RUNNING THE RAPIDS
The Nantahala River was freezing – even though it was August. I yanked back my right hand, which had been greeted with such a harsh shock by the cold water.
And then the rapids started coming…one after the other. As I was seated in the front of the raft, I was the one who got smashed – every time – with the frigid water that hit me in the face and body like a ton of steel.
“Wait a minute…it’s August!” I kept thinking. But then I realized that I really shouldn’t have been surprised.
After all, I knew about the Nantahala Gorge. I had climbed it before (see July 22 blog entry). Actually, I had been climbing and hiking in this section of Great Smokey Mountains National Park for years. And I had run tougher rivers in the area…the French Broad (yes, it’s called the French Broad!), the Tuckeseegee (it’s called “The Tuck”).
And I had been warned by other whitewater devotees that the flow in the Nantahala was frigid even in summer – low forties – perhaps because much of it had been snowmelt, controlled by the engineers at the Fontana Dam a few miles upriver.
So why was I so shocked when I quickly pulled my hand from the frothy water, or when it smacked me right in the face? Because, I think, reality is often different than perception. To put it in PR terms, you can prepare for something…but that doesn’t mean you’re actually ready for it.
Those of you who know me well know that my two passions in life are my work and outdoor adventure. And that I often see parallels between the two.
My trip through the mostly-Class II and occasional-Class III rapids of the Nantahala Gorge (V is considered world-class) last week was full of such parallels.
For one thing, someone in a neighboring boat went over the side. He was a huge guy, who had flipped off his boat and had, somehow, managed to find his footing amidst the rushing waters and slippery rocks enough to make it to the riverbank. But now he was stranded there.
We had to stop and try to get him back to his boat, because it’s sort of an unwritten law on the river that you don’t leave someone behind. And that took a lot of coordination, a lot of arm-locking across the rapids, a lot of shouting over the roar of the water to people who were only a foot or two away, a lot of nimble feet to keep from getting trapped under the rocks at the bottom…and a lot of teamwork. Again, a PR parallel.
Finally, of course, we got the big guy back to his raft. And it occurred to me then, as we took off again, that, really, everything we were doing had to be done in the spirit of teamwork and cooperation. Each of us had to try to power our oars through the rough waters at the same cadence, with the same stroke (depth-wise) and with the same purpose.
But that wasn’t all. Each of us had our own individual functions, as well. As the guy in the front, I was a kind of “point man,” calling out what was ahead, looking for dead trees in the water, trying to point the craft in the right direction, etc. (and, of course, yelling back to the others, “Man, this water’s f_____’in freezing!!”). The people in the middle of the craft had their responsibilities, as well, along with the man in back, who knew the Nantahala Gorge – every curve and every downed tree and every boulder – like the back of his hand.
There was plenty more that I recognized, as well, as parallels with public relations. My arms should have been tired. But they weren’t. I should have been dehydrated, because the temperature that day was close to 100, and, when you’re running the rapids, there’s no time for a quick swig of water. But I wasn’t. I should have been mentally exhausted. But I wasn’t.
In fact, the feelings I had were just the opposite. I was elated. Energized. Empowered. Because I had done my job. Because I was in “The Zone”…where you don’t feel physical or emotional stress because you know, at that moment, you’re at the top of your game, and nothing can stop you. Because I was part of a team. And because – individually as well as cooperatively – I had taken on a challenge and triumphed.
And those are the same types of feelings that I get from my profession. (In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m actually in The Zone right now…just today, I had one of my clients interviewed by both the CBS and ABC affiliates here in Greater Miami/Fort Lauderdale. And I feel energized as hell from that!)
My trip down the Nantahala Gorge helped me realize (again) something that I’m fortunate enough to feel so many times in the PR profession - that there is incredible joy in work well-done.
My whitewater rafting-PR parallels, in a nutshell:
* Our profession – particularly these days – often feels like we’re running the
rapids.
* Teamwork and cooperation are more essential than ever.
* Just because we’re assigned one specific duty that no one else may be doing,
that doesn’t mean that we’re not part of “The Team.”
* Know your role…as an individual and as a team-member.
* When you’re in “The Zone”…nothing else matters. Just go with it. And enjoy the
hell out of it.
* Keep a sharp eye out for unexpected obstacles. And that goes double when things
are going smoothly.
* Be aware that things aren’t always what they seem.
* Recognize that being “prepared” for something does not always mean that you’re
actually ready for it.
* Even while you’re handling one challenge, always keep an eye out for the next one.
And, lastly, watch out for that “frigid water”…even in summer!
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
(954) 575-4089
steve@winstoncommunications.com
www.winstoncommunications.com
Showing posts with label ethical PR. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ethical PR. Show all posts
Friday, August 21, 2009
RUNNING THE RAPIDS
RUNNING THE RAPIDS
The Nantahala River was freezing – even though it was August. I yanked back my right hand, which had been greeted with such a harsh shock by the cold water.
And then the rapids started coming…one after the other. As I was seated in the front of the raft, I was the one who got smashed – every time – with the frigid water that hit me in the face and body like a ton of steel.
“Wait a minute…it’s August!” I kept thinking. But then I realized that I really shouldn’t have been surprised.
After all, I knew about the Nantahala Gorge. I had climbed it before (see July 22 blog entry). Actually, I had been climbing and hiking in this section of Great Smokey Mountains National Park for years. And I had run tougher rivers in the area…the French Broad (yes, it’s called the French Broad!), the Tuckeseegee (it’s called “The Tuck”).
And I had been warned by other whitewater devotees that the flow in the Nantahala was frigid even in summer – low forties – perhaps because much of it had been snowmelt, controlled by the engineers at the Fontana Dam a few miles upriver.
So why was I so shocked when I quickly pulled my hand from the frothy water, or when it smacked me right in the face? Because, I think, reality is often different than perception. To put it in PR terms, you can prepare for something…but that doesn’t mean you’re actually ready for it.
Those of you who know me well know that my two passions in life are my work and outdoor adventure. And that I often see parallels between the two.
My trip through the mostly-Class II and occasional-Class III rapids of the Nantahala Gorge (V is considered world-class) last week was full of such parallels.
For one thing, someone in a neighboring boat went over the side. He was a huge guy, who had flipped off his boat and had, somehow, managed to find his footing amidst the rushing waters and slippery rocks enough to make it to the riverbank. But now he was stranded there.
We had to stop and try to get him back to his boat, because it’s sort of an unwritten law on the river that you don’t leave someone behind. And that took a lot of coordination, a lot of arm-locking across the rapids, a lot of shouting over the roar of the water to people who were only a foot or two away, a lot of nimble feet to keep from getting trapped under the rocks at the bottom…and a lot of teamwork. Again, a PR parallel.
Finally, of course, we got the big guy back to his raft. And it occurred to me then, as we took off again, that, really, everything we were doing had to be done in the spirit of teamwork and cooperation. Each of us had to try to power our oars through the rough waters at the same cadence, with the same stroke (depth-wise) and with the same purpose.
But that wasn’t all. Each of us had our own individual functions, as well. As the guy in the front, I was a kind of “point man,” calling out what was ahead, looking for dead trees in the water, trying to point the craft in the right direction, etc. (and, of course, yelling back to the others, “Man, this water’s f_____’in freezing!!”). The people in the middle of the craft had their responsibilities, as well, along with the man in back, who knew the Nantahala – every curve and every downed tree and every boulder – like the back of his hand.
There was plenty more that I recognized, as well, as parallels with public relations. My arms should have been tired. But they weren’t. I should have been dehydrated, because the temperature that day was close to 100, and, when you’re running the rapids, there’s no time for a quick swig of water. But I wasn’t. I should have been mentally exhausted. But I wasn’t.
In fact, the feelings I had were just the opposite. I was elated. Energized. Empowered. Because I had done my job. Because I was in “The Zone”…where you don’t feel physical or emotional stress because you know, at that moment, you’re at the top of your game, and nothing can stop you. Because I was part of a team. And because – individually as well as cooperatively – I had taken on a challenge and triumphed.
And those are the same types of feelings that I get from my profession. (In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m actually in The Zone right now…just today, I had one of my clients interviewed by both the CBS and ABC affiliates here in Greater Miami/Fort Lauderdale. And I feel energized as hell from that!)
My trip down the Nantahala Gorge helped me realize (again) something that I’m fortunate enough to feel so many times in the PR profession - that there is incredible joy in work well-done.
My whitewater rafting-PR parallels, in a nutshell:
* Our profession – particularly these days – often feels like we’re running the
rapids.
* Teamwork and cooperation are more essential than ever.
* Just because we’re assigned one specific duty that no one else may be doing,
that doesn’t mean that we’re not part of “The Team.”
* Know your role…as an individual and as a team-member.
* When you’re in “The Zone”…nothing else matters. Just go with it. And enjoy the
hell out of it.
* Keep a sharp eye out for unexpected obstacles. And that goes double when things
are going smoothly.
* Be aware that things aren’t always what they seem.
* Recognize that being “prepared” for something does not always mean that you’re
actually ready for it.
* Even while you’re handling one challenge, always keep an eye out for the next one.
And, lastly, watch out for that “frigid water”…even in summer!
The Nantahala River was freezing – even though it was August. I yanked back my right hand, which had been greeted with such a harsh shock by the cold water.
And then the rapids started coming…one after the other. As I was seated in the front of the raft, I was the one who got smashed – every time – with the frigid water that hit me in the face and body like a ton of steel.
“Wait a minute…it’s August!” I kept thinking. But then I realized that I really shouldn’t have been surprised.
After all, I knew about the Nantahala Gorge. I had climbed it before (see July 22 blog entry). Actually, I had been climbing and hiking in this section of Great Smokey Mountains National Park for years. And I had run tougher rivers in the area…the French Broad (yes, it’s called the French Broad!), the Tuckeseegee (it’s called “The Tuck”).
And I had been warned by other whitewater devotees that the flow in the Nantahala was frigid even in summer – low forties – perhaps because much of it had been snowmelt, controlled by the engineers at the Fontana Dam a few miles upriver.
So why was I so shocked when I quickly pulled my hand from the frothy water, or when it smacked me right in the face? Because, I think, reality is often different than perception. To put it in PR terms, you can prepare for something…but that doesn’t mean you’re actually ready for it.
Those of you who know me well know that my two passions in life are my work and outdoor adventure. And that I often see parallels between the two.
My trip through the mostly-Class II and occasional-Class III rapids of the Nantahala Gorge (V is considered world-class) last week was full of such parallels.
For one thing, someone in a neighboring boat went over the side. He was a huge guy, who had flipped off his boat and had, somehow, managed to find his footing amidst the rushing waters and slippery rocks enough to make it to the riverbank. But now he was stranded there.
We had to stop and try to get him back to his boat, because it’s sort of an unwritten law on the river that you don’t leave someone behind. And that took a lot of coordination, a lot of arm-locking across the rapids, a lot of shouting over the roar of the water to people who were only a foot or two away, a lot of nimble feet to keep from getting trapped under the rocks at the bottom…and a lot of teamwork. Again, a PR parallel.
Finally, of course, we got the big guy back to his raft. And it occurred to me then, as we took off again, that, really, everything we were doing had to be done in the spirit of teamwork and cooperation. Each of us had to try to power our oars through the rough waters at the same cadence, with the same stroke (depth-wise) and with the same purpose.
But that wasn’t all. Each of us had our own individual functions, as well. As the guy in the front, I was a kind of “point man,” calling out what was ahead, looking for dead trees in the water, trying to point the craft in the right direction, etc. (and, of course, yelling back to the others, “Man, this water’s f_____’in freezing!!”). The people in the middle of the craft had their responsibilities, as well, along with the man in back, who knew the Nantahala – every curve and every downed tree and every boulder – like the back of his hand.
There was plenty more that I recognized, as well, as parallels with public relations. My arms should have been tired. But they weren’t. I should have been dehydrated, because the temperature that day was close to 100, and, when you’re running the rapids, there’s no time for a quick swig of water. But I wasn’t. I should have been mentally exhausted. But I wasn’t.
In fact, the feelings I had were just the opposite. I was elated. Energized. Empowered. Because I had done my job. Because I was in “The Zone”…where you don’t feel physical or emotional stress because you know, at that moment, you’re at the top of your game, and nothing can stop you. Because I was part of a team. And because – individually as well as cooperatively – I had taken on a challenge and triumphed.
And those are the same types of feelings that I get from my profession. (In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m actually in The Zone right now…just today, I had one of my clients interviewed by both the CBS and ABC affiliates here in Greater Miami/Fort Lauderdale. And I feel energized as hell from that!)
My trip down the Nantahala Gorge helped me realize (again) something that I’m fortunate enough to feel so many times in the PR profession - that there is incredible joy in work well-done.
My whitewater rafting-PR parallels, in a nutshell:
* Our profession – particularly these days – often feels like we’re running the
rapids.
* Teamwork and cooperation are more essential than ever.
* Just because we’re assigned one specific duty that no one else may be doing,
that doesn’t mean that we’re not part of “The Team.”
* Know your role…as an individual and as a team-member.
* When you’re in “The Zone”…nothing else matters. Just go with it. And enjoy the
hell out of it.
* Keep a sharp eye out for unexpected obstacles. And that goes double when things
are going smoothly.
* Be aware that things aren’t always what they seem.
* Recognize that being “prepared” for something does not always mean that you’re
actually ready for it.
* Even while you’re handling one challenge, always keep an eye out for the next one.
And, lastly, watch out for that “frigid water”…even in summer!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
CRISIS MANAGEMENT 101: HANGING FROM A CLIFF
CRISIS MANAGEMENT 101: HANGING FROM A CLIFF
I was hanging from a cliff at 4,000 feet, in the Nantahala Gorge in the Great Smoky Mountains. I realized that my life would be over as soon as my arms weakened. And I realized I never should have ignored my gut feelings.
All morning long, I had been fighting those feelings. I knew the climb would be hard. For one thing, it was nearly winter in the Smokies…and I knew there would probably not be anyone else in the Gorge. For another, the past hurricane season had deluged western North Carolina, and climbing conditions were horrible…thick muck everywhere, and soaking-wet rock.
But I guess I had a sense of confidence, despite the elements. I had been climbing my entire adult life; I had climbed in the Alps, and I had climbed in the Rockies often. I had even climbed before in these same Smokies. And the only accident I’d ever had was at 13,000 feet in Colorado, when my partner and I slipped on wet ground and I went flying into a boulder. I had a pretty nice gash on my leg; but we were able to staunch the bleeding with a tourniquet, and I made it down without incident.
So, despite those nagging feelings, I began my ascent. About an hour into the climb, I came upon a climber’s worst nightmare – a small brook running downhill, which could be forded only by crossing wet rocks covered with algae. I forded the brook. But, all the way up after that, I kept thinking that I’d have to cross that brook again on my descent.
But I succeeded in making my objective, an alpine hut near the top where other climbers had signed their names in a tattered journal. I gave myself a nickname – common practice in the climbing community – and signed it, and then started back down.
After one hour, it was raining so hard I could barely see. After another hour, my boots were sinking into the muck with each step. And after a third hour, I could no longer make out the landmarks by which I had marked my trail on the way up.
Then I came to that brook.
Experienced climbers will tell you that the descent is often more dangerous than the ascent. For one thing, you’ve already (hopefully) achieved the “high” of reaching your objective. For another, your muscles are tired by then. And, for a third, your concentration – which has already been very tightly focused for some hours - can sometimes tend to wander.
I’ve let that happen to me occasionally in the past. But not this time. I was extremely careful. I used my poles to poke for stable spots. I didn’t put any weight on my lead foot until I was sure that the ground would not give.
I got about halfway across, trying to balance on a rock while I figured out my next step. But I never got to take it.
All of a sudden, up was down and down was up; the world was rotating violently around me. I felt things bang against my head, and against my ribs. I had no control over my body. I felt my heard jerk wildly.
A few seconds later, I was hanging on to a ledge for dear life.
I slowed my breathing down, so I could take stock of the situation.
The first thing I tried to determine was whether I had broken anything, or if I was bleeding…not easy to do when you’re holding on to the muddy side of a cliff. As far as I could tell, I hadn’t broken anything, although there was blood dripping from my face.
The next thing was to determine where the hell I was. I quickly saw that I had only fallen about 12-13 feet.
Then I did a quick check of my surroundings. I was flat against the side of the mountain, my fingers digging into the muck of the ledge. Below me was a fall of at least a couple of thousand feet, with huge trees sticking out of the side of the mountain at about 70-degree angles…any one of which would have killed me instantly on impact. I could not reach my cell phone, which was on one of my climbing belts, because I dared not take one arm off the ledge (and, at that altitude, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway).
I was almost eerily calm. I’m an experienced climber, I told myself. Just do what you always do as a climber: Break down your objective (thirteen feet above) into smaller steps.
Plan A was to call out loudly to see if there was anyone near me who could help. But, as mentioned earlier, it was nearly winter in the Smokies…and I, apparently, was the only one dumb enough to be out there.
Plan B was to push myself up with my legs. But each time I tried to wedge my boots into the mud, I slid down another inch or so.
Plan C was to pull myself up by the branches hanging in front of me. But each branch that I grabbed broke off.
Plan D was some serious praying. My backpack felt like it weighed a million pounds. My arms were getting really tired. And I then realized that I would be dead as soon as I lost my grip. I actually said goodbye to my daughters, Jessica and Alyssa.
And then, something occurred to me. Perhaps, if I (very gently) burrowed with one hand down into the mud in front of my face, I could find some tree roots to help lift myself up. I knew tree roots wouldn’t break; they had been there for thousands of years.
Very slowly, I removed my left hand (my weaker one) from the ledge, and began burrowing into the mud. I remember feeling a root below. I remember wrapping my gloves around it. I remember using it to propel myself up, maybe 8-10 inches. And I remember saying to myself, “OK, Stephen, that’s the first one. You’ve got about twelve more feet to go.”
Next thing I knew – although I can’t remember how – I was standing on the spot where I had fallen from (thankfully, on the “down-side” of the brook).
An hour later, I was down at the ranger station, where they stopped the bleeding on my face and told me that I had some cracked ribs.
What had I learned from the experience? Well, from a climbing perspective, never to climb in poor conditions without a partner.
A month or so later, though, back in the warmth of South Florida, I began to realize that I had also learned some lessons that could be incorporated into PR crisis-management:
1) IF YOUR GUT IS TRYING TO TELL YOU THAT SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT – LISTEN TO IT!
2) MAKE SURE YOU ALWAYS HAVE A BACK-UP PLAN.
3) REHEARSE YOUR BACK-UP PLAN IN ADVANCE, TO ENSURE THAT IT WILL WORK WHEN YOU NEED IT TO.
4) STAY CALM DURING A CRISIS. IF YOU STAY CALM, YOUR EMPLOYEES AND/OR CLIENTS WILL.
5) MAKE SURE YOU’RE FULLY AWARE OF ALL YOUR OPTIONS.
6) BREAK DOWN YOUR LARGER OBJECTIVES INTO SMALLER TACTICS.
7) NEVER BELIEVE THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY OUT OF A PROBLEM.
8) TRAIN. TRAIN. TRAIN. PREPARATION IS ESSENTIAL WHEN A CRISIS DOES CROP UP.
9) QUITE OFTEN – IF YOU TAKE THE TROUBLE TO LOOK – YOU CAN SEE A POTENTIAL CRISIS BEFORE IT ACTUALLY COMES UP.
10) ALWAYS SEE THE BIG PICTURE.
11) NEVER GIVE UP!
You may not be a mountain-climber. But if you do these things, you’ll never find yourself hanging from a cliff in your PR practice!
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
(954) 575-4089
steve@winstoncommunications.com
www.winstoncommunications.com
I was hanging from a cliff at 4,000 feet, in the Nantahala Gorge in the Great Smoky Mountains. I realized that my life would be over as soon as my arms weakened. And I realized I never should have ignored my gut feelings.
All morning long, I had been fighting those feelings. I knew the climb would be hard. For one thing, it was nearly winter in the Smokies…and I knew there would probably not be anyone else in the Gorge. For another, the past hurricane season had deluged western North Carolina, and climbing conditions were horrible…thick muck everywhere, and soaking-wet rock.
But I guess I had a sense of confidence, despite the elements. I had been climbing my entire adult life; I had climbed in the Alps, and I had climbed in the Rockies often. I had even climbed before in these same Smokies. And the only accident I’d ever had was at 13,000 feet in Colorado, when my partner and I slipped on wet ground and I went flying into a boulder. I had a pretty nice gash on my leg; but we were able to staunch the bleeding with a tourniquet, and I made it down without incident.
So, despite those nagging feelings, I began my ascent. About an hour into the climb, I came upon a climber’s worst nightmare – a small brook running downhill, which could be forded only by crossing wet rocks covered with algae. I forded the brook. But, all the way up after that, I kept thinking that I’d have to cross that brook again on my descent.
But I succeeded in making my objective, an alpine hut near the top where other climbers had signed their names in a tattered journal. I gave myself a nickname – common practice in the climbing community – and signed it, and then started back down.
After one hour, it was raining so hard I could barely see. After another hour, my boots were sinking into the muck with each step. And after a third hour, I could no longer make out the landmarks by which I had marked my trail on the way up.
Then I came to that brook.
Experienced climbers will tell you that the descent is often more dangerous than the ascent. For one thing, you’ve already (hopefully) achieved the “high” of reaching your objective. For another, your muscles are tired by then. And, for a third, your concentration – which has already been very tightly focused for some hours - can sometimes tend to wander.
I’ve let that happen to me occasionally in the past. But not this time. I was extremely careful. I used my poles to poke for stable spots. I didn’t put any weight on my lead foot until I was sure that the ground would not give.
I got about halfway across, trying to balance on a rock while I figured out my next step. But I never got to take it.
All of a sudden, up was down and down was up; the world was rotating violently around me. I felt things bang against my head, and against my ribs. I had no control over my body. I felt my heard jerk wildly.
A few seconds later, I was hanging on to a ledge for dear life.
I slowed my breathing down, so I could take stock of the situation.
The first thing I tried to determine was whether I had broken anything, or if I was bleeding…not easy to do when you’re holding on to the muddy side of a cliff. As far as I could tell, I hadn’t broken anything, although there was blood dripping from my face.
The next thing was to determine where the hell I was. I quickly saw that I had only fallen about 12-13 feet.
Then I did a quick check of my surroundings. I was flat against the side of the mountain, my fingers digging into the muck of the ledge. Below me was a fall of at least a couple of thousand feet, with huge trees sticking out of the side of the mountain at about 70-degree angles…any one of which would have killed me instantly on impact. I could not reach my cell phone, which was on one of my climbing belts, because I dared not take one arm off the ledge (and, at that altitude, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway).
I was almost eerily calm. I’m an experienced climber, I told myself. Just do what you always do as a climber: Break down your objective (thirteen feet above) into smaller steps.
Plan A was to call out loudly to see if there was anyone near me who could help. But, as mentioned earlier, it was nearly winter in the Smokies…and I, apparently, was the only one dumb enough to be out there.
Plan B was to push myself up with my legs. But each time I tried to wedge my boots into the mud, I slid down another inch or so.
Plan C was to pull myself up by the branches hanging in front of me. But each branch that I grabbed broke off.
Plan D was some serious praying. My backpack felt like it weighed a million pounds. My arms were getting really tired. And I then realized that I would be dead as soon as I lost my grip. I actually said goodbye to my daughters, Jessica and Alyssa.
And then, something occurred to me. Perhaps, if I (very gently) burrowed with one hand down into the mud in front of my face, I could find some tree roots to help lift myself up. I knew tree roots wouldn’t break; they had been there for thousands of years.
Very slowly, I removed my left hand (my weaker one) from the ledge, and began burrowing into the mud. I remember feeling a root below. I remember wrapping my gloves around it. I remember using it to propel myself up, maybe 8-10 inches. And I remember saying to myself, “OK, Stephen, that’s the first one. You’ve got about twelve more feet to go.”
Next thing I knew – although I can’t remember how – I was standing on the spot where I had fallen from (thankfully, on the “down-side” of the brook).
An hour later, I was down at the ranger station, where they stopped the bleeding on my face and told me that I had some cracked ribs.
What had I learned from the experience? Well, from a climbing perspective, never to climb in poor conditions without a partner.
A month or so later, though, back in the warmth of South Florida, I began to realize that I had also learned some lessons that could be incorporated into PR crisis-management:
1) IF YOUR GUT IS TRYING TO TELL YOU THAT SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT – LISTEN TO IT!
2) MAKE SURE YOU ALWAYS HAVE A BACK-UP PLAN.
3) REHEARSE YOUR BACK-UP PLAN IN ADVANCE, TO ENSURE THAT IT WILL WORK WHEN YOU NEED IT TO.
4) STAY CALM DURING A CRISIS. IF YOU STAY CALM, YOUR EMPLOYEES AND/OR CLIENTS WILL.
5) MAKE SURE YOU’RE FULLY AWARE OF ALL YOUR OPTIONS.
6) BREAK DOWN YOUR LARGER OBJECTIVES INTO SMALLER TACTICS.
7) NEVER BELIEVE THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY OUT OF A PROBLEM.
8) TRAIN. TRAIN. TRAIN. PREPARATION IS ESSENTIAL WHEN A CRISIS DOES CROP UP.
9) QUITE OFTEN – IF YOU TAKE THE TROUBLE TO LOOK – YOU CAN SEE A POTENTIAL CRISIS BEFORE IT ACTUALLY COMES UP.
10) ALWAYS SEE THE BIG PICTURE.
11) NEVER GIVE UP!
You may not be a mountain-climber. But if you do these things, you’ll never find yourself hanging from a cliff in your PR practice!
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
(954) 575-4089
steve@winstoncommunications.com
www.winstoncommunications.com
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
ETHICAL PR: LET'S LEAD BY EXAMPLE
When we become shills for clients whose business objectives don't go beyond glitz or hype, who wouldn't know a true Business Plan if they tripped over it, and whose horizons extend no further than their own greed, we become no better than them. And we become what real PR professionals spend their whole careers fighting against. We become the sleazy, old-fashioned "publicist"-type...who'll take anyone as a client, who'll do anything to "promote" that client, and who'll use any methodology to prove "results."
Like this type of client, we become interested only in short-term results, rather than long-term strategy. We become interested in the quick hit, rather than in building long-term momentum. And - because we often know, in our hearts, that this client may not be around forever - we become interested only in the quick buck.
Just as so many of the business and financial institutions we once trusted have betrayed our trust for a quick buck, it's sometimes tempting - particularly in a recession - to think about the shortest route to the money.
However, like the companies who've fallen victim to this philosophy over the past few years, our own firms may not be around for long, either, if we compromise our core values. As hundreds of companies around our country can testify, once you lose your reputation, it's awfully hard - or impossible - to reclaim it.
Our mantra, as public relations professionals, should be no different than those of corporations that utilize ethical business and marketing practices...
1) Determine your core values.
2) Make sure your people understand - and practice on a daily basis – your core values.
3) Educate your clients as to your core values.
4) Be willing to pass on a potential client who you believe does not share those values.
5) Be willing to walk away - yes, walk away - from an existing client who violates what you believe to be ethical core practices. (It's a lot cheaper in the long run, both for your finances and for your reputation.)
6) Hold on tightly to your moral compass. The business graveyard is filled with PR firms that didn’t.
7) DON'T JUST PREACH YOUR CORE VALUES...PRACTICE THEM! EVERY DAY!
This could be a golden opportunity for PR. Let's take the lead. Let's set an example for our clients with our own behavior, before we’re put in the uncomfortable position of having to publicly defend theirs.
I believe that, if we're going to be put in the position of defending corporate agendas…we should be helping to set them.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
(954) 575-4089
steve@winstoncommunications.com
www.winstoncommunications.com
Like this type of client, we become interested only in short-term results, rather than long-term strategy. We become interested in the quick hit, rather than in building long-term momentum. And - because we often know, in our hearts, that this client may not be around forever - we become interested only in the quick buck.
Just as so many of the business and financial institutions we once trusted have betrayed our trust for a quick buck, it's sometimes tempting - particularly in a recession - to think about the shortest route to the money.
However, like the companies who've fallen victim to this philosophy over the past few years, our own firms may not be around for long, either, if we compromise our core values. As hundreds of companies around our country can testify, once you lose your reputation, it's awfully hard - or impossible - to reclaim it.
Our mantra, as public relations professionals, should be no different than those of corporations that utilize ethical business and marketing practices...
1) Determine your core values.
2) Make sure your people understand - and practice on a daily basis – your core values.
3) Educate your clients as to your core values.
4) Be willing to pass on a potential client who you believe does not share those values.
5) Be willing to walk away - yes, walk away - from an existing client who violates what you believe to be ethical core practices. (It's a lot cheaper in the long run, both for your finances and for your reputation.)
6) Hold on tightly to your moral compass. The business graveyard is filled with PR firms that didn’t.
7) DON'T JUST PREACH YOUR CORE VALUES...PRACTICE THEM! EVERY DAY!
This could be a golden opportunity for PR. Let's take the lead. Let's set an example for our clients with our own behavior, before we’re put in the uncomfortable position of having to publicly defend theirs.
I believe that, if we're going to be put in the position of defending corporate agendas…we should be helping to set them.
Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
(954) 575-4089
steve@winstoncommunications.com
www.winstoncommunications.com
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