Because people buy into trust first, ideas second
Arguments presented logically won’t move someone emotionally. It’s not enough that what you say sounds right. It must also feel right to the other person. Feeling right is about how you are rather than how things are.
In this chapter you’ll discover things feel right when one finds comfort and credibility in what you say and do—when there’s trust that you’re not just “selling a bill of goods.”
Pop diva Barbra Streisand had been unable to sing in public for years after forgetting her lines during one anxiety-filled performance. She was now back on stage at the Anaheim Pond.
Suspended from the ceiling a few rows in front of the stage were two mega TV monitors. Only Barbra and those of us lucky enough to be seated close to the stage were able to see the screens. What were they showing? The words to Barbra’s songs, yes—but also cues to chit-chat and share personal anecdotes and recollections throughout the evening.
Stop and think about those concerts you best recall and really loved. I’ll bet they had a human force. A heart-driven connection with the audience. A “hi-touch.” A touch that wasn’t available on a CD. Barbra’s notes to herself were reminders to occasionally stop singing and just be Barbra, to personalize her performance by reaching out and touching her audience.
Great entertainers know that their words impact an audience’s intellect. But it’s their touch that captures an audience’s emotions. Your touch reflects the organic and spiritual force that makes you uniquely you. Your touch is reflected in your demeanor, energy, tone of voice, rate of speech, and gestures. Good or bad, your touch reflects what you as a person are all about.
Whether you’re a singer or an argument pro, more than anything else, the magic of winning flows from your touch, flows from how you are, flows from how you connect.
But first think about the people you know who always seem to have things go their way. Why is that?
It’s a story I tell often. Tom, an investment firm manager, was looking for a college student to work for him during summer vacation. My son Steve was looking for summer employment in finance. The match was made.
“You know, Bob,” Tom told me, “Steve is coming here to learn about things like index arbitrage and option contracts. But you and I both know that learning about those things is not nearly as important as the real lesson that can be learned here. All of my people are bright, industrious, capable, and well-informed. Yet, somehow, a handful of them are making fortunes while others are junior executives just surviving. If Steve can understand why that is, then this will be the most valuable summer of his life.”
We all know people like Tom’s survivors—people who are talented, personable, and reasonably successful at what they attempt. We also know other people who, although neither more talented nor more personable, always seem to make things happen. They are the power people, deal doers—the winners.
More often than not, the big difference between the winners, the survivors, and the losers is the way they interact with other people.
As I was telling the story about Steve at a Santa Monica bookstore, a graying, middle-aged man wearing a brown tweed sport coat, muted paisley tie, and sturdy wing tips loudly whispered from the front row, “Tell me more. Tell me more. Tell me more.”
Mr. Tell-Me-More, you’ll soon learn more about how your style—your touch—far outweighs both your IQ and your technical proficiency. Not just in your ability to win arguments, but in everything you do. About how a more effective personal style can be had by anyone who is willing to take pause from the hurry-scurry of their day to try a more effective way.
Sounding right is a cognitive thing. A logic thing. Feeling right is a people thing. A connecting, linking-up emotional thing.
Whether your argument is to many or only one, your touch—how you link with others—will impact and influence far more than the words you write, or say…or sing.
It was such a sizzling story that Court TV wanted to televise the battle between two men I will call George and Harry.
The community knew that our client, George, was a church leader, a successful physician, and a family man who was very much adored by his wife and teenage children. What they didn’t know was that George was gay and had been leading a secret double life with Harry, his male lover. After a year, George told Harry he wanted to call it quits. Harry responded by threatening to tell all. To assure Harry’s silence, George unwillingly supported Harry’s extravagant lifestyle. At the end of six years, George couldn’t take it any longer and finally said, “Enough is enough.”
Harry sued, alleging George had promised to support him forever. He argued to the jury that George’s gifts to him were gifts of love—freely and willingly given.
Who was to be believed? It was touch and go, and the jury could have easily gone either way. But after six days of trial, the jury found in favor of George. Afterward, some of the jurors were asked how they came to their unanimous decision. Was it our lawyers’ arguments? The credibility of our witnesses? A blunder by our opponent’s legal team?
The jurors acknowledged it was a tough call. But one dynamic played a key role in their deliberation: When Harry’s apartment landlord and other witnesses came forward to testify about how they perceived the relationship, George raised his hand and motioned his wife and children to leave the courtroom. That gesture of sensitivity, of caring, of cocooning his family was George’s way, his style, and it gave George a special credibility that made all the difference in the world.
I spent three days interviewing young lawyers for our firm. Each one looked very much the part. Their personalities differed, but then you don’t know what someone is really like until he’s working with you.
Daniel stood out in my mind. All because of his briefcase.
Like the others, Daniel was well-groomed and well-dressed. His tan briefcase, however, was battered, scarred from years of hard service. It was at odds with his shiny shoes and freshly pressed pinstripe. Curiosity got the best of me. Throwing interview protocol to the winds, I asked about the briefcase.
Daniel’s father, a lawyer, died a few years before. It was his dad’s briefcase. Suddenly, that beat-up old case projected an image of sensitivity and compassion. For Daniel, it was more important to carry that special case than to concern himself with what I might have thought had I not asked. Daniel’s briefcase was a clear signal of what he as a person was about.
I attended a political fundraiser. One of the speakers was J.L., a well-dressed woman wearing an expensive suit with a mink-trimmed collar. The buzz in the audience was about how the speaker could be so insensitive to the feelings of animal rights advocates.
George’s courtroom gesture; a battered briefcase; a mink collar. Each was a message: content is a totality. Your argument’s words are only a part of your argument. The other part of your argument’s content is how you are, and how I feel about you and read you. Can you be trusted? Are you concerned about my needs? Your way, your personal style, is a part of content totality. For some, J.L.’s mink collar eclipsed the words she had to say. How would you have felt about Daniel? About George?
One day you may be asked to present your argument in a talk. Here’s how to save yourself a lot of aggravation and effort. Mail a copy of your talk to each person who would come to hear you. Speeches are a pain for them, too. You’ll be rescuing those folks from the hassle of fighting traffic, fighting parking, and fighting for leg room. Rescued from being pulled away from things they’d rather be doing. Certainly they’ll be more relaxed and better able to concentrate if they’re able to peruse your words on a laid-back Sunday morning while munching on a bagel and sipping a caffe latte.
But then, maybe it’s not such a great idea to scrap your talk. There’s a persuasive advantage to connecting “live and in person.”
According to the results of a Roper Poll, more than half of all Americans have faith and confidence in most, if not all, of what their local television newscasters report. But it’s a different story when it comes to newspaper reporters. Fewer than a third of newspaper readers have that same sense of trust. Why? Trust attaches to the faces on the screens. Not to the television station or the behind-the-scenes news crew.
You’re more than a walkin’, talkin’ word-delivery system. It’s you—living, breathing you—that your audience of one or many is interested in. When you’re “live and in person,” you have an opportunity to connect with your whole being. To be hi-touch. To be organic. To show what you as a person are all about. To create comfort, credibility, and trust so things feel right.
It’s that familiar feeling of no escape. Maybe it was a neighborhood mom peddling Girl Scout cookies for her daughter, or a coworker hawking raffle tickets to raise money for school band uniforms. So what if you were dieting or suffering an acute budget crunch? It’s easy to say no to a cause that’s not your own. But it’s almost impossible to say no to someone you like.
When I was in fifth grade, some of my classmates were just plain popular. They were naturals. It was as if they’d been blessed with a super-likeability chromosome. Everything seemed to revolve around these naturally charismatic kids. That’s probably why we called them “wheels.” Wheels knew they had a likeable way. It’s why year after year they had the guts to run for student office—and why year after year the rest of us voted for them.
I made a terrible discovery: I knew I wasn’t one of the naturals—a wheel.
Maybe you aren’t a natural. Few are. Maybe you aren’t the “people person” you aspire to be. Or maybe you’re on the quiet side. Try too hard to be likeable, and you probably won’t be.
My wife, Bev, is a through-and-through people person, genuinely friendly, naturally outgoing. She’s a people magnet who has nothing to sell, who isn’t networking, and who isn’t trying to climb a social ladder. At a social function, she immediately plugs in by introducing herself to strangers. Me? I’ll still be looking for the socket—a familiar face in the crowd.
Through the years, I’ve made another more heartening discovery: Much of what Bev and the naturals have going for them can be adopted and put into action by anyone who is willing to change. The hi-touch way super-likeable people connect—with some effort—can become a part of what you do. And, to a real extent, who you are.
The fact that I’m not an effortless natural doesn’t mean I can’t adopt Bev’s hi-touch style. I’m a swan. To an observer on the scene, I glide about quite gracefully. But hidden below the surface—and unlike Bev’s effortless ways—there’s a whole lot of paddling going on.
Winning arguments is as much about style as it is about substance. You can develop a situational style. To forge a comfort connection in settings that call for it.
Sometimes I just have to do something daring. At least daring for me. I’m too much of a coward for bungee jumping or skydiving. Enrolling in a stand-up comedy workshop not only fit the “daring” bill, it gave me a chance to discover new ways to make my own workshops even more student-friendly. Greg was our comedian instructor.
In a class Greg took, he and most of his classmates weren’t African-American. Nonetheless, the class instructor arranged for his students to take lessons in—are you ready for this—African dancing!
A live band played traditional African music. Drummers deftly slapped the djembe and junjun drums. The music had an ever-changing rhythm and beat. No matter how hard Greg tried, no matter how much he counted to himself, his movements were awkward. Clumsy. In music-speak, Greg couldn’t “catch the groove.” Sensing Greg’s frustration, the band’s leader clued him in to what African dancing was all about: connecting by feeling the drums…moving with the rhythm of the drums…experiencing the drums. By internalizing the beat of the drums, Greg soon found within himself the rhythm and beat that had eluded him.
In a later lesson, Greg was invited to try his hand at drumming. Even though he dabbled in various instruments and was no stranger to drums, Greg found drumming equally frustrating. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall into sync with the other three drummers, who kept changing their tempo—going faster and faster, slowing down only to speed up again… but for no apparent reason. Again, the leader clued Greg in: The band’s drummers were connecting by watching and following the lead dancers.
There are two things I haven’t yet shared with you:
1. The class that Greg was taking was in neuro-linguistic programming—pretty heavy stuff.
2. What Greg learned in a serious behavioral class was equally relevant in a comedy workshop.
It’s equally relevant to the art of argument. The dancers were connecting with and tracking the drummers. The drummers were connecting with and tracking the dancers. Each was leading, and each was following. Each was affecting, and each was being affected.
Arguing is seeking change. Change in the way the other person thinks, or feels, or sees things. Change is a process. Sometimes fast. Sometimes slow. Always affecting. Always being affected.
Sal T. was a client in my early days of practice. I asked Sal for a $5,000 fee advance. “Bob,” he said, “just so you’ll know that you never have to worry about me paying you, here’s a check for $10,000.” All these many years later, no other client has ever offered twice the requested advance.
We lawyers seldom ask a prospective client for information about their ability to pay beyond the initial advance. It’s not until bills mount that we suddenly concern ourselves with the client’s willingness—or ability—to pay the freight.
Sal racked up thousands of dollars in legal fees. As you have probably already guessed, he never paid another dime. I later learned that Sal had gotten undeserved credit from his landlord, printer, and others. Each of us got deposits in excess of what we requested. Sal’s A+ creditworthiness came from his seeming concern. Concern evidenced by an overly sufficient deposit.
You’ve already found this out for yourself: Many of today’s managed care doctors are juggling patients at an assembly-line pace. The frantic cadence is being set by efficiency-minded health plan administrators. Physician/patient interpersonal skills are going the way of the doctor’s house call. There is no lessening of physicians’ technical expertise, but patients feel less of a sense of well-being when doctor/patient interaction is sacrificed to bottom-line profits.
Bayer Pharmaceuticals came to the rescue. The aspirin folks presented physicians workshops that featured a new model for doctor-patient connecting: Show concern by really listening to the patient’s story before launching into the traditional medical Q&A. Students in the School of Medicine at UCLA are coached not to listen to their patients while standing or sitting at the foot of their beds when making their hospital rounds. Concern is shown by sitting near the patient’s head.
To launch its skateboarding shoe, Nike aired award-winning TV commercials. Nike’s “we’re concerned about skateboarders” TV pitch: “What if we treated all athletes the way we treat skateboarders?”
In skateboard’s infancy, Nike seemingly wasn’t concerned about the sport or about the needs of skateboarders. Skateboarders felt that Nike was ultra-uncool—arriving on the scene just in time to cash in on skateboarding’s success.
A group of skateboard manufacturers rallied in support of its customers by leading a boycott against Nike. Their Johnny-come-lately battle cry: “Where was Nike when skaters were fighting to legalize our sport?” Old animosities have been forgotten, but when it counted, Nike wasn’t concerned about skateboarding. When first introduced, the Nike shoe died on the shelves.
An investigative reporter pretending to be a car buyer once reported that customers are made to feel that the sales manager is tough as nails. A task master who would guzzle gasoline before he would sell you a car for a penny less than its full price. As for the salesman, he comes across as the customer’s pal. Hey, if it were up to him, he’d even give you the car if he could.
Does it sound manipulative? Maybe. But a showing of concern works like a charm.
Here’s a powerful trust-building secret: Listen, rather than talk, for at least 75 percent of your conversation. That’s it—the whole secret. The secret works wonders because you seemed concerned enough to hear the other person out. Concerned enough to want to be partners in a dialogue. Concerned enough to want to talk with rather than talk at.
Things feel right when you show concern—about the other person’s feelings and thoughts; by talking less and listening more; not summarily rejecting the other person’s ideas; testing those ideas to see if they can be improved upon to emerge as real possibilities.
Yesterday, we revered the reserved. Our heroes were stoic. Aloof. Unshakable and cool. Think John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Humphrey Bogart. A Berkeley professor who studies the language of politics reports that 50 years ago we wanted our presidents to sound elitist. Perhaps even a bit better than us. Today, those expectations are long gone. Today’s culture embraces humility and vulnerability, likeability that comes from an aura of approachability, concern, and understanding. Think Elvis, JFK Jr., Ronald Reagan, Princess Diana.
When Princess Diana died, Prince Charles was chastised for not publicly putting his arms around his sons. A British journalist spoke of Charles’s “emotional illiteracy.” Politicians who once sought opportunities to kiss babies are connecting in ways that show us they know how to weep and hug as well. The new art is showing just how much you care and feel.
In a presidential election debate, Ronald Reagan responded to charges that he was too out of touch and too old to be running for office. His graceful response was self-deprecation: “I will not make age an issue in this campaign. I’m not going to exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience.”
Grace is having a self-deprecating sense of humor. After being seriously wounded by would-be assassin John Hinckley, Jr. in 1981, Ronald Reagan’s response to his wife was, “Honey, I forgot to duck.” Shortly after that attempt on his life, President Reagan’s approval ratings reached 90 percent, the highest on record.
A year later, the country was recovering from an economic recession, and Reagan’s poll ratings plummeted. Reagan asked his pollster, “What do the figures look like?”
“Well, they’re pretty bad, Mr. President.”
“How bad are they?”
“Well, they’re as low as they can get. They’re about 32 percent.”
Reagan’s face lit up and he smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll just go out there and try to get shot again.”
Look who else is willing to let the world know that they too are just as human as the rest of us….
Jack Chrysler is the grandson of Walter Chrysler, founder of the car company bearing his name. Needless to say, my client, Jack, has various business interests and isn’t hurting. Jack’s favorite is The Hitchin’ Post, his Colorado country-western restaurant where there’s plenty of boot-scootin’ line dancing. Few customers realize that their DJ is Jack Chrysler of the Chrysler Chryslers. For fun, Jack will do private party DJ gigs in a Hitchin’ Post customer’s backyard. Jack’s fee for a private party generally ranges between $100 and $150.
And while we’re on the subject of music….
My friend David Crosby of Crosby, Stills and Nash fame was appearing in concert in Los Angeles. After his second song, the rock legend paused to hike up his pants, which had slowly started to slip south. David sheepishly smiled and confessed to the audience that he was breaking a promise to his wife—that at this special concert he wouldn’t “tug his pants up” on stage. “I’m sorry, Jan,” he apologized. “But honey, I just had to.” We love vulnerability. The audience laughed and showed David their affection with rousing applause.
John Mauceri, as conductor of the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, charmed summertime audiences with stories, jokes, and tidbits about family and friends. After one concert, a woman asked John’s wife, Betty, “Is your husband as charming at home as he was tonight?”
Betty replied, “I guess you’ve never been married!” There’s a little bit of situational charisma in all of us. This self-deprecating story was shared by the maestro himself as he reached out to us, his devoted audience.
Loosen up. We’re all chronically human. We all have human shortcomings. Your way is credible and comfortable when you’re not shy about showing yours.
Bob Hudecek was the president of Baskin-Robbins for 16 years. Bob told me there was one question that he was, and still is, repeatedly asked. I’ll bet it’s the same question you’d ask Bob if you ever met him: “What is your favorite ice cream flavor?”
Bob always answers with a question of his own: “What’s yours?” No matter what flavor you choose, Bob replies, “Mine too!” By asking a question instead of responding with his personal favorite, Bob quickly connects in a way that makes you feel glad you met him. Oh, Bob’s personal favorite? To this day, whenever I ask, he smiles and says, “You know, it’s the same as yours.”
Recall a social gathering you recently attended. Which stranger did you find the most interesting? Was it the one who showed an interest in you, your family, your work?
Okay, you have interesting things to say. But are they interesting to you or interesting to others? Link by talking to people about the things that they find important. Things that interest them.
Super salespeople are trained to spot I’m-interested-in-what-you’re-interested-in bonding clues: a shirt with a golf club logo, a cap with the name of a team, a camper rather than a sedan parked in the driveway. Expand your interests and you’ll bond more easily with others. Find out what’s hot—movies, books, plays. And what if you aren’t knowledgeable about the things the other person is into? Asking questions is listening and interacting.
Mary Kay Ash believed that cosmetics could be sold at home beauty shows to small groups of women looking to improve their image. Few dreamed Mary Kay would eventually be grossing more than $200 million a year. Her success was in large part attributable to one of her hi-touch rules: “Take time to make the other person feel important.”
Back in the Neighborhood
Pretend you live in a quiet middle class neighborhood. Children play on sidewalks, family pets roam from yard to yard. Three blocks away on Elm Street is a scattering of small businesses. Theatre Corp. U.S.A. wants to build a six-screen multiplex theater on Elm Street. You feel this would be a major tragedy. To your surprise, many neighbors are ambivalent. Some even look forward to being able to walk to the movies. You will be arguing for your neighbors to unite in protest against the multiplex being built. You’ll be arguing with the city and Theatre Corp. that a multiplex doesn’t belong on Elm Street. We’ll come back to your argument as you discover the steps of having a winning argument.
Power linking is affecting and being affected. Allowing your ideas to be tested by fair and logical examination. (What do you think of a multiplex moving into the neighborhood?) Acknowledging that you understand a critical comment, but not taking the criticism personally. Here’s a great way to discipline yourself to be other-centric: Imagine you’re building question sandwiches. Set each of your questions between two generous slices of silence.
Make things feel right by being seemingly other-centric. Comfort and credibility come from serving question sandwiches to show that the other person’s answer is important to you.
An infomercial producer being interviewed on 60 Minutes shared some “behind the scenes” secrets: We look for people who can prompt from the audience feelings of empathy. People who will confess that they used to be poor and overweight. Confess that they, too, had skin and hair problems. People with whom you can identify because you feel that they were once just as you are now.
Fans will say just about anything to get their hands on a favorite author’s newest book before it hits Barnes & Noble or Amazon.com. An editor at a large publishing house told me about the frantic telephone call she got from a woman who knew the power of empathy: “My father’s in the hospital dying. Could you get the book to me now so he can read it before he goes?” The editor felt compelled to FedEx the printed, but not yet distributed novel. Was the woman’s story true? The editor says she never really knew.
Back in the Neighborhood
Your argument: I know you feel that it would be nice for our kids to be able to walk to the movies. And there’s no denying that a movie theatre is a place where our kids could connect with friends on Saturday afternoons. And I know you share with me an awareness of the problems a multiplex brings with it. My hope is that you’re considering the minuses as well as the pluses.
Can you ever build a feeling of togetherness without a chatty phone call or an in-person visit?
Shared feelings. A sense of emotional kinship. Few things have greater power to forge a “feels right” bond. To win assent.
Your husband needs to shed 40 pounds. You have gone through the I-suggest-you-lose-weight phase and the nagging-and-harping phase. Now, which of the following is the most compelling thing you can say?
A. “How are you ever going to lose 40 pounds?”
B. “You must exercise more and eat less.”
C. “How can you lose 40 pounds and have fun doing it?”
The quiz answer coming up soon. But first…
Almost a million boxes of Jell-O are sold every day. We’re devoted to Jell-O, especially red, the flavor we hold most dear. The ease of making Jell-O was emphasized in a Norman Rockwell ad showing a little girl unmolding Jell-O for her doll. From its very first ads in 1904, Jell-O empowered homemakers to turn out a can’t-fail dessert: “How often some ingredient is forgotten and not rightly proportioned and the dessert spoiled? This will never occur if you use Jell-O.”
Even a parking space can be empowering. Bingo! You have staked out your space. The car that’s there now has its reverse lights lit—a sign that the parking space’s present occupant is poised to pull out. You’re at the ready. The guy in the space knows you’re waiting, but he isn’t moving. What gives? He’s just sitting there, checking out his face in the rearview mirror, messing around with his hair, adjusting his sunglasses.
A study of parking lot behavior took place at an Atlanta-area mall. On average, it takes drivers almost twice as long to back out of a parking space knowing another car is waiting for their spot. Having control over a parking space is empowering. When the space is turned over, empowerment is relinquished.
Forbes magazine calls itself “the capitalist tool.” A letter in my morning mail read: “It’s my pleasure to offer you an extraordinary financial tool….” Tools by their very nature are empowering devices. What tool was the letter pitching? A Visa card.
As for the husband with a weight problem, the answer is C. With choices A and B, your spouse will feel depressed and defensive. With choice C, he is likely to come up with his own answers as to how he’ll shed the weight. Choice C’s question is empowering.
Create an aura of interactive power. What you say feels right when power is seemingly shared. Shared power is comfortable. Your position versus the other person’s position is a struggle to have power over rather than power with.
“Meet the real exotic dancer behind tonight’s movie. The news at 11!”
Local TV news lost most of its credibility with me long ago. I’m no longer coaxed to stay up by shameless tie-ins masquerading as news, suckered by promos that promised much more than they ever delivered.
In Chapter 5 you’ll discover how to make your logic credible so things sound right. But here’s how to make yourself more credible so things feel right.
A while back, I was lucky enough to take travel writing classes from Jack Adler, one of the best travel writers in the business. Jack’s mantra was “credibility, credibility, credibility.” And Jack taught us how to be credible. “Stay away from ‘Gee Whiz’ reporting. Superlatives can rarely be supported,” he cautioned. Avoid overstatements and absolutes such as never, always, great, or best. Absolutes have a certainty and finality that are seldom true.
The defrocked Duchess of York—fresh from a divorce, notorious for tanning topless and having her toes sucked by her financial advisor—was paid $1.7 million to be a pitchwoman for Weight Watchers. Why Fergie? Once nicknamed “The Duchess of Pork,” Fergie now represents honesty, one marketing consultant told a national periodical. A sample “honesty confession” from the Duchess: “Last weekend I was quite naughty. It was sausage rolls again. Sausages wrapped in phyllo pastry, cooked with fat in the oven. Yum!”
Reader Alert: If you’re a Bausch & Lomb contact lens customer, then you may want to be sitting down when you read this.
Bausch & Lomb formerly sold its contact lenses under three different names. Optima FW lenses, the most expensive, were advertised to be used for one year. Medalist, the next most expensive, were advertised to be used for up to three months. SeeQuence 2, the least expensive, were advertised to be used for up to two weeks. The price difference among the three Bausch & Lomb names was significant.
Contact lens wearers like Bausch & Lomb lenses. They expect them to be high in quality. They also expect that Bausch & Lomb will make a profit—small or large—from the sale of those lenses.
Now here’s what lens wearers never expected: All three brands of lenses were absolutely identical! Only their names and prices differed. State investigators in 17 states claimed the whole scenario was a scam. Bausch & Lomb said the branding was nothing more than a clever marketing strategy and denied any wrongdoing. The lenses Bausch & Lomb makes are a fine product. But the company shattered its credibility by violating consumer expectations.
Philip Morris is a good historic example of already-lost credibility. It made claims about “light” low-tar cigarettes, improved filters, or reduced smoking risks after knowing that the company had information that confirmed smoking health risks as early as 1953, but told the public that “authorities” had “reached no agreement” on what causes lung cancer. That there was “no proof” that smoking causes cancer and that smoking is “not injurious to health.” They launched a public disinformation campaign to counter mounting scientific evidence about the strong correlation between smoking and serious illness. This campaign manipulated the mass media to suppress or make light of adverse new and scientific studies.
As pressure mounted, Philip Morris announced the creation of a “research institute” dedicated to finding the “truth.” Philip Morris never intended to keep its word. The institute was permitted to conduct very little research, and those results confirming the deadly link were hidden at a secret lab in Germany.
Forget about full-page color glossies of smiling flight attendants. Forget about the stats on its newest jumbo jets. Forget about the “friendly skies” hype. A while back, United Airlines wanted its stockholders to know that its primary concern is how passengers feel about their airline. Building on a we-are-learning-from-our-past theme, a United Annual Report let it all hang out by printing actual passenger complaints and vowing to do better.
A sample gripe printed in the report: a passenger commenting on Shuttle by United wrote that it “provides treatment akin to that of Trailways, Greyhound, or the worst of the bargain-basement airlines.” This was United’s way of telling shareholders that United must and will do better. The shareholder gripes weren’t swept under the rug, but brought out in the open. Admitting the existence of specific problems, rather than talking in generalities or ignoring them, was United’s way of giving shareholders assurance that things would get better. After reading unvarnished comments like that, you’d be apt to find United’s promises of improvement more believable.
Do you remember this television commercial? “You tried electric. You hated it. Years ago, the whole thing just didn’t feel right. This time it will. First of all, this isn’t the same Norelco your father used.” Were you convinced that Norelco is now doing things differently? I was.
Nike’s overseas labor practices were being publicly criticized—sweatshop conditions, meager wages. Former UN Ambassador Andrew Young was hired by Nike to look into the allegations. After visiting 12 Asian factories and interviewing hundreds of workers, Young concluded: “Nike is doing a good job…but Nike can and should do better.” Nike’s we’re-on-the-right-track response appeared in national advertisements: “Nike agrees. Good isn’t good enough in anything we do. We can and will do better.”
Create an aura of credibility. If others already have positive expectations about you, don’t disappoint them the way Bausch & Lomb and Philip Morris did.
The other fellow will buy into your argument when it both feels right and sounds right. Things feel right when there is a climate of credibility, comfort, and trust.
When you argue you’re seeking change. Change means movement. Movement means friction. As things begin to feel right, friction fades and a link-to-lead bond emerges.