The ‘Jewish Embassy’

Even communications professionals are often completely out of their depth when they suddenly find themselves facing a PR crisis. This was demonstrated once again by Richard David Precht’s crisis management following his comments about Orthodox Judaism on his podcast with Markus Lanz.

The basic scenario is almost always the same: a public figure makes an offensive remark and suddenly finds themselves – without ever having intended to – caught in a barrage of media criticism. If they are lucky, at first it is only the remark itself that comes under fire (in this case as “antisemitic”), rather than the person who made it.

Since public figures tend to have fairly robust egos, their first instinct is often to qualify what they said (“open to misinterpretation”, or something along those lines) in an attempt to avoid apologising. That is precisely what happened here. Precht said that he had not intended his remarks in that way and that he regretted the criticism they had caused. What he meant was fairly obvious: “I’m not retracting what I said, nor am I apologising for it” (“regret”, after all, is not an apology). Instead, he effectively deflected the criticism: “The others are at fault. They misunderstood me because that isn’t what I meant.” Precht is a philosopher; he is no stranger to dialectics. But let us put it plainly: it is difficult to imagine a worse way of handling the situation.

Predictably, this immediately triggered stage two of the escalation spiral that tends to take hold in cases like these. The criticism now turned on Precht personally: the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung called him a “windbag”, while others accused him of antisemitism as an underlying mindset. And everyone who had never much liked Precht in the first place seized the opportunity to join the mixed chorus of condemnation. Precht now felt compelled to go a step further. He apologised to everyone who had “seen something antisemitic” in his remarks. Well, at least this sounded somewhat like an apology. Yet once again, he was pointing the finger at others. What he was really saying was: “My remarks are only antisemitic if you choose to interpret them that way.” In doing so, he attempted to manoeuvre his apology around the central point of the criticism: his original claim that Orthodox Jews do not work, or work only in the diamond trade or moneylending – a statement that reveals not only a glaring lack of general knowledge but also existing prejudices (which are not necessarily synonymous with antisemitism). He conceded that he had presented the facts “incorrectly and misleadingly”.

Precht subsequently attempted to explain where these prejudices had come from, including with the rather absurd observation that he had once seen Jewish diamond traders in Antwerp. Much of what else he offered was, at best, worthy of a comedy routine. He actually said that the Shoah – in other words, the brutal murder of six million Jews – had always been “a matter close to his heart”. He also pointed out that he had been reading Jewish authors since the age of twelve. And among the philosophers he had studied academically, he noted, there had been Jewish thinkers too. My personal favourite, however, was his reference to the “Jewish embassy” – by which he presumably meant the Israeli embassy.

Anyone who had previously only suspected that Precht harboured a considerable number of stereotypes about Jews and Judaism could now feel rather more certain. Whether that constitutes antisemitism is not for me to judge. Ignorance alone does not make someone an antisemite (although it does not rule it out either).

Let us return to my opening point: what would good crisis management have looked like in Precht’s case? The first step should always be an impartial analysis aimed at establishing the facts – assuming, of course, that the objective is actually to defuse the criticism rather than deliberately provoke it. Broadly speaking, this analysis consists of three simple questions: Was what I said factually incorrect? If so, to what extent can my critics’ objections be objectively understood? And is their criticism shared by other influential voices?

If the answer to all three questions is yes, there is really only one option. I have to apologise – regardless of whether or not I personally agree with my critics. This is a crucial point. We are all human. When we are attacked, our natural instinct is to defend ourselves. But if I defend something that is demonstrably factually wrong, that defence will not silence the criticism. Quite the opposite: it will only intensify it. That should be obvious. Put differently, if I want the criticism to stop, I have to take my critics seriously. What matters is not what I think about the issue, but how my critics perceive it. They determine the tone of the media response, while I occupy the role of the “offender”. And the more stubbornly I cling to my original remarks, the greater the damage to my reputation. Whether I like it or not, that is simply how it works.

So what might effective crisis communication from Richard David Precht have looked like? The following statement could have been a starting point:

• “I offer my unreserved apologies to everyone I hurt with my remarks.” (= Acknowledging the hurt as a fact rather than suggesting that his critics’ perception is distorted.)
• “My remarks stemmed from a lack of knowledge about Judaism. Following the criticism of what I said, I spent a great deal of time reading about the subject and trying to understand the facts. The more I read, the clearer it became to me just how factually wrong my remarks had been.” (= Admitting ignorance and demonstrating that he has learnt from the experience.)
• “At the same time, I want to emphasise that antisemitism in any form – just like any other form of racism – is entirely alien to me. Anyone who knows me knows that. But my false statements have also taught me an important lesson: that I, too, can fall for stereotypes, some of which have long been propagated by antisemites and racists.” (= Distancing himself from the central accusation of antisemitism – something that can only be credible after a genuine apology.)

Whether further measures would be appropriate depends on the individual case. Precht could, for example, give a follow-up interview to a major news outlet. Alternatively, Markus Lanz could invite an expert on Judaism onto the podcast to discuss the different manifestations of antisemitism in Germany. Possible guests might include a respected scholar of Jewish studies or a writer from a Jewish background, such as Maxim Biller. What they absolutely should not do, however, is turn the whole thing into a PR stunt. A photo opportunity in a synagogue (kippah included), to give an obvious example, would simply look ridiculous.

Of course, statements like these are a bitter pill to swallow for someone with a strong sense of their own convictions. No one enjoys publicly eating humble pie. But in a crisis like this, public perception has to take priority: someone who offers a sincere apology demonstrates strength of character and comes across as human. By contrast, attempting to defend offensive remarks or escape the situation with a half-hearted expression of regret can damage a person’s reputation to an extent that lingers for a long time.

The principle becomes even clearer if we apply it to the dynamics of a marriage – often a useful analogy in crisis PR. If one partner makes outrageous and hurtful remarks and the other is understandably upset, stubbornly insisting on being right will only deepen the hurt. If the person responsible then refuses to swallow their pride, the situation will escalate further and ultimately damage the relationship itself. At that point, not even diamonds will help.