Mr. Media Training

In his classic public speaking book, You Are The Message, Roger Ailes defines five ways to respond to a crisis: attack, defend, counterattack, sell, or ignore. That’s the most succinctly articulated crisis communications playbook I’ve ever seen, and it’s a good one.

To complete his list, I’d add two other strategies: deflect and apologize.

In this post, I’ll offer examples of each of the seven responses you might consider offering when a crisis befalls your organization. 

1. Attack: “I want to make clear that we have always complied with the law and that these charges are a result of having an overzealous prosecutor who desperately wants to become mayor.”

2. Defend: “We knew this decision would be controversial with some people, but we made it because we felt—and still feel—that it was the right thing to do. In order to serve our customers better for the long-term, we had to make a difficult decision in the short-term.”

3. Counterattack: “Of course our competitor is saying negative things about our new product. They haven’t had a successful product launch in five years, so they’re trying to make people forget about their own dismal track record.”

4. Sell: “I knew this decision would be controversial with some voters, but I made it because I know that voters expect me to make the tough choices. So here’s what I’d ask voters: Even if you disagree with me on this issue, consider whether you want someone in office who is willing to make tough decisions on your behalf instead of just doing things the way they’ve always been done. I hope you do, and if so, I’m your man.”

5. Ignore: “[silence]”

6. Deflect: “This is an issue for the Justice Department. It wouldn’t be appropriate for the White House to comment on this matter.”

7. Apologize: “We got this wrong. I want to personally apologize to all of the people who were affected by this issue, and I want them to know that we are taking immediate steps to make sure this never happens again.”

Like this post? Learn more about crisis communications in my book, The Media Training Bible: 101 Things You Absolutely, Positively Need to Know Before Your Next Interview.

I once watched a libertarian conduct a question and answer session with a group of high school students.

The libertarian began the session by sharing his belief that the federal government should have no role in helping a person who is poor. State governments could help that person if they chose to, but it would be even better for private citizens, charitable organizations, and local communities to band together to help that person instead.

It was clear from the students’ reactions that they had never heard such an idea before, and they didn’t like it. Their questions to the libertarian became increasingly hostile, with one even telling him that she thought he was “selfish.”

The mistake he made that day is a mistake I regularly see spokespersons make—especially those representing ideas or causes.

In this case, the libertarian was so intent on explaining his ideology, that he failed to align his message to his audience at all. Imagine how different he would have been perceived had he started his presentation this way:

“How many of you believe that someone who is poor—a man or woman who can’t afford enough food to eat or sufficient medical care—deserves help?

[Show of hands]

“How many of you think the federal government should help? [Show of hands] “How many of you think charities or religious organizations should help?” [Show of hands] “Anyone believe that people in the community should also donate some money?”

“Well, I think we all agree about something. None of us in this room want that poor man or woman to starve to death. Is that a reasonable conclusion?” [Show of hands or head nods]

“There’s also one place I disagree with some of you. I don’t believe that the federal government should help that person, but that the help should come from community groups, charitable organizations, and private citizens. I’d like to spend some time today sharing my views on why I believe that’s so important.”

That introduction would have changed the entire tenor of his talk. By articulating common ground from the start (“None of us in this room want that poor man or woman to starve to death.”), he would have let the students know that they share a similar hope, even if their solutions might differ.

Instead, he forgot to align his views to those of the audience. And because his views seemed so shocking to the students and challenged their belief systems too much, they shut down and closed him out before he had even begun.

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During the worst of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill in 2010, British Petroleum CEO Tony Hayward thought it would be a good idea to place the awful spill into a larger context.

Sure, the spill was bad—but was it really that bad? Hayward didn’t seem to think so, saying:

“The Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume.”

Hayward may have been technically right. But the fact that he sought to downplay the horrific effects of the worst marine oil spill in history was rightly criticized and widely mocked.

Many companies, nonprofits, and government agencies occasionally encounter similar situations—no, not oil spills, but moments when they think it might be a good idea to place a specific fact into a larger context. For example:

A hospital spokesperson might be tempted to say: “This woman’s death was extremely unusual. We’ve performed more than 14,000 of these types of surgeries, and this is the first time a patient ever died from it.”

A spokesperson from a government agency might be tempted to say: “Although there was massive fraud involved in this case, we’d like to point out that every other project we’ve completed this year has come in under budget.”

A spokesperson from a trucking company might be tempted to say: “This is the first time in our 42-year history that one of our drivers has ever caused a death while intoxicated. We have had 8,200 drivers in that time, almost all of whom have done their jobs responsibly.

But those statements all sound defensive. And there’s one thing missing from all of them: An acknowledgement that even one massive oil spill, case of fraud, or death, is one too many. See how different the above statements read simply by adding that sentiment. As an example:

“We’ve performed more than 14,000 of these types of surgeries, and this is the first time a patient ever died from it. But that gives none of even the slightest bit of comfort. One death is one too many—and we are going to do everything possible to prevent this from ever happening again.” 

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On March 25, 1977, disgraced ex-president Richard Nixon sat down for his second interview with English journalist David Frost.

As captured in the excellent 2008 film Frost/Nixon, Nixon wanted to control the interview and avoid the thorniest questions. Since the interviews were time-limited, Nixon calculated that he could run out the clock by telling longwinded and barely relevant stories.

The producer of the televised interviews, John Birt, noticed Nixon’s strategy in the first interview and wanted to prevent him from using it in the second.

He told Frost: 

“Far too soft, David. You have got to make him more uncomfortable tonight. You can start by sitting forward. You’ve got to attack more. If he starts tailing off, bang!, jump in with another question. Don’t trade generalizations. Be specific. And above all, don’t let him give these self-serving 23-minute homilies.”

Although Frost ultimately won the exchange by preventing Nixon from going on another 23-minute monologue, there’s a lesson here for media spokespersons: sometimes, the filibuster works.

Imagine, for example, that you’ve been booked for a six-minute radio segment. You know that the host disagrees with your point-of-view, and his style is to ask adversarial questions that make the guest look bad. If you give slightly longer answers than is normally advisable, the host would be able to ask fewer questions—and you’d be able to share more of your views directly with the audience.

That’s not to say that you should attempt a Nixon-length answer. But if your answers are, say one-minute each instead of 40-seconds each, the host would theoretically be able to ask two fewer questions.

The host may try to jump in and interrupt you. You might allow the occasional interruption (if you try to override him too much, the audience may resent it). But you can also stand your ground and assert yourself by saying something such as:

“You asked a fair question, so please give me a moment to answer it.”

“I’m answering your question, but need a few seconds to give some background your listeners will find useful.”

“I really think this is important and hope you’ll give me just a moment to share my response.”

As with any other technique, be judicious with this approach. View it not as your new media modus operandi, but as a useful tool you can deploy at strategic (and probably rare) moments.

Finally, keep your audience in mind. Too much of a good technique can undermine your entire interview—so make sure your longer answers are packed with value for the audience.  

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I recently came across an article offering “15 Tips for Media Training Success” by Arthur Solomon, a PR pro with more than three decades of experience. His list is chock full of solid advice, including:

2. Keep in mind that the great majority of reporters are cordial people who are not out to harm you. They just want to get a story that will satisfy their editors and go home to their family.

7. Just because a reporter puts away a notebook or turns off a tape recorder doesn’t mean the interview is over and you can say anything without it being used.

15. And most important, never lie to a reporter.

But I disagree with one piece of advice he dispensed, and wanted to explore that point further here.

Should you ever say something negative about your competition?

In his point number ten, Mr. Solomon wrote:

10. Never say anything negative about an individual or company.

I suspect I know what he’s saying. If you say something negative about an individual or a company, you can be almost guaranteed that the reporter will use that quote, drowning out everything else you said in your interview.

But what if you want the reporter to say something negative about a company or individual? For example, consider the story I wrote recently about a woman who wanted the company that owned a neighboring property to cut down a dangerous tree. By mentioning the company’s name, she introduced conflict into the story; since conflict is catnip for reporters, the story got coverage.

Or consider Slacker Radio, a small Internet radio company that knocks Pandora Radio, a much larger competitor, in its ads? Or the search engine Bing, which names Google in its commercials? Or Samsung’s epic ads that mock iPhone users (below)?

Or, more famously, let’s say you’re the number two soft drink brand hoping to siphon some sales from the number one soft drink brand. Pepsi has used the “Pepsi Challenge” for a brilliant series of ads since the 1970s—and it wouldn’t have worked if Pepsi didn’t show Coke’s brand in the ad. (Readers of a certain age will enjoy seeing Welcome Back, Kotter’s Gabe Kaplan in the ad below.)

I would modify Mr. Solomon’s advice slightly: Never say anything negative about an individual or company unless doing so is pre-planned, deliberate, and consistent with your communications strategy.

What do you think? Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below.

Imagine that you work for a small nonprofit organization dedicated to helping women who have been the victims of domestic abuse in your community.

As much as you’d like to help everyone affected by domestic abuse, your organization runs on a tight budget and has a specific mission to offer support services only to women and girls who live within the city limits. So when an abused 14-year-old boy who lives just blocks outside of your city’s borders approaches your group for help, you have to turn him away.

Naturally, you offer him a referral for other groups that may be able to help him. You may even offer to make calls on his behalf. But when the boy shares his grueling story to a reporter and claims you refused to help him, your organization is suddenly cast as the most unpopular group in town.

I’ve worked with many groups in a similar situation—and their instinct far too often is to offer an answer heavy on facts but light on humanity. In this situation, a typical spokesperson might say:

“Since the Sunshine Society is a women’s-only facility, we’re unfortunately unable to offer help to men. We offered to help this young man by connecting him with another group that works with men, and we are still willing to do everything we can to help him.”

But that statement is a bit cold and lacks the humanity many of us would hope for from an organization approached by an abused child. When I work with clients facing similar situations, I coach them to bring their humanity to the forefront and say something more like this:

“It breaks my heart that we’re not equipped to bring this young man into our facility. It’s moments like these that I wish we had a separate building in which we could house young men who need our services. But I have personally pledged to do everything I can to help him, and I sincerely hope he’ll take me up on that offer. To begin, I’d like the opportunity to personally accompany him to an appointment with a boy’s facility that has the capacity to give him the help he needs and deserves.”

The public tends to understand sensible policies—but they don’t forgive organizations that respond coolly to people in need. As an example of a cold response that lacked humanity, watch this interview featuring Nancy Brinker, the co-founder of Susan G. Komen for the Cure. (Click here if you need a refresher on the Komen crisis before watching.)

 Is your executive team long overdue for a media training session? Please contact us to learn more about our customized media training workshops.

Let’s say you’re a hedge fund manager.

You know that many people in the public—even though they don’t fully understand what hedge funds are—hate your work. Some blame you for the financial collapse of 2008. A few even regard you as immoral.

So when you’re interviewed by reporters who ask you about the unpopularity of hedge funds, your inclination is to defend what you do for a living and aggressively rebut their charges.

It’s a natural instinct—but it’s also a mistake.

Too often, spokespersons defend themselves by saying something such as:

“Hedge funds weren’t the main cause of the financial collapse in 2008—many other factors were much more responsible. It’s important to remember that hedge funds are an important financial instrument that….”

But that’s a bad idea. Why? Because it’s much easier to defend yourself than to change the public’s perception of an entire industry they view as corrupt. Instead, you’d be much better served by aligning your answer to the existing concerns of the public:

“You know, there were a few bad hedge funds out there, and they gave all of us doing honest work a bad name. Their misbehavior infuriates me, because I’ve spent my entire career trying to do things the right way. I understand why people are upset about some of the bad apples in my industry—I am too.” 

In the first answer, do you really think the spokesperson changed many minds? Do you think the public is likely to suddenly view that spokesperson as a “good guy” who “gets it?” Probably not. But they might if the spokesperson uses the second answer.

To be clear, there are legitimate times when you may choose to defend against unfair stereotypes about your industry. But that’s usually a longer-term proposition that could compromise the public’s view of your company, at least in the near-term. So ask yourself if defending your work is the smartest communications strategy—or whether you should let some other company take those hits for you instead.

Click here to read free sample chapters from my new book, The Media Training Bible: 101 Things You Absolutely, Positively Need to Know Before Your Next Interview.

Very little in life can be predicted or guaranteed with certainty.

So when a reporter asks you if you can guarantee that something will happen “every time” or “never again,” you may have a tough time answering the question without offering some sort of caveat, such as “Well, there are no guarantees in life, but….”

The problem, of course, is that your hedged answer will be used against you.

Let’s say you’re a spokesperson for a local hospital. You’re asked, “Yes or no, do your patients ever complain about your hospital’s nursing shortage?” You answer by saying:

“Yes, our patients occasionally tell us that they wish we had more nurses on duty, but most of our patients are very happy.”

 But as a result of saying “yes,” the news story may read:

“Spokesman Bob Smith admitted that patients have been complaining about the hospital’s lack of nurses.”

 In my new book, I offer the following suggestion for answering that question:

“Despite the nursing shortage in the region, our patients are overwhelmingly happy with the service they receive from our nurses. In fact, one survey found that our nursing staff has a higher satisfaction rate than any other hospital in the region.”

But in this post, I want to go one step beyond that.

Some spokespersons—particularly deft ones who are able to deliver an “edgy” response without looking petty or defiant—can offer an even more direct response, such as:

“I’m not going to talk about ‘ever,’ or ‘any,’ or ‘none.’ I’m going to talk about what we’re hearing from most of our patients.”

Or:

“Patients tell us a lot of things, and our job is to listen to them carefully and constantly improve our services. But let me tell you what I hear from the vast majority of our patients.”

Or:

“That question strikes me as a bit sensational. I’d going to focus my reply on what we hear from the vast majority of our patients.”

Before offering one of these types of replies to a reporter, let me offer a few words from my own experience. Many spokespersons want to answer questions this way, but few can do so without sounding like a bit of a jerk.

So before you debut one of these types of responses, ask someone in your office to videotape a mock interview. Ask the truth-tellers in your life (not the office sycophants) to tell you how you’re coming across. If you still appear likeable despite your more aggressive answer, go for it.

And remember: A little goes a long way. You probably don’t want to end up looking like this guy.

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