09 July 2020
“I’m Sorry”
Why is it so hard to say?
By Richard Pooley
Two weeks ago a British friend, a retired lawyer, wondered whether people had “lost the inclination to apologise and the inclination to accept an apology.” I failed to ask what had triggered these thoughts, although he did later mention Dominic Cummings, Philip Green and Mark Zuckerberg as examples of people who should have apologised for recent misdemeanours.
I was reminded of this when hearing on Tuesday that Boris Johnson’s spokesman had refused to apologise on his boss’ behalf for the Prime Minister’s accusation that “too many care homes didn’t really follow the procedures in the way that they could have”. Johnson was responding to a question about what had caused the very high number of deaths in UK care homes. Instead the spokesman explained that “the PM was pointing out that nobody knew what the correct procedures were because the extent of asymptomatic transmission was not known at the time.” I have read that sentence several times and still can’t see how this relates to the words uttered by Johnson. Eight questions to the spokesman by journalists, each addressing the issue in various ways, received exactly the same response.
The reaction of those running the care homes has been predictably furious. And I can’t believe British people in general will be impressed either by Johnson’s words or by his refusal to retract them. Whatever any enquiry of the Government’s handling of the pandemic finally reveals, the key facts about care homes are already known. Around 25,000 patients were discharged from hospitals into care homes without being tested for coronavirus. From very early on, care home managers begged for personal protective equipment to be supplied to their staff but were told they were a much lower priority than the NHS. And so on.
So, why won’t Johnson apologise? Does he not know that his false accusation and the stonewalling of his spokesman only continue to erode what little trust remains in him and his government? Does he not realise or care that such loss of trust will make it yet more difficult for his government to reimpose lockdown measures locally, let alone nationally, when the next wave of coronavirus sweeps in through late autumn and winter?
Until recently, I would have agreed with the usual reasons given as to why people, politicians in particular, avoid apologising: an unwillingness to lose face; a refusal to accept that you are not as moral a person as you believe you are; an admission of wrong-doing which could damage your career or political future. But some research done by Professor Tyler Okimoto of the University of Queensland makes me think politicians, top business leaders and even leading sportspeople may have another reason for never saying “sorry”.
Okimoto did his PhD in Organisational Psychology at New York University. In 2013 he conducted two experiments to see the effects on people’s self-esteem of either apologising, saying nothing or refusing to apologise. The first involved 228 American adults, aged 18 to 77. They were asked to think of a time when they had done something wrong and been found out. The offences ranged from trivial lies to theft. They were asked how they had felt if they had apologised or had refused to do so or had simply stayed silent. Those who said nothing felt worst. Those who apologised reported a rise in their self-esteem. But it was those who refused to say sorry who felt the greatest rise in self-esteem. The second study with another 219 American adults, using a different approach, got the same results. As Okimoto said:
“When you refuse to apologize, it actually makes you feel more empowered. That power and control seems to translate into greater feelings of self-worth… Taken together, the results of these two studies provide converging evidence that there can be beneficial psychological consequences for individuals who refuse to provide an apology to the victims of their harmful actions.”
Now, put yourself in the shoes of a politician like Johnson. You have a very high opinion of yourself and can’t abide the thought that anything you do could be so bad as to make you doubt your own integrity and brilliance. To apologise is not just showing weakness, it doesn’t make you feel good about yourself. And you are handing power to other, lesser beings by asking them to forgive you. Whereas refusing to bow down and say “I’m sorry” reinforces your self-esteem and makes you feel in control. Maybe politicians, subject after all to so much abuse, have to refuse to apologise if they are to survive psychologically as well as politically.
We, those lesser beings, cannot absolve ourselves of blame. How do we treat politicians who make a genuine apology? I’m not talking about the non-apology raised to an art form by people like Tony Blair: “I’m sorry if I have offended anyone…” This is more offensive than a refusal to apologise. That “if” makes it clear that the speaker does not think he has anything to apologise for and casts doubt on the integrity and intelligence of those to whom he is apologising. As a Liberal Democrat I have cause to remember only too well when a British politician last made a heart-felt apology. That was Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg saying how sorry he was to have reneged on his promise never to support raising university tuition fees. He was pilloried for his breach of promise and pilloried yet more for saying how sorry he was for having done so. A satirical song Nick Clegg Says I’m Sorry got into the UK charts in 2012. He never recovered and nor did his party. If we, the people, are not willing to forgive our masters their mistakes even when they make a genuine apology, why on earth should any politician commit such political suicide?
The participants in Okimoto’s experiments were not, I believe, top politicians or leaders in their field. So, it may appear from these studies that all of us should raise our self-esteem by never apologising for our misdeeds. But most of us lesser mortals know that never saying sorry can poison business relationships and lose us the respect and even love of colleagues, family and friends. One of my colleagues at work was a highly-talented, hard-working individual with the necessary knowledge and experience to take over running the company. But he failed to earn the trust of his subordinates and peers partly because his pride made it impossible for him to ever admit he was wrong and apologise for it.
I am sure that most politicians in their private lives are able to say sorry when they have hurt close friends and family (though if Donald Trump’s niece, Mary, is to be believed this is not true of the US president). They would end up very lonely people if they could not. But we ask too much of our leaders in expecting them to apologise to us in public. If they don’t, we lambast them; if they do, we humiliate them. There is indeed one law for them and one law for us. And we are to blame. Sorry.
