As the Gordon-Ramsay-sacks-his-father-in-law story continues at a racing boil, I find myself descending into deepening despair.

Since Gordon published his impetuously-written letter to his mother-in-law, Greta Hutcheson, stories have emerged claiming that he also sacked his wife’s brother (Adam Hutcheson) and nephew (Christopher Hutcheson); that his father-in-law (Chris Hutcheson) has threatened to take Ramsay to an industrial tribunal for unfair dismissal; and that father-in-law Chris has snatched Petrus from the Ramsay empire.

And, inevitably, we’ve been reminded of Gordon’s past demeanours, not only by a default jogging of our memories as is typical in a crisis.

And what has Gordon said to bring an end to this farcical family feud? Nothing, given that the statement “A spokesman for Ramsay declined to comment.” doesn’t add up to a row of cooked-to-perfection beans.

Why do people think that silence is the way to deal with a crisis?

If they see it as “dignified”, they forget that journalists need words and if you don’t provide them, someone else will – with no thought for your dignity.

If they think it will stop the story from racing away, they forget that silence allows the media to speculate, and speculate they will – giving legs not only to this story but also to those from the past.

If they think it will reduce legal or insurance risks, they forget that silence affects their reputation for the long-term – the cost of which is far greater than that of short-term compensation bills.

When people say the right things in a crisis, it builds confidence, trust and support. And that will almost certainly mean their businesses will emerge with their reputations enhanced.

The trouble with Gordon is that he seems to crave attention. If he needs to make headlines, perhaps it doesn’t matter what those headlines are as long as they keep him in the spotlight. Perhaps he doesn’t mind if his restaurant business (or anything else – his marriage?) goes bust as he’ll be in the news again.

When a business is run by a talented (and chef Ramsay is undoubtedly talented) maverick, predicting the crises that might arise is virtually impossible. But, even if his crisis management plan is full of holes, it doesn’t mean silence is the only option. If he isn’t up to speaking direct to the media (he might be in emotional turmoil, struggling to keep himself and his family together), surely someone in his extensive coterie could muster something better than the unforgivable “no comment”?

Being able to draw together a few, short, circumspect words is often all that is needed to turn a crisis round. And, being Gordon, he might even get away with using his favourite f-word – as in “I’m sorry, I really f****d up”.

The response from the Metropolitan police to the anti-Conservative Party student riots in London yesterday raises some interesting issues.

The commissioner, Sir Paul Stephenson, made a statement on television last night  in which he apologised for the Met’s inadequate response to the rioters, pledged to find out what went wrong and promised to do everything possible to make sure it didn’t happen again. His tone, demeanour and words were exactly right. Top marks.

Today not only has the government criticised the Met for its failure to expect the unexpected but the Met has also let itself down. Its website does not include the commissioner’s comments.

Instead, it carries a short, sharp, shock of a statement more or less absolving itself of responsibility because they had been given duff gen. It was going to be peaceful, they had been told by the organisers, so they took a minimalist approach. [http://ow.ly/38qZ4]  They have also added an even shorter statement about the 50 arrests made as a result. [http://ow.ly/38rKP]

And that’s it.

So, is it conciliatory or bullish? Has it apologised or passed the buck? Is it only interested in arrests and self-serving back-covering – or in improving its service?

During a crisis, press officers will be under huge pressure. The volume of calls will be overwhelming; time will slip through fingers. Everyone will run on empty – or biscuits that result in short bursts of energy (which might make them feel invincible) followed by long slumps of exhaustion (when the easiest task will be too much hard work).

But someone, whether wired or tired, needs to be responsible for keeping up the flow of information and for ensuring it reflects the business’s position.

When a chief exec speaks direct to camera or on radio, rather than on paper with words in quotation marks, producing a transcript or putting the video or recording on the website is an essential task. Otherwise its absence will speak louder than words.

The real tragedy of this crisis is that it’s a repeat. The Pope’s in town and he’s just given what even the media has described as a profound apology – for the child sex abuse scandal that has rocked the Catholic church.

“I express my deep sorrow to the innocent victims of these unspeakable crimes,” he said, adding: “I also acknowledge the shame and humiliation that all of us have felt”.

“It’s his most profound apology in public; he’s truly contrite,” was how one of his stooges put it. “Profound and touching,” said a media commentator.

But it’s not enough.

As I said in my blog in April, while an apology is essential, it must be accompanied by a pledge to do something to right the wrong and that pledge must then be fulfilled. If your crisis also drags up other concerns – in this case, the Catholic church’s struggle with homosexuality, gay rights, safe sex, contraception and abortion – even a profound apology sounds circumspect rather than genuine.

When you’ve said the same thing before – as did the Pope in April, though not in such profound terms – it’s not even circumspect. It’s hollow.

The Catholic church may well need to reiterate its apology many more times for many years to come but it also has to commit itself to decisive action, not just repeated words, if it is to overcome its heavily tarnished reputation.

Why is it that some people find it so hard to say sorry? There are three issues raging away as I write this: the Pope’s visit to England; the trapped Chilean miners; and the computer cock up over at Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs (HMRC). All of them involve, to some degree, the all too frequent failure of people or organisations to say sorry. I’ll deal with the first two in separate posts. This is about the English tax man giving us another reason to treat him as a hate figure.

It was, in fact, all the computer’s fault. The massively expensive computer system that calculates our tax liabilities – and which everyone but the ministers and civil servants who run the computer contract believed would go wrong – did go wrong. Lots of people have not paid enough tax. Quite a lot of people paid too much. HMRC announced the fact, and details of how it would rectify the problem, without expressing any sympathy for the people who will have to stump up their unexpected shortfalls.

In the middle of a deep recession, and with the government emphasising at every opportunity that we have to be prepared for deep cuts, the common sense response from the vast majority of tax payers was a metaphorical shrug. They saw a structural problem (a useless computer system) was the cause, realised that if they’d been on the winning side they’d have wanted their refunds so, from the losing side, understood they’d have to do their bit. At least HMRC would take the money in stages, easing the pain.

But a simple “sorry” was missing. And that gave the media a chance to whip up a story of outrage.

This is how it goes – time after time after time. If you make a mistake, not saying sorry gives your opponents a chance to niggle away having spotted a weakness. Your reputation comes under attack and, guess what … you end up saying sorry – for even more mistakes. Just as HMRC did this week:

“I know how to apologise, I’ve had to do it before. I did not do it then and I am sorry for that,” said Dave Hartnett, head of HMRC. Well, it’s a sort of apology, in a roundabout way, and hardly the fulsome, hands-up surrender we all wanted.

If you want to emerge from a crisis with your reputation enhanced, rather than in tatters, say sorry – and say it at the start. As I said in an earlier post, an apology is not necessarily an admission of guilt. Saying “sorry it happened” is not the same as saying “sorry, I did it”. In the case of HMRC, it was guilty – and still it didn’t say sorry. And we now hate the tax man even more.

When does poor customer service turn into a crisis?

I had wanted to eat in a near-local tapas bar for years. But, in the way that we eat out these days – round the corner or miles away – it was just that little bit far from on my doorstep but not distant enough to make a special journey. Going with a friend, I’ll call her Sarah, gave me the impetus I needed –  her flat is half way there so the extra journey was a shortish walk.

It was all going swimmingly. The menu was everything we hoped for; the prices were keen; Sarah didn’t want to drink much wine so, with half bottles on the menu, I could add a glass of chilled Manzanilla without feeling profligate. Ordering was a bit of a struggle as the non-English speaking (and non-Spanish speaking) waitress couldn’t answer questions – but she was charming and cheerful which added a bit of balance. And the atmosphere and decor couldn’t help but lift our spirits.

And then disaster struck. Twisted into a succulent piece of squid in its own ink was a long, dark hair. It wasn’t in my mouth but in Sarah’s. She struggled to pull it out, so entwined it was amidst the squid, and, naturally, was not keen to eat any more of it. She wondered whether to leave it or say something; I felt we should raise it – if only as neither of us now wanted to eat the rest of the squid and we’d both chosen it enthusiastically.

The waitress was confused about what to do so we nudged her into saying she’d ask the chef.  A chef duly came upstairs. You’d imagine he’d apologise, wouldn’t you. But no. His first comment was to say, robustly, that he couldn’t see how it could have happened as everyone in the kitchen has short hair and wears hats. Wrong answer. Wrong approach. Immediately, a simple customer service mistake risked becoming a crisis. Why? Because in a part of London where local gossip travels fast – several community websites bristle with bitterness – we could have posted a negative review which could have triggered others’ gripes and groans … one small local restaurant could lose a large number of local supporters: its core customers.

As a passionate-about-local-independent-restaurants-foodie I was determined not to cause trouble so suggested that, although I could see that the kitchen was vigilant (his hair was short, he was wearing a hat), perhaps the fault arose at the fishmonger or at any point along the supply chain. The chef remained implacable but, when he realised we were resolute, offered a free tapa and a new bowlful, much more generously filled, appeared.

Many people involved in managing a crisis confuse apologising with admitting liability. They are not the same. Where there is a fault, an accident or a failing, and whether the cause is a mystery or clear, a simple “I’m sorry it has happened” is what is needed. Until facts are known – and never speculate about them – no one needs to say “we did it, we are to blame, it’s our fault” or anything like that. But you should be sorry about it happening. Denying its possibility, when it has happened, makes you look churlish, at best, and devious and dodgy – or worse – at worst.

People tend to take apologies for granted, when they are granted. If what you are looking for, by apologising, is plaudits that boost your own ego you will be disappointed. It’s the other side of the coin you should worry about – being cavalier or insensitive, as that could destroy your reputation.

It is astonishing, isn’t it – that Tony Hayward should keep on being so extraordinarily gaffe-prone.

While I was taking part in the BBC World Service “World, Have Your Say” programme last Thursday, I suspected that he was receiving bad advice and following it, rather than being given good advice and not following it. Now I’m not so sure. If his advisers said it would be fine for him to spend a day publicising that he has a yacht (and quite a big yacht), they really are not up to the job. But not recognising they were giving him duff advice shows that Tony Hayward really does have bad judgement.

It is absolutely the case that you need a break when in the midst of a crisis. Clearing your head for a day makes for better decision-making the next – and a complete contrast is a very good thing. So is some exhilarating physical exercise, particularly if it gets the wind through your hair and takes you out of yourself, as well as the situation, for a bit. But, if your only wind-down sport is yachting, it’s the wrong image to portray even if you spend more time watching from the shore than on board.

I can’t at this moment think of any crisis where being associated with yachting will do anything other than harm. Its reputation is as a sport for the rich – conjuring up images of champagne, frivolity and designer shopping regardless of the length of your boat and the size of your crew. OK so he only went to the Isle of Wight but the relative lack of glamour there makes little difference (though if he had swooshed over to  Monte Carlo it would have been even worse). It still smacks of couldn’t care-lessness.

On the eve of Wimbledon, he should have steered clear of the sea and had a vigorous game of tennis.

Once you are on a downward spiral it’s impossible to turn round and go up. At least that’s how it is for poor, beleaguered BP.

Not only is its CEO, Tony Hayward, gaffe prone; so is its chairman, Carl-Henric Svanberg. Self-deprecating humour that isn’t understood in the US, is one thing. To refer to people affected by the oil gushing into the Gulf as “small people” is another. Of course we know what C-HS was trying to say: he meant ordinary citizens. It just didn’t come out right. But, with memories that go jogging back to Imelda Marcos calling her subjects “little people”, C-HS’s comment was more than an unfortunate slip of the tongue.

Meanwhile, blowing my own trumpet a bit, I got a call out of the blue on Wednesday – from the BBC World Service “World, Have Your Say” programme. They had seen this blog and read that I felt sorry for Tony Hayward. Would I be prepared to go on Thursday’s programme and talk for about 20 minutes? No! was my instant response. And that was no way to manage my own mini-crisis. Fortunately (for me) they persuaded me (a little flattery helped, I’m sad to admit) and suddenly I had to put into practice everything I preach. Starting with preparation, preparation, preparation.

I have a persuasive anecdote which I use in crisis media management training courses so I’ll save that for then. This example isn’t second hand.

You can’t do enough. Prepping takes hours. I’d been up late thinking about what I wanted to say and how I wanted to come across and was nowhere like ready. I spent the morning, thanks to a client changing our plans, honing points and fine-tuning back-up info to illustrate points. Thankfully, a colleague offered to cancel a meeting and, goodness, I needed that extra time. I chanted bits out loud, trying to set them in stone (or at least in grey matter). I typed notes in columns: points to make (far too many); what BP did wrong (a very long list); what BP did right (one thing); background info (yards). I edited. I added. I cut. I pasted back in. I researched some more. My palms became very sticky. I recited and recited as if I were going to appear on Broadway. I changed quickly (it was only radio but who might I bump into?) and I set off, collected by BBC taxi, intent on refining my three main points, my anecdotes, my extra bits – everything – on the way.

Stuck in no-moving traffic, a car next to ours had Radio 4 blaring a commentary on the cruel slaughtering of Tony Hayward by US journalists just before he faced the US Congress. Swotting notes became a lower priority; I listened to the latest – feeling even more sorry for this non-media-savvy guy.

I arrived just as the programme went on air – ie late. And I now have a second authoritative piece of advice to give. The first (irrelevant to me on radio) is: if you are appearing on a television programme and are offered make-up, accept. This is nothing to do with vanity; it is about recognising that the broadcaster knows its interviewees look better without shiny noses or peculiar complexions. And the second titbit is, if the programme asks if you’d like a taxi to pick you up, accept. Yes, in this era of austerity, publicly funded organisations need to cut back and I did feel guilty. But, as I found out, if you get stuck in traffic and arrive late, it helps if it’s not your fault. (And I took up the offer of a taxi home, too, and very glad I was as concentrating for an hour left me dazed and confused and I’m not sure I’d have made it to the tube.)

It was hard work but it was also a lot of fun. I was the only person in the studio; contributors spoke down the line from the US, India, Nigeria and the UK; opinion on the other side of the Atlantic is mostly poisonous – there is no hanging onto pride to bring a bit of balance; the newsreader slipped in and slipped out again like silk; I ran out of water and rather haughtily summoned some more – what a prima donna! – and I managed not only to keep my cool but also to say what I needed to say. More or less.

It feels a bit egotistical to say this but … you can catch the programme on BBC iPlayer for a week on one of these two links: http://ow.ly/1ZZu7 or
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p0082kxs/p0082l0f/World_Have_Your_Say_17_06_2010

How did I do?  My crisis to manage was to ensure, as far as I could, that I would be seen to do what I advise my clients to do. I stumbled over one question (I’d never castigate a client about that; it’s a human reaction); I said “um” a couple of times (but not, I think, to an irritating extent); and I missed a couple of chances to make other points (but this was a roving discussion where mixed views mattered). Did I prepare three main points? Yes. Did I put them across? Yes. Did I have anecdotes for each? Yes. Did I use them all? No but that’s typical. Did I vary my pace and my voice enough to engage the audience? That’s for you to decide. Let me know what you think – all comments welcome and I’d rather have brutal honesty than polite fudge.

Never ad lib. Not during a crisis. It’s a golden rule. Another is not to speak of personal feelings unless they relate to the people who have been affected by the disaster. If Tony Hayward’s comment “There’s no one who wants this thing over more than I do, I’d like my life back.” was in his script, he was either given bad advice, or he ignored good advice, or he spoke off the cuff. We may never know which – but my suspicion is that it was a spur of the moment comment. It missed the mark.

And he did it again. After making a very sensible statement in his first sentence: “It’s right that I should be the lightning rod because it allows everyone else to get on with their jobs.” he wrecked it by adding un-chosen words: ”I’ve got a pretty thick Kevlar jacket and I’m so far unscathed. No one has actually physically harmed me. They’ve thrown a few words at me, but I’m a Brit. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.”

As anyone who has ever been involved in crisis management knows, exhaustion and pressure take their toll. Adrenaline kicks in but it only serves to keep you going; it does not help maintain rational thought. That’s why businesses have crisis management plans: prepared in calm times, away from unusual pressures, measured, tempered, rounded – and to be followed. Of course, even the best plan will need to be adapted but, if it is well-crafted, it will convey the tone that should be maintained, reminding those under pressure not just of what they should say but also how to say it. Mid-crisis is not the time to deviate wildly; if your plan is sound, all that’s needed is a little adaptation.

As for expressing your feelings, the feelings that matter are those you have for the people who have been affected. If yours is a genuine response, it will be etched on your face. Likewise, if you are being disingenuous it will show. Remember Putin appearing after the Polish air crash? There was no doubting the sincerity of his feelings or the gravity with which he was taking his role. He didn’t quip about being dragged away from his everyday life – or brag about being so thick-skinned that it wouldn’t touch him.

It is incredibly easy to drop your guard when you are under relentless pressure. It is also easy to get ratty, curmudgeonly, annoyed at yet another barbed comment or sniping question. The temptation to wrap up questions, interviews or press conferences with neat one-liners or self-deprecating jokes, will be huge. Don’t. At the risk of repeating myself, repeat yourself by sticking rigidly to your script.

I feel sorry for Tony Hayward. His performance at his conference call with analysts showed him to be absolutely on top of his brief as CEO. He is, like all of us, prone to being human and dropping his guard was his failure. Now his future looks bleak and his present even bleaker. He will feel overwhelmed, shattered, worried, displaced, under attack and, probably, rather alone. If ever there was a time for him to to learn his lines, this is it.

Its share price has plummeted, shaking shareholder confidence still further and threatening the UK economy. And it has faced attack from foes in many guises: Greenpeace scaled one of its buildings, unfurling a flag proclaiming it as British Polluters; its Twitter account was hijacked (though the offending Tweet was removed after about 30 minutes); and the US president has promised a criminal prosecution if a criminal act has been committed.

And only now has it moved to take on a high-profile, ex-White House crisis communications expert to help it get some positive media coverage in the US. It also needs positive media coverage here.

The tragedy with the BP crisis is that it could have been so different. And that is the tragedy for every crisis when its management gets off to a bad start.

There are two unshakeable facts about crises. First, if a crisis is badly managed, the damage to the company’s reputation may far exceed the financial cost of the disaster. Secondly, businesses that communicate effectively during a crisis may win new credibility and higher levels of respect than they had before. So, yes, spending money on crisis management and crisis media management is essential – and it has to happen before any crisis starts.

I wonder if Tony Hayward has picked up the phone to the White House. He should have done – early on.  He should have been on Fourchon Beach, Louisiana, with the president, taking in the same view of the impending impact of the oil on the shore and pledging, to the world’s media as commanded by Obama, that BP would do all it could to stop the flow and rectify the damage. If he has been communicating with the White House and President Obama is refusing to say so, that is tough. Deciding whether to go public on this is a huge risk – but it is a risk worth taking. So, given that BP has not yet said it has spoken to the White House, we can only assume it hasn’t.

No wonder Obama has been able to run rings round BP. With a potential crisis on his hands, he took control – just as Tony Hayward should have done –dramatically emphasising how tarnished BP’s reputation now is and making it look slower, weaker, even more amateur.

The rules to follow to achieve good crisis management are very few, very simple – and very tried and tested. Companies that decide to do their own thing opt for self-destruction.

Having praised Fergie for her hands-up-I-did-it response when she’d been caught selling her ex-husband’s influence, I must now put her in the getting it wrong category. It is good crisis management to do as she did at the start. It is bad crisis management to follow it up with an unprepared meander through a self-obsessed stream of consciousness, if consciousness it was.

This is where preparation becomes the point. No one should ever submit themselves to a media interview unless they are as sure as it is possible to be that they will not end up in submission. And being sure only comes after diligent preparation including rehearsals. Hoping for a sympathetic response by exposing an inner vulnerability just doesn’t cut it – especially if your reputation is already shaky.

There may be times when business leaders have to put themselves in the spotlight – and sometimes they will need to do so very speedily. Being prepared means anticipating the worst well in advance so that when it happens you are ready. There is no point in relying on a quick run through answers to possible questions while you are in the back of a cab on the way to the studio. That is not preparation; it is risky recklessness.

If you have a crisis management plan, well done. But when did you last shake off the dust on it and check through it, making sure both that it is up to date and that you are up to speed? And if you haven’t got one … be prepared for the sort of counter-attack Fergie has had today – lambasted around the world in newspapers, on radio and television, on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube and surely not in only one blog …