Like many of us with gray hair (if any), I’d never heard of Josh Cauldwell-Clarke or Jason Riley before a few weeks ago. The social media influencers’ much-ballyhooed visit to Michigan stirred a lot of attention.
 
What happened afterward made me think about our modern relationship to the news.
 
Known as “Josh & Jase,” the British duo spent three weeks bouncing around both peninsulas. Their videos oozed with joy and astonishment at Michigan’s natural wonders, engineered marvels and friendly communities. They even used their notoriety to raise $34,000 for a nonprofit shelter for the unhoused.
 
Near the end of their tour, Cauldwell-Clarke suffered a painful back injury. He was briefly hospitalized. Now back in the UK, he posted a video saying the hospital had informed him of a data breach. Without authorization, hospital staff accessed his name, date of birth, home address, phone number, account number, reason for admission, and clinical details.
 
That wasn’t all.
 
“Staff members were entering the room I was in whilst receiving treatment and asking for selfies (there are witnesses to this), whilst I was under medication and in pain,” he wrote in a Facebook post. “And I’ve kept quiet about this, but to learn employees have accessed my personal private information for their own knowledge is not okay.”
 
My first reaction to Cauldwell-Clarke’s story was a wag of the head. Health care workers know better than this. Hospitals, clinics and care facilities take privacy laws seriously. Data breaches can cost people their jobs and impose severe penalties on organizations, not to mention huge lawsuits.
 
What would possess hospital staffers to throw out their moral and legal obligations like this?
 
Then I came across a seemingly unrelated item: Pew Research Center’s latest study on America’s complicated relationship with news media. In short, the study shows that while most people agree that being informed is a civic responsibility, few actually bother to do so. They absorb the news passively—whatever comes to them or they happen upon is, they believe, all they need to know.
 
Putting aside the implications of that attitude—which are horrifying—it means that today's trusted sources are far different from those in the past.
 
Once upon a time, a trusted source was the local newspaper that arrived each day, or the local TV broadcast hosted by people who lived in and knew the community. For society at large, there were journalistic powerhouses of print and broadcast that didn’t always get it right, but they did most of the time because they knew their job was critical to a free society.
 
Now that trusted source is a TikTok personality or Instagram influencer who may or may not have the experience, credentials or even desire to deliver accurate, meaningful information. Digital platforms have birthed more than a few solid journalists, but finding them demands effort—something most Americans aren’t willing to do.
 
Worse still, those who follow influencers can form what’s called a parasocial relationship. The follower begins to believe they have a personal, intimate connection with the influencer. That familiarity becomes so strong that …
 
… a hospital staffer might feel perfectly justified in nabbing a selfie with a hurting and doped-up patient of note, or looking up his data, because “we’re friends, so he won’t mind.”
 
The same thing happens in how many of us choose to be informed. Rather than gathering news from verifiable sources, lots of consumers turn to their favorite influencer or social media platform. Connect a seemingly benign pseudo-relationship to the lack of effort to seek out accurate news, and you start to see how easily one can lose the forest of truth for the scattered trees of error (or worse, deception). The Pew study doesn’t bode well for that changing anytime soon.
 
To be clear, I’m not criticizing social media influencers. Most of them aren’t pretending to be journalists—including Cauldwell-Clarke, who wanted to share his Michigan experience with his followers. It isn’t his fault that some people formed a bond that isn’t real, then used it as an excuse to act inappropriately.
 
My critique is aimed at a public that isn’t motivated to be informed, to search out what’s real and what isn’t, but to merely take the word of their idol at face value. This remains the biggest challenge to the Fourth Estate—and to our society.
 
Each of us embracing our civic duty to be informed and seeking out accurate, meaningful news will go a long way to changing that course.

As a writer, I tend to lean on the written word. But I wouldn’t be much of a communicator if that’s all I relied on. Visual media can deliver powerful messages and prompt meaningful dialogue.
 
So I appreciate the experts who work in the visual realm. That includes classical artists who had something to say—something that resonates through the centuries.
 
Take William Powell Frith. He was a 19th-century English painter and pal of Charles Dickens. Like Dickens, Frith specialized in portraying the range of life in the Victorian era, including the disparities between rich and poor.
 
Two of Frith’s works caught my attention recently.
 
In “The Crossing Sweeper” (1858), a shoeless boy in tattered clothing, clutching a makeshift broom, pushes close to a well-to-do woman, pleading for attention. In Victorian London, crossing sweepers were poor people of all ages who cleared walkways through manure- and refuse-littered streets in hopes of a handout. But the woman in the painting isn’t interested. She gathers up her dress while studiously ignoring him, her expression a mixture of forced calm and a desire for escape.
 
“Poverty and Wealth” (1888) is more complex but tells a similar tale. On one side of a narrow street is a carriage with two young governesses and three children. The wealthy mother prepares to board, a porter following along with her belongings. Just a few feet away, poorly clad women and children gather, tightly clustered around a fish vendor. Most of the people in each group have their backs turned to the other, save for the porter’s wary look, the sad expression of a governess, and the resentful scowl of an old woman in the fish line.
 
I took many ideas away after viewing these paintings, the biggest being this: “If I don’t look, it’s not there” is an ageless—and deeply flawed—rationale.
 
Consider the plight of unhoused people. Like most of us, I’m appalled that the wealthiest country in the world has so many people facing homelessness. Shelters offer some relief, provided there are enough beds and staff. Even so, thousands of individuals and families live in their cars, in tents in the woods, or on park benches—from the youngest children to the oldest veterans.
 
Homelessness is an incredibly complex issue. There isn’t a single reason for it, so there isn’t one magic solution. Financial hardship, mental illness, addictions, domestic violence, discrimination, lack of affordable housing, lack of support services, lack of employment or employability, or a mix of any of these can leave a person homeless.
 
Even so, you’d think American ingenuity and compassion, fueled by knowledge and resources, could be brought to bear. If we could land humans on the moon with 1960s technology, we can tackle something like this in the 2020s.
 
Instead, we’d rather not look.
 
The sweeping of homeless encampments, notably in Washington D.C., gets justified with “public safety” and “stopping crime” or “keeping our streets clean” (a particularly insulting argument).
 
But in fact, it’s about managing perception. It’s about what we see and what we don’t. If we see that the benches and sidewalks are clear, homelessness isn’t a problem. If we see no tents in the woods, no panhandlers on street corners, then there’s no one in financial need. When looking away is impossible, we insist on seeing only what we want to see—often with help from those who select (or create wholesale) the images for us.
 
Homelessness isn’t the only issue we treat like this. Looking away “solves” lots of problems. Poverty. Climate change. Access to health care. The crisis in education. Unpleasant historical facts. Deficits and debt. Criminal behavior by politicians (unless they’re on the “other side”). Oppression. Injustice. And on and on and on.
 
What’s a communicator to do?
 
Again, as I often do in this blog, I come back to the need to be morally and ethically grounded. When we communicate, by whatever means, we must do so with transparency. Sometimes that means pointing out uncomfortable things—and, ideally, with a plan for addressing them, or at least a conversation on how to move forward together.
 
In the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz, the old man behind the curtain tries to get Dorothy and her crew to look away from him. He knew that, in seeing him, they would realize the truth: The Wizard was fake.
 
The painter Frith hoped that, in seeing the social divides he painted, his patrons would know the truth as well: People were in need, and the means to help was close at hand.
 
As communicators, and as consumers, we must have the courage to face reality as it is—and come together to bridge the divides.

Back in 2019, once-and-future President Donald Trump made this pronouncement: “There has never been, ever before, an administration that’s been so open and transparent.”
 
While most will dispute that statement, this week’s big news (so far) might actually support it. Just not in a good way.
 
On Monday, The Atlantic reported that editor Jeffrey Goldberg had been added to a group chat of Trump administration leaders discussing the then-upcoming U.S. bombing of Houthi rebels in Yemen. Those in the group included Vice President JD Vance, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, national security advisor Michael Waltz, and over a dozen others. They were using the encrypted messaging app Signal, which is open-sourced and publicly available—raising concerns about the leak of classified information and legal concerns about using Signal to share it.
 
So far it appears Goldberg was added to the chat accidentally. His report avoided details he felt were sensitive or that could put military personnel or intelligence operations at risk. However, he noted the chat included specifics that proved true once the strikes took place.
 
The administration quickly went into crisis mode. Intelligence leaders assured Congress that while the chat contained “sensitive” details, it didn’t include classified information. President Trump defended Waltz in a media briefing, while others in the administration and Republicans in Congress tried to characterize the incident as “sensationalist.” Some even reached back to Hillary Clinton’s private email server for cover—a comparison that experts say isn’t the same.
 
While the internet is enjoying a meme-athon over all this, clearly Washington isn’t amused. There are many thorny legal questions already being posed. Answers that satisfy will be tough.
 
It seems unlikely that this incident will fade from the spotlight without somebody taking the fall. It’s possible that Waltz will offer to take the hit and resign. But given the administration’s lack of willingness to own any error, I worry that the blame will be shifted elsewhere. Signal might take a hit, perhaps. But I think it’s more likely fingers will point at The Atlantic—and, by association, the news media in general.
 
The Trump administration’s disdain for mainstream media is well documented. Hanging The Atlantic and Goldberg out to dry—might they levy an espionage charge based on Goldberg’s failure to remove himself from the chat, even if he believed it was a scam?—would certainly serve that narrative.
 
Such a “spin” of this incident would further damage media’s efforts to cover this government while making a supposedly transparent administration even more opaque than it is.
 
The lesson for communicators? Transparency is about honesty and accountability. I'm not optimistic we’ll see much of that in the coming days.

Want a lesson in trust and confidence? Watch competitive cheerleading.
 
My granddaughter has been competing for nearly a decade. She now stunts at the college level. The way she and her teammates move in sync is fun to watch, but it’s the actual stunting—young women hoisted upward, flipping and twirling in midair, then landing solidly in strong arms, smiles never leaving their faces—that’s truly impressive. (And, admittedly, a bit disconcerting at times to this Papa.)
 
These acrobatics happen because every cheerleader, regardless of role, has faith in the rest of the team. When faith wavers, the routine fails.
 
Communicators appear to be facing a crisis of faith themselves, according to a new survey of CEOs conducted by The Weber Shandwick Collective. The survey found just 17% of CEOs believe their communication and public affairs teams are ready to deal with the cascade of economic, geopolitical and cultural change happening today.
 
I’ll admit, in my four-plus decades in communications, the rate of change today is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined. We’re not drinking from the clichéd firehose, we’re guzzling from Niagara Falls. The “what-ifs” in our dusty crisis manuals are as outdated as a rotary phone. In the United States alone, political, social and economic structures is being upended—and in many cases, shredded.
 
As tempting as it is to “wait it out,” we can’t. Change isn't stopping, and our role is absolutely vital to our clients’ and companies’ ability to manage it effectively. Not only must the organizations we serve feel confident in us, so must the customers and other stakeholders they engage with.
 
That’s a tough standard to meet, given that we live in a highly suspicious world.
 
The good news is, leaders recognize the value of communications. The same survey found most CEOs plan to invest in marketing and brand building, public affairs, crisis, government and other communication disciplines. While I’m saddened to see less emphasis on social responsibility and equity, diversity and inclusion, the fact remains that our abilities remain business-critical.
 
Where do communicators go from here? We need to be exceptionally agile and resilient. Like those cheerleaders, that means constantly working on our communication muscles—staying abreast of changes, considering impact on business, adapting faster than ever to demands, applying the right tools (not just the shiny new ones) in the right ways.
 
It also means being even stronger champions of facts, honesty and transparency, even as some in society choose to deceive with aplomb. Suspicion ultimately withers in the light of truth.
 
And that’s worth cheering about.

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.