I made a stupid civilian mistake recently. Corresponding with a law enforcement source, who also happens to be a good friend, I “playfully” got prickly with him for not responding to a request as quickly as I would have liked.

His reply was even pricklier, and not at all playful. As it turned out, he’d been involved in a joint task force operation, serving search warrants and examining digital evidence, for the better part of the week—in addition to investigating a fatal shooting.

And once I got over my initial who-does-he-think-he-is reaction (because, really, who likes to hear they’ve screwed up—even when it’s painfully obvious?), I told him:

I know better, and I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.

And left it at that.

True apology is about trust

One of my favorite social media experts and another friend, Liz Strauss, re-blogged an older post of hers: “When an Apology Can Open the Door to Trust.” It didn’t only strike me because of my experience. It also struck me because in this day and age, it seems everyone is apologizing. Is this really an effective way to rebuild trust?

Dallas Police Chief David Kunkle

Honestly, I doubt it. I have to admit I rolled my eyes when I heard the word “apology” in conjunction with Dallas Police Chief David Kunkle’s apology to his city’s Hispanic community over a rookie officer’s actions. This was due in part to the fact that Kunkle has made public apologies before—notably with regard to another traffic stop.

But it’s not because of any opinions I hold about the DPD, or Kunkle himself. That’s my reaction to every public official’s apology, from Mark Sanford to John Edwards.

Apologies from organizations and public officials have, I fear, not come to mean very much. They are rarely 100% honest. Yet the public expects them, and public figures expect to have to give them. It’s become a “thing to do.” That removes the sincerity right there.

Worse, public reaction to them is mixed. Apologies for extramarital affairs only sometimes destroy careers. More often, they result in even more fame and attention. Apologies for misconduct result in the media using words like “outcry” and “demands for change” for a few weeks. Then nothing much changes.

And as Liz writes:

An apology that deflects attention, that says “I regret it happened,” is not an apology.
An “I’m sorry” that doesn’t own the damage done won’t rebuild trust.
An incomplete apology is a missed opportunity to build a stronger relationship by learning from what went wrong.

Words are not enough

My apology to my detective friend would have meant nothing had I emailed him again the next day, or really anytime before he dug out and was ready to talk again. I had to show that I meant what I said.

So I left him alone for a week—until he emailed me. Trust reestablished, friendship remains, though it has changed along with the two individuals who comprise it.

And therein lies the rub. People change. What they want and need and expect of a relationship changes along with them. The same is true of whole groups. People who once trusted a police department can learn to lose trust, and people who once distrusted their police can learn to regain it.

That’s why it’s so important never to assume you know what the public wants or needs, but to continue to research them, to reach out to them. Crime patterns shift. Demographics change. But pretty universally, people want to be heard and understood.

I made a stupid civilian mistake, and I owned up to it. Police make stupid cop mistakes, and they need to own up to them—not by making an “expected” apology, but by agreeing to learn from the mistake to make public safety better for everyone.

This is not easy. It often means putting one’s ego aside, and only rare leaders can admit their own mistakes to the extent that they can institute organizational culture change. The rest need to know when to admit that a change in leadership is necessary. Perhaps the best example: the LAPD.

What place do apologies hold in our culture? How can you move from the “expected” apology to one that is sincere and credible? And how can you follow through with action?

Christa M. Miller is founder and co-author of Cops 2.0. A freelance trade journalist turned public relations and social media consultant, she has specialized in public safety issues for the past eight years. She resides in Greenville, SC and can be reached at christammiller@gmail.com.