Britain offers many delights: Coca-Cola made with cane sugar, tea with milk and sugar, Cadbury chocolate, fresh British ales on tap.
And, for those who are watching their calories (and even those, like me, who clearly aren’t), a lively and living press, a covey of magazines and newspapers that are sometimes in disagreement with each other, but always—even when I disagree myself—lovely to read.
For the past week, I have been reading in flawless British prose British journalism’s take on the magnitude of the financial disaster into which American bankers and politicians have launched the world. While here in the States, given our characteristic optimism, we are speaking of “recession,” on several occasions last week I heard British writers and politicians using the “D” word. British Prime Minster Gordon Brown’s closest economic advisor in fact said in a speech last week that “this is becoming the most serious global recession for, I’m sure, over 100 years. . . I think this is a financial crisis more extreme and more serious than that of the 1930s.”
You may remember that we called that crisis, the one less serious than this one we now enjoy, “The Great Depression.”
On the flight home, I read the cover article by Martin Jacques in the New Statesman, “The New Depression,” which suggests this is the greatest economic crisis in recent memory, and that it has only just begun.
Bloody hell, as our British friends might say.
So it was with some satisfaction, perhaps, that some of us watched the spectacle of British and American bankers perp-walked in front of Parliament and the US Congress, respectively, and taken to task for their part in this financial firestorm that is affecting people all over the world—including people I love. Barney Frank explained why they were all there: “There is a great deal of anger in the country, much of it justified, about past practices.”
So the bankers were there to dodge flying tomatoes, essentially, until they apologized for what they had done.
Their performance in that, was, to be truthful, disappointing. American bankers were, according to the American media, “contrite,” which is a big-vocabularied way of saying they sat silently and with their heads down.
British bankers, thanks to their greater command of our common tongue, perhaps, did a bit better. Two executives from the Royal Bank of Scotland (whatever happened to Scottish parsimony?) said this:
TOM MCKILLOP: There’s a profound and unqualified apology for all the distress that has been caused.FRED GOODWIN: Unreservedly sorry.
MCKILLOP: Full apology, unreserved apology.
GOODWIN: We are extremely sorry for the turn of events that’s brought it about.
It certainly sounds good, particularly in an age where nobody really apologizes for anything, although even this lacks some genuine remorse—the sense that they know that what they did was wrong, not just inconvenient for them and the world, not just financially disastrous, as any idiot can see now.
Here’s how—in my tradition, at least—contrition works.
You confess: What did you do? List it: “These are the things I did that I know were wrong.”
Express contrition: “I am truly sorry for doing this. It was wrong of me.” Not for getting caught. Not because they turned out not to work as they were expected to. Not because they’ve caused people difficulties.
Because it was wrong.
In my tradition the Book of Common Prayer leads us to confess both those things we ought not to have done (usually the easiest to list), but also those things we ought to have done but didn’t. Sins of omission are always easier for us to ignore (or even to be unaware of), but can be just as damaging.
Ask forgiveness of the injured party: “Please forgive me.” Not “I regret if anyone was offended by my behavior.” Not “I hope those affected by this will forgive me,” although that’s a bit better; still, their forgiveness is theirs to bestow, so don’t hope for it.
Amend your behavior: “I won’t do this again.” Not, “I’m sorry I did this, and hope you’ll forgive me the next time I do it as well.” This is not to say, of course, that people expect perfection. But my tradition uses the phrase “amendment of life” to reflect the idea that having hurt someone, you don’t want to do it again, and won’t if you can possibly help it.
An apology isn’t an apology if it doesn’t confess to actual wrongdoing. It’s not a confession if it doesn’t express sorrow or even shame for that wrongdoing. It’s not an apology if it doesn’t ask for forgiveness. And it’s not an apology if the person “apologizing” intends to go right back to that behavior—or something similar—as soon as the camera is turned off.
In spiritual terms—and even practical—the apology is the right thing to do when you have made a mistake. When President Obama named someone to the Cabinet he shouldn’t have, he actually took the blame, which I found impressive after eight years of the passive-voiced “Mistakes were made.”
By whom?
What were they?
But in regard to Tom Daschle, “I screwed up,” Obama said. (I like to think, by the way, that with hoop-loving Obama, this is probably a legacy from the basketball court, where “My bad” says volumes about your willingness to step up and acknowledge you were the one at fault. Those who can’t or don’t don’t deserve respect.)
PR consultant Kel Kelly isn’t thinking from a spiritual or ethical vantage point, as I am, but his advice in the Boston Globe ends up being very similar:
I offer the following low to no cost Web 2.0-based crisis PR advice to these deaf, dumb and blind bankers:
Assess: The first step in any crisis PR situation is to assess the issue and identify whether you are in fact responsible. That should take a nanosecond. Spending taxpayer money on Vegas boondoggles is a big, fat, hairy no-no.
Take responsibility: Now that we have established that your bailed-out banks are at fault, the next thing you should do is take responsibility . . . Here’s what I suggest. Go buy a Flip [video camera] for $100 and pay for it out of your own pocket. Have your CEO record a raw, unscripted apology to the American people. Vote script writing off the island and just open up and genuinely fall on your sword.
Identify changes and open channels of communication: The next step is to identify a list of things you will do to ensure it never happens again. Start with making a list of all the marketing events you canceled and the savings associated with those cancellations. Go a million steps further and tell Americans you plan to push for a bill that would make misusing taxpayers’ bailout money a felony. Put all this info on a Web 2.0-driven platform that will allow the American people to post comments.
It was wrong.
We’ll try never to let it happen again.
Now I’m not going on and on about remorse because I want bankers and fund managers abused or embarrassed—as if one could embarrass some of these jackasses.
But until I’m sure that they know that they’ve done something wrong, how can I be sure that any of them should be trusted with public funds–or with private?
But if someone could honestly say, “My bad,” at the very least I could walk back out on the court with these guys.
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