Don’t Look at your Hand

Look into your Heart

Many years ago, I wrote this short poem call Tenpins.   I was excited at the time because it was the first poem I ever got published.  I got to thinking about it this week while watching a track meet. 

Tenpins

Strike!
He needs a spare to win.
Position.
   Form.
       Breath.
           Step.
               Slide.
                   Swoosh.
Crash.
The tenpin stands alone.
Again.
Position, form, breath, step, slide, swoosh.
No crash.

He steps away.
And looks at his hand.

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I follow, and used to teach, a writing concept called Show, Don’t Tell.  If you want the reader to think Fred is a jerk, don’t tell the reader that Fred is a jerk.  Rather, paint a picture of Fred berating his administrative assistance as he throws her report at her feet.    Show it.  Once the writer is done, the reader gets to draw their own conclusions.  The interpretation of poetry is left to the reader, like any art.  In this case, to make a point, I will break protocol and share (tell) my intent.  In the poem above, on his first ball, every action is separated by a line and extra space to suggest patience, rhythm, and perfect timing, something the bowler can control.  On his second ball, each of these actions are rushed together in a quicker flurry, as the bowler changed his rhythm.  And yet, he steps away and looks at his hand as if it is an unattached stranger and the one to blame for the error.  The bowler does not even have a name because he lacks identity and responsibility.  I have seen bowlers do this a lot and it always implied a lack of taking full responsibility to me.  

This week, I was able to witness a glorious example of the opposite.  This time, an athlete shows her heart and takes responsibility.  On Aug 26^th during the World Athletics Championship, Dutch athlete Femke Bol was in the lead when she stumbled and fell during the 4x400m mixed relay final ten feet from the finish line.  As a result, the American sprinter passed her, and their team earned the Gold Medal.  The Dutch did not receive any medal.  Bol did not look at her hand or make excuses.  She got up, dusted herself off and continued with the competition. 

The very next day, Bol competed in the women’s 4x400 meter relay.  When she took the baton on the last leg, she was in a distant third place.  She remained that way for most of the race.  With less than 100 meters left, her team was prepared for a Bronze Medal.  But Bol dug deeper and in the final meters passed both of her competitors in dramatic fashion, winning the race and earning the Dutch the World Championship Gold Medal in the event.   Femke Bol showed her determination, resilience, and responsibility. 

The same concepts apply to crisis communications.   We should show, not tell, and take responsibility for our actions.   We can tell with a soundbite.  We show by getting our hands dirty, on the ground, alongside other responders and survivors, working the response and recovery.   We hear officials often tell reporters that their “thoughts and prayers” are with those impacted.  That makes sense if it is sincere; but it falls on deaf ears when it is not. 

In October 2002, the D.C. sniper attacks were a series of coordinated shootings that occurred throughout the Washington metropolitan area.   I lived there at the time, and it was terrorizing.  But when Chief Charles Moose came on television, with tears in his eyes and emotion that showed his true heart, we were all comforted.   He took responsibility and ultimately captured the murderers. 

Crisis communications.  Show, Don’t Tell.  Take responsibility.

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