprofit I know in Michigan. Or I should say, a company that's supposed to provide VOIP telephone service.
 
When the nonprofit switched its system over a month ago, a crucial toll-free number wasn’t included, potentially leaving people in immediate need unable to get help. This began weeks of back-and-forth emails in which the tech company showed a distinct lack of urgency around the issue. It reached the point where the company’s contact stopped responding to phone calls and emails seeking updates. Finally, in frustration, the nonprofit’s CEO threatened to take the issue to the news media. This seemed to raise the issue to a higher level, but as of this writing the number remains unconnected.
 
Being responsive to your audience is the best PR investment around. One need look no further than Flint, Michigan, to see the worst consequences—not merely to reputation, but to human life—when the worries and pleas of your public are ignored.

I was at a newsstand, waiting as my wife bought a couple of magazines, when I picked up the Saturday edition of my local newspaper. I exaggerate only slightly when I say my church’s Sunday bulletin has more heft than did that edition.
     I left the newsstand feeling depressed. True, the Saturday paper was never robust; as a young delivery boy, I welcomed Saturdays for the lighter load upon bony shoulders. My funk wasn’t about weight; it was about content. That entire Saturday paper, slim as it was, had precisely one local news story.
     I don’t blame the local staff. I’ve known many of them for years, and they’re a dedicated, professional crew. Many times I’ve been on the receiving end of their pointed questions. Rather, I worry about their non-local corporate masters who believe the future of local journalism is doing less of it.
     This week’s announcement from MLive Media Group confirms a trend I’ve noticed (and complained about) for quite some time: the move from a local news focus to a regional model. In this case, “regional” appears to mean statewide, as stories from every MLive outlet routinely show up in my local feed. (The most expensive house sold on Reeds Lake, 60 miles away. Heavy snow expected in Muskegon, 90 miles away. People shooting deer in Ann Arbor, 100 miles away.)
     Meanwhile, MLive Media Group believes it can do more with less. The announcement included a plan to eliminate 29 positions from its eight Michigan outlets and rearrange assignments for remaining staff, many of them going from local to regional or statewide roles. It’s hard to fathom how overworked, underpaid journalists can shed the kind of sunshine that’s needed when there are fewer of them, especially on local beats.
     In my hometown, we still have active electronic media that report local news. I rely on them daily. Indeed, their value increases as the daily newspaper fades. But their immediate nature precludes the broad perspective and thoughtful, constructive community dialogue that was once the hallmark of the local press—a type of dialogue nowhere to be found in online comment sections or on Facebook pages.
     As Columbia Journalism Review’s Anna Clark pointed out in her excellent analysis, Michigan is the state in greatest need of solid journalism. Lead-tainted water in Flint, opaque policies around political advertising and financial records, and a shocking new state law aimed at quashing informed voting all underscore this ugly fact. As I mourn the fade-to-black of local news reporting, I hold out hope that the rejuvenated MLive will turn its increasingly slim attention to these issues rather than its quest for the Best Pizza in Michigan.

With a stroke of his pen—and, no doubt, a wink and nod to the radical right-wing factions increasingly annoyed by an informed electorate—Michigan Governor Rick Snyder has made it illegal for public entities to provide factual information to voters on issues those very same voters are expected to decide on Election Day.
 
In signing Senate Bill 571 into law, Snyder insisted that the provision, surreptitiously tagged onto the bill in a late-night vote last month, is being misinterpreted. Yet it’s hard to misinterpret a law that prohibits, say, a school district from explaining to voters the background on a millage request and how taxpayer dollars would be used, or a city from offering details on a bond proposal for vital infrastructure needs.
 
Technically, the new law precludes such communications within 60 days of an election, so we can assume such information can be shared before that deadline. But even the self-styled “nerd” governor must know that few voters review the facts and make decisions on ballot proposals a full two months before Election Day. Instead, voters will be left to search out the details on their own, unable to gain that information from their own elected officials. Their only recourse is likely to be politically slanted shadow groups more interested in agendas than facts.
 
In justifying his decision, Snyder argued that public entities were using taxpayer dollars for communications that were advocating a point of view—already illegal under state law—without directly encouraging a “yes” or “no” vote. Granted, if a city seeks a transportation millage, the facts it provides to voters will explain why the millage is being sought and what it will pay for, and thus one could argue it suggests a “yes” vote without actually asking for one. But what’s the alternative? Ignoring the logical question in voters’ minds, “Why are you asking for this millage, and what will you use it for?”
 
One wonders what Snyder and his minions would have done if this law had been in place when they ballyhooed their confusing and ultimately misguided ballot request for road repairs last year.
 
This is truly a stunning blow against an informed electorate, the heartbeat of a healthy democracy. Every state legislator who voted for this travesty should be ashamed. Or better yet, voted out of office—and wouldn't it be great if they, too, lacked the ability to beg otherwise within 60 days of an election?
 
What’s good for the goose, Lansing. What’s good for the goose.