Back the horse called Self Interest – a zero-dollar guide to lobbying
Phil Quin shares the dark arts of public relations, a world of crisis management, eye-watering fees and paranoia.
At the turn of the century, in Melbourne, having well and truly outlived my usefulness as a political staffer, I saw few options apart from making the traditional leap into lobbying and public relations. I was first recruited by a soulless multinational PR behemoth, Weber Shandwick, before they closed their Melbourne office. After that, I joined a small, family-run business where I stayed for eight years. It hadn’t occurred to me, before or since, that I actually wanted to be a public relations consultant when I grew up. In fact, I couldn’t think of much worse – aside from the alternatives. Truth be told, there isn’t a lot else out there for a washed-up Labour hack with a stupendous drinking problem. It’s not like I could get a real job.
Apart from funding a 30-a-day beer habit, there were other upsides to the work. I especially revelled in crisis communications – helping clients scramble their way out of reputational trenches, the more hair-raising the challenge the better. I loved the rough-andtumble of Australia’s media and political environment.
But lobbying was another story. I detested it. Every rotten minute of it. Most of all, I hated abusing political and personal friendships on behalf of clients. It would take me hours of staring at the phone, willing myself against all instincts to call up mates in their capacity as ministers, MPs or staffers, to spout whatever corporate nonsense my company was paid to spin. Or to plead for a meeting. I don’t think I managed to conceal my ambivalence, either. That said, however much they resented my intrusion, I resented having to do it more.
I was often struck by what a wasteful misallocation of resources lobbying work can be. For instance, I was once hired by a huge multinational to lobby the Victorian government in order to help the company secure its Asia-Pacific headquarters in Melbourne, creating more than a thousand well-paid jobs. My boss wouldn’t have forgiven me for fessing up to the client that the government was hellbent on bending over backwards to accommodate them – and that my involvement was, therefore, a colossal waste of time and money. So I dutifully turned up; feigned interest and expertise; invoiced.
More often, lobbying work simply involved accompanying CEOs and their ilk to various schmoozy political events and ministerial confabs they were perfectly capable of arranging and attending on their own. Come to think of it, the whole public relations industry would collapse overnight if corporate bigwigs could overcome their irrational fear of journalists and politicians.
Make no mistake: politicians themselves are no fans of the influence-peddling aimed in their direction. A friend and former senior minister in Australia, now retired, recently told me that one of the least favourite parts of the job was sitting through pointless meetings arranged as favours for lobbyist mates (me included, he made sure to point out). One New Zealand MP told me he often leaves lobbyist briefings unsure about the point of the exercise – as if they’re just ticking names off lists to meet key performance indicators and justify eye-popping fees.
In Wellington, Labour city councillor Fleur Fitzsimons is blunter still: ‘‘I would advise against groups using professional lobbyists at all,’’ she told me. ‘‘I am always more convinced when I directly hear from residents about change needed’’.
Fitzsimons makes a crucial point. The average citizen is more often than not their own best advocate. ‘‘Councillors and council processes are very open and accessible and change can be made by ordinary residents,’’ she says.
The same can be said for central government where robust and transparent select committee processes enable any citizen to provide input on proposed laws.
The typical government relations expert enjoys only three modest advantages over the average man or woman in the street when it comes to plying their trade: they know how government works; they mostly have great networks around town, and the best ones are masterful at framing arguments in ways most likely to hit home with elected pols. None of this is rocket science. With a bit of effort, you can learn the lobbyist’s tricks, whereas they can never hope to emulate the passion and authenticity of a citizen lobbyist.
But what, if anything, can professional lobbyists teach us about how best to engage with and persuade decision-makers?
Start with how politicians tick, something I learned over 11 years and dozens of campaigns.
When it comes to their political fortunes – and I mean this in the nicest possible way – most elected officials tend to be paranoid and delusional in roughly equal measure.
No matter how safe their position, a politician always fear losing it. No matter how hopeless their case, a politician rarely stops believing they can overcome it. Crippling self-doubt co-exists with towering selfregard. High ego, low selfesteem.
Bear this unusual psychopathology in mind as you go about devising a strategy to hit up your local MP about one issue or another. You’ve got to hit them in the soft spot – or, as former Australian Prime Minister Paul Keating used to put it, ‘‘always back the horse called Self-Interest; it’s the only one trying’’.
Hutt South MP Chris Bishop makes it plain: ‘‘Make [your case] relevant to the MP’s responsibilities and, if possible, their constituents. At the end of the day, MPs have highly limited time. They get involved in issues that have political resonance for them and for the people they represent’’.
Once you’ve worked on a pitch that resonates with MPs and ministers, the mechanics of outreach are straightforward. Call their office. Write a letter or personally-addressed email. Seek a meeting. Send them a note on their Facebook page, or through Direct Messages on Twitter. Believe me, you won’t be ignored, especially if you engage constructively. They are happy to hear from you.
Tone is important, too. Don’t berate or hyperventilate. Never publicly confront. Find ways to make your solution appear like an off-ramp into easier traffic. And remember always: you’re there to help them make government work better – and their lives easier.
Come to think of it, the whole public relations industry would collapse overnight if corporate bigwigs could overcome their irrational fear of journalists and politicians.
Phil Quin under-performed as a lobbyist and PR consultant in Melbourne between 2000-2009.