Can corporate social responsibility survive through recession?

In recession, people are actually less forgiving of bad behaviour, writes Philip Monaghan.

All film-lovers will recall the famous scene in Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid: our anti-heroes stand at the cliff edge with the prospect of either jumping off into the rapids below or being caught by the chasing posse to face a firing squad. The Sundance Kid (Robert Redford) hesitates, saying he is scared to leap because he cannot swim. Butch Cassidy (Paul Newman) laughs out loud, pointing out that he need not worry – the jump from the cliff will kill them anyway. Both men make the jump and survive.

Many corporate leaders face a similar leap of faith when it comes to integrating sustainable development into their business strategies. Barclays, BP, Enron, Lehman Brothers and NewsCorp all have or had corporate social responsibility (CSR) programmes in place, many of which have been lauded. Barclays and BP have rightly been praised in the past for their leadership roles in the Equator Principles (to enable environmental and social considerations in project financing) and the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (to counter bribery and corruption) respectively. Yet the Barclays interest-rate manipulation scandal in 2012 and the BP deepwater horizon spill in 2006 show that despite these best intentions a culture of "making a quick buck" at someone else’s expense can be extremely hard to shake. This has only had disastrous consequences for shareholders and wider society, but led to the ongoing existence of both companies been called into question at one point or another.

So what is the problem? Is CSR still merely a periphery activity in companies despite the hula? Does short-term gain always trump long-term value? Or is it just a few rogue actors within a company bringing the rest down, which is impossible to 100 per cent safeguard against? Maybe. Or perhaps it is because corporate planners and risk evaluators are simply looking at the wrong thing: their resiliency strategy needs rewiring. Misguided business executives assume they can ride out the storm from any high-stake gamble, including an illegal one. Their hunch is that they will not caught because they are smarter than everyone else. That even if they do get caught the market will forgive them if they continue to deliver good investor returns. And that people have short memories. Yet this is a very narrow approach to resiliency, one that is focused on being able to resist immediate shocks and fails to understand the complex system in which a single entity operates. Survival is also about the ability to learn and transforming. During a global recession, people's tolerance of bad corporate behaviour is much lower and their memories much longer. So the political uproar and ferocity of the regulator response on both sides of the Atlantic is no surprise (and hopefully any new supervision will include an overhaul of how credit rating agencies evaluate non-financial risk too).

If CSR is to be relevant for a post-recession world from 2015 onwards, it needs to become infused with resiliency thinking. CSR advocates now stand at the cliff edge at a time of great uncertainty. They can turn back or make another great leap of faith to shape a more responsible capitalism. Not an easy choice by any means, but the right choice for shareholders and society alike.

News Corp, one of many companies with a CSR program. Photograph: Getty Images

Philip Monaghan is founder & CEO of Infrangilis (a consultancy and think-tank on resiliency strategies). He is the acclaimed author of the books Sustainability in Austerity (2010) and How Local Resilience Creates Sustainable Societies (2012).

Reuters/New Statesman composite.
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When it comes to social media, we all have a responsibility to avoid sharing upsetting images

If Twitter is the new journalism, we are all editors – and responsible for treating our fellow humans with dignity.

“I wish I hadn’t seen that”, my colleague says from across the desk. It’s been an hour since the first reports came in of a shooting outside Parliament, and the news agency Reuters has started posting photographs of injured people, knocked down by the terrorist as he drove across Westminster Bridge.

In one, a brunette woman leans over a victim whose blood is beginning to stain the wet pavement. Lying on her back, she is framed by scattered postcards sold for tourists which have been knocked to the floor. She is clutching the arm of the woman helping her, but her eyes are staring dead into the photographer’s lens.

Another photograph – the one that my colleague is referring to – disturbs me even more: a man who has fallen (or been pushed?) off the bridge onto a stairwell. He is face down in a pool of blood, his left leg at an unnatural angle. It is impossible to tell if he is alive or not.

Briefly, before I scroll past, I wonder if someone, somewhere is seeing the same picture and experiencing a shock of recognition as they recognise their friend’s clothes.

And then there is one picture which I now cannot find on Twitter, but which, lying in bed last night, I could not stop thinking of: a woman’s legs extended from under the wheel of a bus, her skirt hiked up to show her underwear, her shoes missing.

We are a desk of journalists covering an attack on the Houses of Parliament, so I keep scrolling. It is only later, in an article by the Telegraph, that I learn a junior doctor has declared the woman dead.

Of course, the shock of seeing images like these is nothing compared to what war reporters, doctors or police go through on a regular basis. But a 2015 study at the University of Toronto found that extended exposure to violent or disturbing material can have a severe effect on journalists’ mental health.

The impact can be particularly confusing when one does not anticipate seeing violence.On social media, we increasingly encounter images this way: without warning and without a chance to steel ourselves. This is particularly a problem when it comes to members of the public, whose jobs don’t require them to look at shocking material but who can nevertheless be exposed to it just by virtue of using a social media network.

It is for this reason that, shortly after Reuters published their photographs of the Westminster victims, prominent journalists began posting asking their colleagues not to retweet them. Some protested the fact that Reuters had published them at all.

In today’s media landscape, news moves fast and social media faster. Where a picture editor would have previously had until their print deadline to decide which images to run, now photographers are able to send their work back to the office almost instantaneously, and editors must make a snap decision about what to release.

Deciding what images to use can be a difficult call – especially under pressure. On the one hand, there is the urge to not turn away, to bear witness to the full magnitude of what has happened, even if it is shocking and upsetting. On the other, there is the need to treat fellow human beings with dignity, and particularly to avoid, where possible, showing images of victims whose families have not yet been informed.

Social media makes this process even more difficult. Once released online, photographs of the Westminster attack were quickly saved and re-posted by private individuals, stripped of context or warning. One can choose not to follow the Reuters Pictures account, but one cannot necessarily avoid seeing an image once it is being retweeted, reposted and recycled by private accounts.

As the line between traditional news and social media blurs and we increasingly become participants in the news, as well as consumers of it, our sense of responsibility also shifts. On Twitter, we are our own editors, each charged with making sure we extend dignity to our fellow humans, even – especially – when the news is dramatic and fast-moving.

I was glad, this morning, to encounter fewer and fewer photographs – to not see the girl lying under the bus again. But at 3am last night, I thought about her, and about her family; about them knowing that journalists on desks across Britain had seen up their loved one’s skirt during the last moments of her life. It was, without putting too fine a point on it, no way to encounter a fellow human being.

Over the next few days, we will find out more about who the victims were. The media will release images of them in happier times, tell us about their jobs and careers and children – as is already happening with Keith Palmer, the policeman who we now know died on the Parliamentary Estate.

It is those images which I hope will be shared: not just as a way to resist fear, but as a way of acknowledging them as more than victims – of forging a different connection, based not in horror and voyeurism, but in a small moment of shared humanity.

There is no shame in being affected by graphic images, however removed one “ought” to feel. If you would like someone to talk to, Mind can provide details of local services.

The BBC also provides advice for those upset by the news.

Find out how to turn off Twitter image previews here.

Stephanie Boland is digital assistant at the New Statesman. She tweets at @stephanieboland