Two stories from the financial advice world stood out for me this week, largely because they tap into a personal interest of mine: the art of saying sorry.
The first was a report that Aegon UK had apologised to customers who had experienced “major IT issues” and “endless problems” since a system update in August.
“Call times on the phone are ridiculous, there are no timescales for when the issues will be resolved, no responses to countless emails,” complained one adviser.
“You cannot get to speak to anyone who can sort the issues, just added notes to already raised cases… I am told that this has affected hundreds of group pension schemes.”
The second involved the Personal Finance Society (PFS), which apologised after a third-party error nullified the votes of 83 members at its annual general meeting last week.
In an email, PFS chair Christine Elliott said she was “deeply sorry”, while assuring affected members that the removal of their votes did not change the overall result.
“While I regret the need to inform you of this error, I hope you will appreciate the transparency,” Elliott plaintively concluded.
Granted, both stories are minor ripples in the grand ocean of financial services, but they do prompt a couple of reflections.
Firstly, as Elliott suggests, honesty and transparency, while difficult, are generally appreciated because they tap into our sympathy for human frailty. “There but for the grace of God, go I,” most of us are probably thinking.
Secondly, however, while an apology is a necessary step to repair reputational damage, it may not be sufficient on its own.
An apology, for instance, it is unlikely to soothe a crowd already irritated beyond the point of no return. I’m reminded of former deputy PM Nick Clegg’s much-derided ‘I’m sorry’ for the rise in tuition fees under the coalition government in 2012.
You can only imagine the conversation that led to this mea culpa: “Just eat a slice of humble pie, Nick. It won’t make the policy any more popular, but people might respect your honesty and candour.”
Instead, a fresh round of mockery and derision was heaped on Clegg’s head, a prelude to the Lib Dem wipeout in the 2015 election. The public, it seems, were in no mood to be placated.
So, why are some apologies a flop and some a success? Maybe it’s the thin line between sincerity and tactical calculation. Most people can spot damage limitation a mile off, whereas genuine remorse is more likely to touch our emotions.
This is particularly to be treasured at a time when the desire not to be seen as a soft touch, even when in the wrong, is on the rise.
Prior to the US election, The Apprentice, a biopic of Donald Trump’s rise, was released. Although somewhat pedestrian on the narrative front, the movie benefitted from two powerhouse performances: Sebastian Stan as The Donald and Jeremy Strong as his mentor Roy Cohn.
The real-life Cohn was a paradoxical figure: a closeted and clearly troubled gay man who eventually died of AIDS, he nonetheless spent his life boosting some of the most extreme conservative figures in American politics, including Senator Joseph McCarthy.
The wisdom he allegedly passed on to Trump, however, has become famous: never apologise; if someone hits you, hit them back a thousand times harder; any publicity is good publicity; and find an ‘other’ to lash out at.
This advice, followed through with aggression and confidence, explains why scandals that would sink an average politician have barely dented Trump. It also explains why his devil-may-care ‘never surrender’ attitude is lapped up by many of his supporters.
However, there’s also the feeling (shared by Trump sceptics) that an unwillingness to apologise, combined with the lack of shame that goes with it, is somehow less than human – it lacks the quality of empathy that makes our interactions possible.
It goes back to the sympathy with human frailty that I mentioned earlier. Certainly, the Trump approach would swiftly put Aegon UK and the PFS out of business. And just imagine what it would do to our day-to-day relationships.
Speaking personally, I’ve learned that what makes apologies difficult is the heightened emotions that have created the situation in the first place. If we’ve done something that requires an apology, the heat directed at us is more likely to force us on the defensive – to make us dig trenches rather than build bridges.
Contra Trump and Cohn, therefore, an apology is a sign of strength rather than weakness, because it forces us to go against our natural impulses. It also recognises the legitimacy of the anger we have provoked.
That’s why Aegon UK, the PFS and the many others who have fessed up to errors down the years deserve our sympathy and support, even if we are not in the mood to bestow it. If financial advice is all about listening and learning, a heartfelt ‘sorry’ is a good place to start.
So, let’s take a moment to praise the apologisers and trust they learn from their mistakes. As the poet Alexander Pope (who also angered a lot of people in his life) once said: “To err is human; to forgive, divine.”
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