[ Editor’s Note: We thought the story of Emily Lenzner, VP, global communications, Atlantic Media, was such a fine case study of PR and media cooperation that we wanted to share it with you. Last week Lenzner keynoted PR News’ Spring Awards luncheon in Washington, D.C. The following is excerpted from her talk.]
Like you, I work in PR—it’s been my career for nearly 20 years. But it’s not because of this work that I’m here today. Rather, it’s because of some very unusual work I did with my boss, Atlantic Media chairman David Bradley, to help hostages held in Syria.
You may remember hearing about them: Kayla Mueller, Steven Sotloff, Peter Kassig, Jim Foley and Theo Curtis. They were held by ISIS for, in some cases, nearly two years, and they died in captivity. Only Theo, who was held by a different terrorist group, survived and is home.
[Bradley helped free a freelancer for The Atlantic as well as reporter Jim Foley from Libyan captivity in 2011. When Foley again disappeared in early 2013, Bradley, who got to know Foley and his parents, offered to help.]
I think it’s important to note that throughout their childrens’ captivity, the families of these five hostages were forced to keep their kids’ captivities secret. They couldn’t even tell their closest friends because the captors made it clear that any publicity or media coverage would get their children killed. Some reporters around the world knew of their plights, but they held to an established media blackout. There was no reporting on the hostages—not even their existence. My role in this began in late August 2014, the day we learned that Jim had been killed.
I went from coordinating interviews to advising the families on how to handle unsolicited calls from reporters. You can imagine the fear and stress a call from one of them would cause. It became my job to call the reporter back and explain why they couldn’t report. Did they want to be responsible for getting hostages killed? I often had to ask.
Crisis Management
There’s really no other way to describe it—this work was pure crisis management. I like a good crisis—I’m sure many of you feel the same—especially when it plays out as planned or according to the strategy. But, in this case, there was no plan. This was not a client I had pitched—it wasn’t even an area I had experience in. There was no playbook, no rules. The only strategy was to do everything in our power—stop at nothing to keep these people alive.
I jumped in headfirst as one does when dealing with a crisis of this magnitude, but with little knowledge of what exactly I was dealing with or what lay ahead. Who knew if any of the advice I was providing would prove sound or our tactics effective? We operated on gut, hope and determination.
There was no time or room for error. The beginning was spent cold calling the leading national security and terrorist reporters for the country’s top outlets. Even though the stakes were unlike anything I had ever experienced, the rules and practice were the same. Some examples:
Honesty: More often than not, we have one chance to establish rapport and credibility with a reporter. When we lie to them we lose their trust and our ability to work with them and influence them. This was something I couldn’t risk. But there was also the challenge of maintaining the trust of a reporter without violating the families. It was a fine line.
Other Lessons: Whenever possible respond. Even when it may seem safer to ignore or duck. It helps the reporter, who often just needs to be able to tell their editor that they’ve been in touch with a legitimate spokesperson. And it allows you to find out what they know and guide and direct them as needed. And it helps build that important trust and rapport.
I can’t tell you how many times reporters thanked me for getting back to them even when I wasn’t saying anything.
No Assumptions: And you know what they say about never assuming? Just don’t do it. If I wasn’t sure a reporter knew of the media blackout, I would always contact them to be safe.
I should also mention how understanding and empathetic the press was throughout this experience. There were only a couple times when a journalist’s desire to break news or advance a story took priority over the hostages’ safety. Most of the time, they stood down when I asked, even when it meant not getting the story. Sometimes the pleading phone call wasn’t enough. I had my share of coffees with editors to convince them why they couldn’t report this story.
When I started working with the families, they often questioned if it would serve their child better to go public. What I have since learned is that there’s no clear answer. Each hostage situation is unique. There’s no standard protocol.
The other thing people ask me about is how I coped personally. I saw a therapist, I did yoga. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this work. I felt responsible every time I spoke to a reporter. I had lots of nightmares.
The secrecy was hard too. In those first few weeks, I would go home from a long day of this work and have no one to talk to. I couldn’t tell anyone about what we were doing.
Another way I coped was to watch Homeland reruns. In some crazy way, it calmed me—I think because I needed to see the good guys win and to know it was possible.
People often ask how we were able to do the work. That’s a tough question. There was no way I wasn’t going to help these families. They are the most amazing, resilient and inspiring people. And they had so much hope and determination to bring their kids home. As a result, I did, too. Throughout those months of working round the clock, I never lost hope and or thought we wouldn’t succeed. Even as we saw each of them fall one by one, I still had hope and believed that for each of them, there was a chance to bring them home.
This article originally appeared in the March 21, 201# issue of PR News. Read more subscriber-only content by becoming a PR News subscriber today.