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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday December 23, 2002 Volume IV Number 51 |
FOCUS - Public Apologies
With so much money and manpower (person-power) and technology and resource devoted to the accumulation and dissemination of news, one would expect there to be a just a tad more diversity among the news outlets. But as we approach the end of yet another year, more than ever, our national psyche is informed by a global network of news organizations who all appear to be covering the same story.
If you are connected to the internet (and I suppose the mere fact that you are reading these words would indicate that you indeed are), then you received an instant electronic alert the moment Trent Lott released a statement indicating that he would release his hold on his position of power in the United States Senate as Majority Leader. You probably knew about the resignation before the networks had time to put a story together and get it on the air. They would, soon after the alert made its way through the World Wide Web like a global shock-wave, interrupt their regular programming with Breaking News and announce to the world in broadcast unison, a choir of television anchors and radio reports all singing the same lyric and melody line on every station around the globe all-together-now, singing out the bulletin that the most powerful man in the Capitol Building in The Most Powerful City In The World relinquished his post - all because of a gaffe, a throw-away line, tossed out as a compliment paid to a centenarian at his birthday party, a line hardly anyone noticed as a history-maker at the time it was uttered – now brought a distinguished career to a screeching halt.
One might well ask the question: is such an event worthy of the cover of TIME and every other newsmagazine and all the media combined? Does anyone count up the cost of wages and airtime and studio time allocated to a single story, not to mention the cost of print? For the Trent Lott story, nation-wide, that cost must be a staggering figure. The drama accelerated each day as the apologies proliferated. In the end, Mr. Lott was unable to turn the tide of public opinion.
Why not? Was it a frenzied media that overwhelmed him? Was it the lack of support from the White House, or his colleagues in the Senate? Was it such a horrific offense that it rendered his career irredeemable? Or was there some kind of deficiency in the apologies themselves that took a minor blunder and inflated it with helium taking it airborne as a colossal life-altering miscalculation for all to see.
We live in a culture that values perception; “perception is everything,” says the media consultant. Public people hire such advisors to help them put their best face toward the camera. Image is a valuable commodity. There’s a big payoff for maintaining an appealing persona in the public eye. That’s how such advisors establish their value. Apparently Rosie O’Donnell grew tired of playing the game and checked out and retreated into regular private life, sufficiently alienating her adoring fans. In so doing, she cost her (former) business partners millions and now she’s the subject of a string of nasty law-suits. When Whitney Houston spoke to Diane Sawyers about her personal life, she readily referred to “Whitney Houston” as though she were someone else, and I suppose it’s true. There’s the WH we see in performance, but, according to Whitney herself, that person up there isn’t really her at all. It’s someone else.
So high profile personalities in our culture are really commodities. They are properties. They are assets. Valuable assets. Their value is a function of public admiration. Should one slip and say or do something unseemly, untoward, tasteless, unsuitable - the cost can be high. Very high.
High priced advisors these days are ready to assist the celebrity on the brink. “Get out there now with a public, personal, genuine apology,” they’ll coach. Make it crystal clear. Take responsibility. Say it with heart. Mean it. Show contrition. Remorse. Regret. Claim human frailty. Beg pardon. Plead mercy. Grovel. Pledge a renewed commitment to enlightenment. The old is gone. The new has come. Repent. Repent.
The American people are forgiving, they’ll add. The public has a short memory. There’s cleansing and healing available, and hence, a return of the big bucks. After the pep talk, they’ll pat ‘em on the rear and send them out to the waiting bank of cameras and microphones. (“You can do it!”) And then cross their fingers and make an appeal to lucky stars.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes it doesn’t.
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Apologies have been around since the Lord’s Prayer, in which Jesus taught us to pray, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” There’s a place for contrition. Sometimes, our misbehavior causes offense. We violate our own rules, the rules of the land, the rules of social convention, God’s rules, for that matter. And when we become aware that we’ve crossed over the line, when we are willing to admit to ourselves that we’ve wandered into enemy territory and participated in something that may have seemed harmless or inconsequential or excusable at the time but later determine that it is none of the above, well, it’s time to come clean.
Once we’ve admitted it to ourselves, we are ready to admit it to others.
Maybe the biggest problem with apologies is that they are not even considered until the moment of discovery. We’re busted. Exposed. Caught red-handed. Proven guilty by the sheer burden of the clear evidence at hand. Prior to that, it’s been our own little secret, tucked away in the shadows; no harm – no foul. The reason these apologies (those that follow the bust) carry so little weight is because they appear to be simple self-preservation. A self-serving exercise in image control. “You’re only saying that because you got caught,” goes the charge. And the implication is clear, apart from the exposure, there would have been no remorse, no change in behavior.
So apologies are tricky. Delicate. There are plenty of illustrations of apologies that backfire.
Jimmy Swaggart comes to mind. Swaggart made a very public attempt to express his remorse, to plead the forgiveness of his devotees. The nation, believers and unbelievers alike, were riveted by the pathetic, charged, weepy video clips. But the crocodile tears broadcast across the airwaves seemed to many to be entirely disingenuous. It was less a humble act of contrition than a last ditch effort to rescue a lucrative religious empire.
It was too little, too late.
Captain Scott Waddle, the US Navy Commander at the helm of the atomic submarine, the USS Greeneville, when in a demonstration exercise broke through the surface, accidentally striking a Japanese fishing vessel, the Ehime Maru, with thirty-five people aboard in February of 2001, killing nine. At the time, Captain Waddle, a perfectionist, top of his class at Annapolis, fell into a deep and dark depression. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake. But it could have been avoided. Should have been avoided. In the nearly two years that followed, he’s been a troubled man, distraught, seeking some kind of resolution. Just this week, he traveled to Japan, to pay his respect to those who suffered and died, and specifically to offer his apologies to the grieving families. He is still on the hunt for personal peace.
Only two would meet with him.
The others refused.
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We are gathering weekly with a group of parents in a parenting class. We listen to a video lecture by an entertaining and informative speaker who relays principles of good parenting and then we discuss the ideas, drawing on personal experience. Carolyn and I were invited as veterans of the parenting years to offer some perspective. Most the others are in the thick of the battle, weary and blurry-eyed, eager for the camaraderie of peers who face the burdens and blessings of ever-present children. Every Wednesday night, our facilitator must interrupt and call an end to the discussion. Apart from a final stopping point, the chatter would continue on into the night, indefinitely.
One night, in a discussion of discipline, we tried to find that dividing line between healthy instruction for unruly kids and the straight out-of-control frustration that sometimes passes for discipline. It wasn’t easy.
But we agreed that sometimes in parenting, our responses have more to do with our exhaustion and weariness and impatience than our desire to help our children along towards the goal of maturity, responsibility and exemplary social skill. Sometimes, we parents cross the line.
And sometimes, apologies are in order.
We confessed to one another that occasionally, we sit down with the children, and simply say, “You know, Daddy/Mommy got a little frustrated tonight and said some things that shouldn’t have been said. I’m sorry.”
And somehow, in the confession one parent to another, there was healing. And knowing laughter. And understanding. And in the sharing, next time, maybe some fine tuning on the behavioral response back there in the heat of battle.
* * * * * * *
It’s the Monday morning before Christmas. You are a leader.
Apologies are in order because sometimes we owe it to the people we love. Sometimes the people who count on us are let down, and damage must be repaired.
Trent Lott took the advice of his media consultants, and hit the apology tour. But somewhere along the way, it seemed more like a campaign than contrition. Politicians seem to relish the camera time so, like the interviewee more interested in the monitor image than communicating a point. Poor Mr. Lott didn’t win many converts. One wonders if he ever did figure out what it was he was sorry for.
Capt. Waddle on the other hand, is a man sincere about his sorrow over a terrible accident that occurred under his command. He feels responsible. He genuinely cares about the families that suffered terrible loss. May he someday find a peace that passes understanding.
Maybe you and I should reflect and consider those moments when we came close to checking out on the people we love the most. Maybe we’ve taken it all for granted. But not this week. This week, we understand the amazing gift we’ve been given. We’ll be attentive, and open; listening and watching.
Maybe, in a quiet moment, a confession and apology just might be in order. Not to save your job. Not to win any converts. Not simply to make for good karma. But because you really do care. You are ready to admit those shortcomings. And do better.
It’s worth it.
Because what you have can be lost. And you aren’t going to let this slip away from you. No way.
Stop for a moment at the nativity scene. Consider the baby in the manger, and the mother so full of wonder.
Let the light from the star shining above illumine your way.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2002
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
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