The past six days have been a communications rollercoaster.
 
Every industry and every organization is struggling to come to grips with COVID-19, an illness caused by a novel coronavirus that has swept the globe. From a federal government that, at best, is responding in fits and starts, to overwhelmed hospitals, to families faced with layoffs and curtailed income, the pandemic is upending life in ways unseen in over a century.
 
Admittedly, 10 days ago I was mildly concerned by what was happening in China, Italy and Washington State, but I still leaned a bit toward the “we’re overreacting” side of the conversation. My thinking changed within a couple of days.
 
Incredibly, there are still people who think the risk of COVID-19 is small. They claim it’s media hype—“fake news,” nothing more than a bad flu, perhaps not even as deadly as flu. 
 
As a counterpoint, an Italian filmmaker assembled a video from individual clips of fellow Italians describing life in a country essentially locked down. Many of them were skeptical at the beginning of the pandemic; now they’re serving as voices from the future for the United States, where COVID-19 is just starting to ramp up.
 
In short, the naysayers are wrong. Terrifyingly wrong.
 
Fortunately, a great many organizations and people are striving to get it right. Over the past six days, I’ve had the privilege of assisting five different nonprofit agencies that are making quick decisions, tough decisions, right decisions, to protect the health of people while relentlessly pursuing ways to meet their needs.
 
For each of them, communication is a priority—engaging their employees, their supporters, and most importantly, the people they serve.
 
At times, communication must be innovative. Face-to-face gatherings are out. Social media, email, news media, videoconferencing, texting and other communication tools must do. Connecting with other organizations—across town, across functions—and aligning the work and the message assures broader impact. Rapid response, partnerships, sharing of resources—these things and more are driving the message and benefitting the people involved.
 
Those benefits are astounding. Corporations, foundations and nonprofits are coming together to raise crucial cash to meet near- and long-term needs. Action teams involving government, service agencies, nonprofits and private businesses are rallying expertise and sharing insights to help the community. Leaders are facing criticism head-on, yet with an open mind and open heart. Others reaffirm their commitment to honesty and transparency, even when there’s risk involved.
 
And while we hear seemingly endless stories of people hoarding toilet paper or operating a hand sanitizer black market, the stories we need to hear are those of heroic organizations that are doing the right things.
 
Because it matters to real people in real, meaningful ways.
 
For PR professionals, as challenging as communicating in a crisis invariably is, there’s nothing more satisfying than to be part of that honest and affirming work.

* Spoiler alert: This blog includes details of the first episode of Star Trek: Picard. *
 
Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the wise and fearless commander of the starship Enterprise, has vanquished countless alien foes. So it’s surprising to see a news reporter finally take him down.
 
Thus goes a powerful and uncomfortable scene in the new CBS All-Access series, Star Trek: Picard. And it’s a moment from which all good communicators can learn.
 
The show follows the titular hero, played by Sir Patrick Stewart, decades after his adventures in the television series Star Trek: The Next Generation. Picard gave up his life in Starfleet after a terrorist attack quashed a rescue mission he was coordinating. Years later, agreeing to his first-ever live TV interview, Picard abruptly loses his temper under a reporter’s tough questions, accusing Starfleet of turning its back on people in need.
 
As I watched the scene unfold, it was clear even before he sat down for the interview that Picard was wholly unprepared. He wasn’t sure what he would be asked or what he would say; perhaps overly confident after a career of facing galactic threats, Picard seemed content to just wing it.
 
Lack of preparation before a media interview isn’t just a problem for future starship captains. Too many leaders today think that being comfortable in an employee meeting or an investor presentation fully equips them for a news interview. Even some PR people don’t think take media opportunities as seriously as they should. That puts organizations and brands at risk.
 
Here’s what Picard’s failure can teach us today:

• Prepare for every interview. The captain’s humiliation was his own fault. In failing to prepare, he did a disservice to himself, the reporter and her audience. Yes, she purposely goaded him, but he lost his temper because he wasn’t ready for a question that any good reporter would (and did) ask. He should have anticipated it and had his response ready.
• Own the interview. In the scene, Picard ceded control of the interview almost entirely to the reporter. When I conduct media training, I show people how they can deliver their messages effectively while still acknowledging the question and honoring the reporter. Remember, a media interview isn’t a court of law; the interviewer can’t make you say anything you don’t want to say.
• Say what you want to say, how you want to say it. Perhaps Picard welcomed the opportunity to call out Starfleet. But he didn’t come across as prepared and focused; he came across as angry. Rarely, a little righteous anger can augment a message, but usually it just obscures it. People remember the rage rather than the point. Stay cool, have your messages ready, and deliver them often.
• Don’t walk out. Storming out of an interview isn’t a win. When Picard did it, he looked like he was ill-equipped, a little petulant and a whole lot embarrassed. Walking out is almost never the right play; it sends a message that you have something to hide. Now, if a reporter has been completely deceitful, then I might reluctantly support a walkout. But contrary to TV dramas, ethical reporters don’t work that way. If you get a question or topic you weren’t expecting, and it’s legitimate and relevant to you and your work, the responsibility is on you. Answer the question, or explain why you can’t, and circle back to your message points.

 
The rest of the episode shows the good captain embracing a mystery and renewing his commitment to doing things good and right. Star Trek: Picard promises to be a fun and thought-provoking series. Let’s hope Jean-Luc's next encounter with the news media is one for which he’s fully prepared.

The misguided practice of doing media relations by not doing media relations continues to grow. PR professionals must put a stop to it.
 
Sadly, the practice got an “attaboy” last month in a blog headlined, “Why a Brand Not Responding Is Sometimes the Best Response.” While the writer didn’t promote so-called “strategic silence” in all cases, she did suggest topics to which it might apply: legal and regulatory issues, personnel matters, financial transactions, and times when you can’t keep up with the volume of calls.
 
I’ve blogged on this issue before. Then, as now, I consider the behavior lousy and cowardly PR.
 
What drives “strategic silence” is not strategy, but an assumption. The assumption is that the news media owe their livelihood to PR people: We provide content so they can report it; therefore, what we don’t provide isn’t worth covering.
 
That assumption is false. Yes, we represent our clients and their interests. Part of promoting our clients is working with news media to gain coverage, or to do our best to get our clients’ voices heard in good times and bad. But accomplishing this isn’t a one-way process. Public relations and media relations are … wait for it … relational.
 
That means understanding what reporters need. That means knowing what interests their audience. That means being as responsive and as transparent as possible. That means your client (or your client through you) speaking for themselves—because if they don’t, others will do it for them. When we’re relational, we build trust and strengthen the client’s brand.
 
Are there times when you must limit your comments, such as the examples the blogger cites? Of course. But there’s a big difference between restricting your comments and ignoring the ask. Even a simple “we can’t comment on pending litigation” respects the reporter, the news outlet, the relationship and the audience.
 
The only example on which I’ll reluctantly agree with the blogger is capacity—when you can’t keep up with the queries. That’s happened in my experience, albeit rarely. When I couldn’t tap coworkers to help, I had to prioritize media callbacks and do what I could as quickly and thoroughly as possible. But that’s a far cry from deliberately tossing a pink “While You Were Out” slip or hitting “Delete” on voicemail.
 
In short, the news media don’t owe us coverage. We have to earn it by building trust, by understanding what they need, and by being responsive. There’s no excuse for deliberately going silent. It’s guaranteed to hurt your relationship with reporters and their audience—and ultimately damage your brand.
 
In the practice of public relations, silence isn’t golden.

For those in PR who think the news media’s public opinion woes aren’t our woes, some new research says otherwise.
 
Bay Area PR firm Bospar partnered with market researcher Propeller Insights to survey people’s opinions of the news media, public relations and marketing. You can find full results here. Some highlights:

• 95% of respondents said they were troubled by the current state of the media.
• 67% fear things will be worse during the 2020 election cycle.
• 42% believe ethics in PR and marketing are worse than in the past.

 
Interestingly, respondents’ opinions on ethics in PR and among news media were almost precisely the same. Bospar Principal Curtis Sparrer suggested that’s because the public sees the two as increasingly intertwined.
 
Not sure my journalist friends would agree, and even I’m not ready to suggest we’re “intertwined.” But our two professions do interact more than ever, whether over the phone, over email, or over news events. This relationship requires the PR profession to make sure it operates with the highest ethical standards.
 
I’ve said this many times: The Fourth Estate is vital to the health and future of our society. Those who applaud the demise of yet another newspaper or media outlet are celebrating the decline of truth, transparency and our nation’s wellbeing. Yet newsrooms are shrinking, and journalists are struggling to do more with less. I think that’s a place where ethical PR pros can step up to provide trustworthy, meaningful and relevant content.
 
That requires us to understand what today’s journalist needs. It requires us to know the audience that a media outlet serves, and not to try the useless—and ultimately self-destructive—work of force-feeding irrelevant or unwelcome content to journalists. It requires us to reflect on the content we have to offer to make sure it connects and aligns.
 
Many times I’ve told clients who wanted a tepid story placed or ho-hum event highlighted that it wasn’t the right fit. If I’m lucky, I can find a connection that’s relevant to the audience. Sometimes, I simply have to say “no.”
 
Some would suggest that’s letting a client down. I say it’s doing PR from a place of truth, ethics and relevance. And it’s helping the client understand what matters to the audience and how they can connect with them better.
 
The Bospar survey found 86% of people expect PR and marketing to operating ethically. I think that ought to be 100%. And when half that many say we aren’t doing it right, we need to do much more than heave a sad sigh. We must do better—and we can start by embracing our role as trustworthy, ethical, relevant resources for journalists as well as for our clients.
 
September is designated by the Public Relations Society of America as Ethics Month. See PRSA’s Code of Ethics here.

Admittedly, the headline on this blog may seem odd for an agency that specializes in strategic communications. But the word “strategy” gets thrown around so much these days, I fear it’s losing both its meaning and its indispensable role in communication and in leadership.
 
Years ago, I set a goal of running the Boston Marathon. To do that, I had to run a qualifying time in a different marathon. So I developed my strategy: I selected an ideal marathon, worked up a training regimen, and planned my pace. I shared my strategy with more accomplished runners, and they affirmed it as sound.
 
The outcome on marathon day? I failed, finishing more than 10 minutes slower than a Boston qualifying time. Why? I focused so much on strategy that I neglected to heed the tactics of the plan.
 
I competed in a long-distance race just two weeks before the marathon, when I should have been tapering. I ran the first half of the marathon 30 seconds per mile faster than planned, leaving me trashed in the second half. And I didn’t consume the calories I should have during the run, which left me depleted in the final miles.
 
This wasn’t a failure of strategy. This was a failure of tactical execution.
 
I think this happens all the time, and not just in PR, communications and marketing. It happens at every level in countless organizations. Leaders embrace the call to “be strategic,” creating thoughtful plans that others can implement. Yes, that makes sense—except when the organization expects everyone to “be a leader” and to “be strategic.” Without careful guidance on this point, you wind up with an organization full of great ideas with no one making them work.
 
Symptoms of this too-narrow approach: Ideas that never go anywhere. Needs that don’t get addressed. People eager to create strategies but not execute at the tactical level. Missed details and dropped balls. Individuals who feel less valued because their strategic skillset isn’t as strong as their tactical prowess—in other words, they’re left believing they “aren’t strategic enough.”
 
We’ve diminished the word “strategy.” We’ve allowed it to become a buzzword, a self-professed status, a solitary defense, instead of what it should be: a driving force for an organization’s direction and success. (Notice I said “a driving force,” not “the driving force.)
 
When I create a strategic communication plan, I spend a lot of time considering the tactics needed to make that strategy successful. What are the right tactics to drive the measurable outcome? Which tactics fit with the audience? How are those tactics best executed? Who will do that work, and when, and what is the cost? And crucially: Are all of these tactics doable with the resources—people, finances, time—available?
 
Am I failing to be strategic when I give such attention to tactics? I would argue not. So long as my starting point is with a sound and meaningful strategy, the tactical detail is critical to delivering what the strategy promises.
 
Don’t misunderstand my point. Strategy is essential. Tactics absent a strategy is a recipe for doom. But we need to quash the idea that it’s an either/or proposition. It’s both. Strategy must always be inextricably linked with tactics.
 
The Chinese philosopher Sun Tzu, author of The Art of War, said it best: “Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.”

The Southern California sun poured its fierce rays upon the large, white tent nestled near the spectator stands alongside the pool at USC. Inside the tent, broiling in the summer heat, was a gaggle of sports reporters from around the world. Now and then, a parade of elite swimmers would pass through, their faces split by canyon grins, their pruned hands clutching medals of gold, silver and bronze. They gushed; the reporters smiled and took notes.

Oh yeah, and there was this other group, a motley crew in strangely colored clothing, all malachite green and mustard yellow and a dash of hot magenta.

I know because I was one of them.

It was August 2, 1984, the sixth day of the Games of the XXIIIrd Olympiad in Los Angeles. The day would bring medal winners from five finals through that simmering tent. I sat nearby, garbed in the aforementioned garish uniform, recording and transcribing one of the medalists' remarks. Later, I would type up the Q&A and fax it to the Main Press Center at the LA Convention Center two miles away. Those quotes would wind up in newspapers and magazines, on TV and radio across the globe.

Thus was my first professional experience following college: a journey west with a friend to serve for three weeks in Press Operations at the Olympic Games. We aspired to track and field; we ended up at the swim venue, our second choice.

It struck me earlier this week that those Games happened 35 years ago. I shake my head to think of all those years gone by, of the wiry kid I was, of a lifetime in the windshield before me then, now most of it in the rearview mirror.

What do I feel? Mostly gratitude for the road traveled. And still a bit of that young man's anticipation of the journey remaining.

I wrote of my Olympic experience before, in a series of blogs posted for the 30th anniversary in 2014. I invite you to share in those adventures--quirky, frightening, exasperating, always memorable, and just plain fun--at these links:

Part 1: 'Badges? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Badges'
Part 2: 'You! You, I No Love!'
Part 3: Gold Medals and Teddy Bears
Part 4: That Time I Accidentally Propositioned an Olympic Champion
Part 5: The Faux-pening Ceremonies and Final Thoughts

I remember it clearly: a warm July evening, huddling around a black-and-white television immediately after Sunday night church service, watching the first images from Apollo 11 on the surface of the moon.
 
I was seven years old and well into my lifelong passion for all things space. What I didn’t know was that, on that toasty night in 1969, I was part of a global audience of 600 million people captivated by those grainy, ghostly images—and what they represented.
 
While neither the first nor the last space mission to be carried on TV, Apollo 11 was unique in the power of its singular message, summed up in a single word: We.
 
“I was amazed that everywhere we went, people said, ‘We—we did it. We, you and me, the inhabitants of this wonderful Earth. We did it,’” recalls Michael Collins, Apollo 11 command module pilot, narrating a new Google Doodle honoring the first moon landing.
 
Today, our society is more individualistic, more insular, more likely to consume news on our respective smartphones than to watch an event together. From politics to philanthropy, we’re more inclined to seek what “I want” rather than what “we need.”
 
And yet, as I spend my days communicating with and on behalf of clients, I sense a different wish. I sense a deep-down yearning to connect, to tack back toward the We.
 
How might that happen? Only when we have the courage to embrace what a wise man once said, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.”
 
As we reflect on half a century since “one giant leap for mankind,” perhaps we’ll be inspired to embrace the We once again.

My shower has this small spot where a little mildew grows. I scrub away the mildew, yet it springs back a few weeks later.
 
That’s roughly how I feel about today’s news that Sarah Huckabee Sanders is out as the White House press secretary.
 
I won’t revisit at length my dismay at Sanders’ record of half-truths-at-best—excuse me, “slip(s) of the tongue"—during her tenure, and how her behavior taints the communications profession I hold dear. You can read my earlier blog here. Suffice to say that her exit is, at best, a temporary win for truth and respect for the Fourth Estate.
 
Yes, I said “temporary.”
 
I realize the role of White House press secretary is a difficult balance—perhaps more difficult than other spokesperson roles—between serving the President and providing factual information to the news media. But the fact is, Sanders never tried to find that balance. She deliberately rejected transparency, honesty and integrity at the behest of her master. I’m not confident that her successor, whoever it is, will be less inclined to play loose with the truth.
 
That said, I hold out a small hope that the next press secretary will care about truth and ethics as articulated by PRSA’s Code of Ethics. But it's likely a foolish hope. Given the profound lack of concern for truth and integrity at our nation's highest levels, I fear this will be much like the mildew in my shower: a brief cleansing, then a return to darkness.

Since December, I’ve been pummeled with emails and caution-yellow postcards warning me of an urgent deadline. Indeed, the latest mailings announce that I’m now, all-caps, “PAST DUE.”
 
Did I miss a bill payment? Neglect to pay a parking ticket? Forget to renew a magazine?
 
None of the above. No, it seems that I failed to update my personal information in my old school’s alumni database—and thus missed the opportunity for a marketing firm to sell me stuff.
 
This is why so many people despise marketing and public relations.
 
For the record: I reached out to my alma mater and shared my concern. (Out of respect for the school and its good people, I’m leaving out names.) The alumni director, a delightful and dedicated person who has no staff support, explained that the school lacks internal resources to keep the alumni database up to date. That hurts the school's ability to stay in touch with its former students. Thus it contracted with an out-of-state marketing firm with a 50-year track record of successfully gathering this data. Their compensation: the profit from selling school-branded stuff to those who respond.
 
I sympathize with the school and the alumni director. In fact, after hearing this explanation (and knowing I'd missed the "deadline"), I initially decided not to blog about this—until yet another pair of notices arrived. For the sake of the profession, I can’t let it go.
 
I have no problem with the marketing firm’s basic model—provide a service to the school, profit off sales. However, I do have immense problems with its approach.
 
One, it’s deliberately deceptive. The firm forcefully presents its message as if there’s an urgent deadline you are expected—just short of “required”—to meet. Both the American Marketing Association and the Public Relations Society of America have ethical codes that stress truth and transparency. Hard to see how these mailings “foster trust in the marketing system … [by] avoiding deception in product design” (AMA) or “build respect and credibility with the public” (PRSA).
 
Two, it hurts the most vulnerable people. In Michigan alone, 43% of households are either in poverty or struggling to make ends meet—what’s known as ALICE (Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed). Imagine you’re among them. Imagine you’re already behind on your bills; you get your share of actual past-due notices every month. The stress and anxiety are enormous. And then a postcard shouting “PAST DUE” arrives. Sure, a moment’s attention will make clear this isn’t another bill or a collection agency threat. But the moment before then is frightening, cruel and unnecessary.
 
Three, it fosters distrust of professional communicators. In an era where politicians call news media “the enemy of the people,” when some spokespersons lie with aplomb, and when some (wrongly) consider "spin" a tool of the trade, this approach trashes the credibility of everyone in the field—every marketing firm, every PR professional, and every organization that employs them.
 
What could the marketing firm do differently? Simple: Be honest. Had I received an email or postcard explaining the arrangement and asking me to respond, I would have gladly updated my file and tolerated a short sales pitch. Heck, I might have even bought something. Now? No way.
 
What should we as marketing and communications professionals do? Call out this behavior. Refuse to participate in it. Embrace the ethics of our respective fields and hold each other to a higher standard.

To my shame, sometimes I read those click-bait “worst [fill in the blank] ever” stories. I recently came across this amusing one:
 
An obnoxious traveler on a jetliner makes demands on a flight attendant, insisting that he deserves special attention because of he’s supposedly a close friend of the airline’s CEO. A woman across the aisle hears this and challenges the man to tell her the CEO’s nickname. When he tells her to mind her own business, the woman pulls out her wallet and shows him a photo from her wedding; it turns out the CEO is her father-in-law.
 
The morale of the story is clear: Your lies will find you out.
 
But the question it raises today is troubling: Does anyone care?
 
Over the past two years, I’ve started to write blogs about the behavior of White House spokeswoman Sarah Sanders—and Sean Spicer before her—only to abandon them out of concern they’d be taken as political screeds. Let me be clear, I’m no fan of President Trump, who has a passed-it-in-the-hallway relationship with truth. But as a critical link between the administration and the Fourth Estate, spokespersons like Sanders bear a tremendous responsibility—to the nation and to her profession—to uphold transparency, honesty and truth. Indeed, Sanders claims that’s what she desires as her legacy.
 
In my opinion, she’s failed at all of them. While hardly a revelation, the evidence in the newly released (and heavily redacted) Mueller report underscores the fact.
 
This should sweep away whatever shred of credibility Sanders might still have with the media. Indeed, some news outlets are calling for her to resign or be fired.
 
I think it’s 50-50, at best, that she’ll go. Why? Because in this administration, loyalty trumps credibility. In this administration, and among many of its supporters, truth is a “who,” not a “what.”
 
What does this say about the public relations profession?
 
Some of my colleagues will brush it off. “That’s her, not me.” Problem is, Sanders’s “slip of the tongue” behavior reflects on all of us.
 
As a member of the Public Relations Society of America, I embrace a Code of Ethics, which says in part: “We adhere to the highest standards of accuracy and truth in advancing the interests of those we represent and in communicating with the public.”
 
I firmly believe in the Code. It’s one of many reasons why I’m a frequent critic of the word “spin”—which is synonymous with deceit.
 
But here’s the thing: If PR professionals don’t call out unethical behavior, we’re no better than those who do it. If we don’t call out dishonesty and spin, we’re saying it’s actually okay.
 
That’s the moment we sacrifice our professional morals and credibility. That’s the moment we give up our place as champions of truth.
 
No more. I regret that I didn’t post this long ago. Call it (incorrectly) a political post if you want, but regardless of person, place or party, we must call out and condemn the practices of spinning, lying and misdirecting.
 
Does it matter? If the answer is “no,” God help us all.