Zeno Thinks: Do me a favour (actually, on second thoughts, don’t bother)
A couple of thousand years ago a Roman chap called Terence came up with a pithy piece of advice for us all: “Fortes Fortuna adiuvat.” Or, for those of you whose Latin is a little rusty: “Fortune favours the brave.”
Maybe so, but bravery has nothing to do with the dishing out of favours. Quite the opposite in fact. We Brits tend to take a dim view of people being granted favourable treatment, especially when the fortunate recipient is rich, famous, powerful or all of the above.
The news has been full of cautionary tales lately. From Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby “queue jumping” at the Queen’s lying-in-state to Suella Braverman’s protracted speeding fine saga, asking for favours is not proving to be a good look.
Dishing them out can be equally problematic. When Boris Johnson was Prime Minister he appointed Richard Sharp as Chairman of the BBC, omitting to mention a favour the latter had done for him during the selection process.
That favour – introducing the PM to someone who subsequently loaned him £800,000 – would eventually culminate in Sharp’s resignation.
Which is all good fodder for Ian Hislop and Paul Merton on Have I Got News For You. But there are lessons to be learned amid the thigh-slapping schadenfreude.
Reputationally, the granting and acceptance of favours can be ruinous. Nobody is surprised when a well-known or powerful figure is given preferential treatment, but there is something fundamentally un-British about it.
In my time as a journalist I covered both showbiz and politics, which opened my eyes to a depressing reality: fortune goes to the fortunate. The sheer volume of freebies hurled at celebrities is frankly mind-boggling (once seen, the Oscars “gifting suite” cannot be unseen).
Reputation management may appear simple – and when your client is riding high, it can sometimes feel that way too. But history is littered with examples of successful people who took their reputations for granted. The best reputation PRs are generally not people you will read about in the papers, because if they’re doing the job properly nobody on the outside knows it is happening.
Problems arise when the specialists are no longer listened to. When an individual drinks too deeply of the Kool Aid and success breeds complacency. If you never hear the word “no”, how long until you start to believe that, somehow, you are worthy of preferential treatment?
In reality, politicians rarely resort to the phrase “do you know who I am” because their minions do it for them. Suella Braverman’s crime was not serious speeding – she barely exceeded the 50mph limit and the fine levied was just £100. Her misstep was to instruct civil servants, whose salaries are paid by taxpayers, to intervene on her behalf.
Phillip Schofield, meanwhile, must be blinking in disbelief at how quickly his world has fallen apart. His carefully curated reputation as national treasure and darling of ITV’s leadership lies in tatters at his feet, and it all began when he accepted an offer to jump the queue at Westminster Abbey.
How was he to know that outside, waiting patiently with a quarter of a million fellow mourners, was an impeccably respectful David Beckham, suit, tie, flat cap and all. The message, intended or not, was clear: he might be loaded but David’s one of us. The contrast was devastating.
Unfortunately for Brand Beckham, his halo was immediately dented by a controversial £100 million contract to be the face of the Qatar World Cup. Cicero himself would struggle to reasonably account for a gay icon being paid to promote a repressive regime where homosexuality is outlawed.
And here is the rub: reputation management is hard work. Ongoing, carefully considered and relentless work. So I would argue that it was Louis Pasteur who hit the nail on the head with his new, improved version of Terence’s Latin aphorism: “Fortuna Eruditis Favet.” Fortune favours the prepared mind.
Not quite as catchy, perhaps, but where reputation is concerned, you’re better off listening to Louis.
