Getting heard
If I had to characterize what I’ve learned in the communications field–as a journalist, a sometimes copywriter, and an occasional Public Relations guy–it’s this stark truth: Facts don’t speak for themselves. The truth is a silent partner in life, in business, and everywhere else, and unless you know how to speak on his behalf, Old Man Truth goes unseen, unheard, and unheeded, and he’ll starve somewhere in a dark corner if you’re not careful.
Which, perhaps, isn’t the way we’d prefer things. As school kids, we’re taught that democracies are basically enlightened, somehow, because most of the people know most of the truth most of the time. Dissecting this premise isn’t worth any effort, but we do have to admit that extending it to the rough and tumble world of business and professional life is a flawed approach. If you’ve ever wanted to get the facts straight in such cases, and present these facts to other parties, you know how difficult it is.
Which is why Public Relations, and its cousin, lobbying, are established industries in the United States. And why, what with all the fur flying in U.S. political circles about the status of our labor and immigration laws, it will probably take a company like Preston Gates to present the perspective of the CNMI business community to the power tie bunch in Washington.
Sure, as an alternative we could all go to Oleai beach, down some cold
ones, and talk to each other about the “federalization” issues as they pertain to our business environment. Talk is cheap, beer, not so, but overall it wouldn’t put much of a dent in our pockets to hash, rehash, and re-re-hash all the same old truths.
The problem is, though, that the federalization decisions won’t be made at Oleai beach; they’ll be made in Washington. What we think and know here doesn’t costlessly get transmitted to the influential ears over there. The mere ability to get your point across is something you generally have
to pay professionals for–be it as a company selling a product, a foundation engaged in a public relations crusade, or, in our case, a political/industrial interest that has something to say.
Saipan is a long, long way from the powerful corridors of Washing Tundy Sea. What we know about Saipan–sort of a knowledge base that we take for granted—isn’t commonly known in the United States. My grandmother calls this place “Saigong.” Mom still calls at three in the morning from the states, because she can’t figure out the time difference, and when she glances for reference at a small globe she has, Saipan isn’t listed.
Half my friends think this is part of Thailand, for some reason. My brother asked if they accept U.S. dollars here.
True, my old pal Skippy the Deadhead knows what Washing Tundy Sea means, but he doesn’t count.
In fact, nobody–with the exception of an occasional history buff or geography expert–really knows where we are. Consequently, how can they know what we’re about?
I, for one, as a red-blooded, hot-dog eating, Ford truck driving American–as stereotypically American as anyone can get– think that the Commonwealth should receive a lot of scrutiny if it is to fly the stars and stripes. U.S. money comes out here, and, more importantly, the credibility of the U.S. flag is involved.
Uncle Sam has a legitimate interest–an obligation, really–to keep a close eye on our fair Commonwealth. I’ve got no problem with that; in fact, I encourage it.
Towards that end, in an ideal, dream world, every policy maker in the United States could live here for a year or two and draw his or her own conclusions about this place. That’s not going to happen, of course, and our affairs are but a small part of their busy schedules and harried agendas. Some have, no doubt, seen media coverage about the Commonwealththat was inaccurate.
Like it or not, if the Commonwealth wants its voice heard, it’s going to have to get the pros like Preston Gates to help present the CNMI’s viewpoint.
