I've been waiting for a decent length of time to pass to tell this story, lest the parties involved be too readily identifiable.
The names in this story have been changed to protect the not-so-smart - and it goes something like this:
It's late on a Saturday afternoon and my cellphone rings. On the other end is a desperate and frustrated TV news reporter.
The reporter (let's call him Bob, because I can't think of a Bob young enough that a network would let him on the air) had received, as had pretty much every other reporter in town, a media release from a large organisation (let's call them NoCo).
This was clearly an issue the large organisation wanted some media coverage for. Why else would you bother to scribe and lovingly craft a media release and go to all the trouble of sending it out into the ether?
So NoCo distributes the media release, and Bob starts hunting around for all of the things he needs to make it work: talking heads to interview, a location to shoot in, and enough visual variation to make it interesting. He's going to need cover shots and cut aways and all of those things that a TV story can't happen without. Most of all he's going to need access to NoCo's premises - more than once, and for a decent length of time, because not only has Auckland decided they'll cover the story, they've tagged it for a lead at 6, with a live stand-up to introduce it.
So what does Bob do? If you answered "he calls NoCo to get access to the people and locations he needs to make the story work", you'd be wrong.
Bob didn't even bother to call NoCo, because NoCo doesn't talk with reporters. It doesn't even talk to reporters. It hardly even talks at reporters. Not even when it has issued a media release practically begging them to cover the story.
All that NoCo's media department does is write stiffly worded media releases, hit the 'send' button on their media release distribution software, then run in the other direction to hide really fast.
If the media does manage to catch up with the NoCo comms team, they tersely refuse access to all of their sites. And all of their people.
There's no logical or easy explanation for this peculiar behaviour. NoCo must know as well as the rest of us do, that reporters can't make a story out of a tightly spaced A4 page. It's what I call inviting reporters to dinner and then refusing to feed them, and there's a surprising amount of it around.
NoCo's good news story happened despite itself. The story won - but NoCo lost. Big time.
Instead of getting its name emblazened (in a good way) across a six o'clock lead, NoCo was reduced to an off-the-cuff mention.
It was my client, YesCo, who got the plug,with its facility, branding and people featuring in the story.
Yes, it was disruptive, it was time consuming and it was potentially hairy in places. But for YesCo it was the sort of advertising and credibility no amount of money can buy.
The moral of the story?
Don't issue a dinner invitation to reporters if you're going to refuse to feed them. It's confusing. It's conflicted. It's exasperating, and more than all that, it's just downright rude.

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