I made a decision at 2:27 a.m that tossed my Thursday schedule out the door. Instead of falling back asleep, I did what I do every morning - listen to the day’s top headlines on my phone via the Washington Post app.
The first story was one that I not only did not expect, but it guaranteed I was not going back to sleep. Many people were feared dead after an American Airways regional jet collided mid-air with a U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter.
Then I listened to another story…then another.
Now, I was up for good.
The news was jarring, yes. But when there is a crisis at this level, my mind goes to finding a crisis communication angle: what can we learn from this tragedy without turning it into just another headline?
Enter the CEO
Ever wonder what goes through the mind of an airline CEO when a plane in their fleet goes down? (I mean, really wonder?)
I do.
I imagine they’re juggling a thousand crises—scrambling to manage internal teams, coordinate with authorities, and brace for the world’s collective side-eye. And then they still have to pause, stare into a camera, and deliver a video message that conveys not just facts but actual human empathy. That’s the ultimate tightrope walk of crisis communication.
Last night, CEO Robert Isom had to do exactly that. By 10 p.m. Wednesday night—roughly one hour after the collision—the airline posted a statement on its website. By 10:55 p.m., there was a video message from Isom.
Now, why is this moment worth watching? Because so many corporate statements feel robotic, like they’re just ticking boxes on a PR checklist: “We regret… (insert boilerplate here).” In contrast, Isom’s address showed us something simpler and rarer—a human being acknowledging real loss.
So, how did he do it?
He spoke plainly, addressing the “unbearable sorrow” felt by families, employees, and the broader community. He avoided jargon (our thoughts and prayers). The result? It felt sincere—at least more sincere than the classic “our thoughts and prayers are with everyone” line we’ve all heard a million times.
Still, there’s a fine line between empathizing and performing empathy. It’s easy for these video statements to slip into formulaic territory: solemn face, subdued tone, brief mention of resources for those impacted, and done. Is that enough to truly honor the pain people are experiencing? Or does it risk coming off as a PR box-checking exercise?
I’m not saying Isom got it perfect—no one does in a crisis. The real question is: Are we centering on the human beings affected, or just trying to protect the brand? That’s the moral heart of crisis communication. Every leader who steps in front of a camera has to wrestle with it.
Talking from the Heart vs. Ticking Boxes
What does “humanizing” communications even look like? A few core elements stand out:
Address the emotions. Don’t dance around fear and grief. Name them.
Acknowledge the unknown. If you don’t have all the details, be honest about it.
Invite compassion. Ask people to rally behind those directly impacted.
Follow up. It’s not just a one-and-done statement. Keep the updates coming, even when the world moves on.
Isom’s message stuck to several of these points, though I’d push for more follow-through. After all, a single heartfelt video can’t solve the heartbreak.
Where Do We Go From Here?
It’s tempting to flood our feeds with minute-by-minute updates (hello, doomscrolling). But real-time accuracy matters so much less than respecting the personal anguish so many are feeling. Tension flares when the public senses a mismatch between words and deeds. If a CEO says the airline is doing “everything possible” to support families, employees better be seeing those resources flowing in real life.
As crisis managers and communicators, we should always ask: Who’s hurting most, and how can our words—and actions—honor that pain? That’s the kind of introspection that keeps us morally accountable.
At the end of the day, humanizing communication isn’t rocket science. It’s straightforward honesty wrapped in genuine care. Do you actually see the people behind the tragedy, or are you only seeing camera lights and damage-control bullet points?
Let’s hope all of us—including elected officials—choose to see the people.
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