financially or spiritually—who suffer the most when that person’s life unravels, whether the issue is personal or professional.
The case of the Volkswagen emissions crisis followed the well-worn path of many corporate crises before it, with a triggering event quickly impacting the organization’s people, assets and brand.
Crises such as the Volkswagen scandal bring leadership and employees under intense scrutiny, with many losing their jobs, forcing them into professional and personal ruin.
Volkswagen’s assets took a huge hit, as its recalled fleet of cars had to be retro-fitted with new emissions software, costing millions of dollars—and millions, if not billions, more will be spent in fines and litigation.
Finally, the Volkswagen brand may continue to diminish as valuation decreases and thoughtful consumers buy elsewhere. Where the floor ultimately is, no one knows.
No one can say with certainty when or where a crisis will occur. However, we can become more predictive and plan for the inevitable, which is why a true crisis leader is invaluable.
In many cases, a sound crisis leader can turn adversity into advantage simply by the way he or she stabilizes then leads during life’s most difficult times.
An experienced crisis leader is one who operates with speed and precision at the intersection of leadership, strategy and communications. Crisis leadership is about instinct. It’s about drawing on one’s diverse life experiences and making the tough decisions that can help a company or individual when others have retreated in confusion or denial.
Effective crisis leadership is focused on building long-term trust with each stakeholder impacted by the trouble. The futurist crisis leader must be able to think far ahead, so that the decisions he or she makes today will positively influence outcomes for weeks, months and years to come.
Crisis leadership is not for the weak or indecisive. Crisis teams must be built to withstand turbulence, embrace risk and build trust. They must turn adversity into advantage—quality of life is in the balance.
Simply put, anyone can lead when times are good. But as former heavyweight boxer Mike Tyson eloquently put it: “Everyone has a plan ‘til they get punched in the mouth.”
True leaders, though, emerge when a crisis is at its very worst.
Don’t miss your leadership moment!
2
The Unrelenting Surge of Community Pushback, Hon
Denise Whiting was a strong, accomplished woman who found herself desperate for help when she called Fallston Group during the hot Baltimore summer of 2011. I took her call that particular evening from an ice cream parlor parking lot in Long Beach Island, New Jersey, near one of my favorite fishing holes. I could immediately sense the pain and despair in her voice.
A successful restaurateur in the quirky, blue-collar Baltimore neighborhood of Hampden, her life had turned upside down over time and was reaching an unmanageable stage.
Now, her chest hurt so badly that she was afraid she’d suffered a heart attack. Without warning, she would lapse into crying jags that left her feeling shaken and vulnerable.
She feared for her life, going so far as to sleep with a shotgun under her bed, not knowing if her bad dreams in the middle of the night were reality or not.
What had happened to cause such anguish to this otherwise stalwart and proud businesswoman?
Simply put, she’d been blind-sided by a crisis, with a root cause that appeared almost laughable—if the consequences weren’t so dire.
Her sin?
As the owner of the popular eatery Cafe Hon, a fixture on 36th Street in Baltimore since its opening in 1992, Whiting had dared to trademark the term “Hon” in order to protect her business interests.
Based on the advice of legal counsel, she’d been doing this for years, acquiring the rights to the term for restaurant services, retail services and T-shirts sold at her Hon boutique next door. Many other businesses had engaged in similar moves.
But “Hon” was a beloved local colloquialism—a cheerful term of endearment used by seemingly every waitress and hairdresser in town for decades. And once the media got hold of the story in late 2010—Who is this selfish, greedy woman ripping off a cherished piece of Bawlmer culture?—the backlash was swift and unrelenting.
Whiting’s initial explanation of why she had trademarked Hon—and her first halting apologies about causing such a fuss—drew ridicule. Even though Whiting explained that she was merely doing what every sharp business person does—protecting her business interests through trademarking—she didn’t realize the regional ire this move would provoke. Soon, protestors were demonstrating outside her restaurant holding signs that said “HONicide: Life on 36th Street” and “You Can’t Trademark our Culture, Hon.”
Yes, the community was pushing back—hard.
It didn’t end there. She was bullied and threatened on social media, particularly on two Facebook pages called “Boycott Cafe Hon” and “No One Owns Hon, Hon.”
In addition, she was blasted on the pages of City Paper and The Baltimore Sun. Sun columnist Dan Rodricks slammed her for a “crass effort to own a Baltimore regionalism,” adding “Hon isn’t unique to Denise Whiting, no matter how special she wants us to believe she is.”
One lunatic Whiting hater even took to popping his head into Cafe Hon during business hours and screaming “NO ONE OWNS HON!” Not exactly a soothing accompaniment to a nice meal.
Her fellow merchants on “The Avenue” had also turned against her. And there was talk of a boycott of HonFest, the annual Whiting-founded homage to Baltimore women of a bygone era who favored beehive hair-dos, cats-eye glasses and housecoats. HonFest was a financial boon to the area. Tens of thousands of people attended this event on an annual basis. Now Whiting was being accused of changing the vendor rules, mainly with her request that Cafe Hon retain exclusive rights to the sale of cats-eye sunglasses.
Clearly, Denise Whiting’s world was unraveling with astonishing speed.
Her business was tanking because of all the negative publicity. She had to lay off staff and withdraw $60,000 from her retirement fund to meet payroll. And the personal toll was devastating. She was hurt, humiliated and exhausted beyond measure.
“I contemplated suicide,” she recalled. “I was so devastated. I remember standing in my bathroom and thinking: ‘I could just end all this.’ Because I couldn’t take it. And it wouldn’t go away. Everything I spent my last 21 years working on (was) now just non-existent.”
My role as a crisis leadership expert was to quickly earn her trust, instill a sense of confidence and give her hope that there was a way out of this terrible mess. I had to be strong—for Denise and those that depended on her and the business.
The bottom line was that Denise was in a bunker and was refusing to come out, at least metaphorically speaking. Cafe Hon was no longer a safe haven, as folks would come into her restaurant during business hours and yell profanities.
Contributing to her problems was the fact that Denise was making
