At 5:45 a.m. Dec. 11, a press conference was held in Edwardsville, Illinois. The deeply sad purpose was to update the public on what happened the night before when a EF-3 tornado had rolled through and partially collapsed an Amazon warehouse. At least six people died.
Edwardsville Fire Chief James Whiteford was there, so was Edwardsville Police Chief Michael Fillback and other local officials. So, in fact, was Gov. J.B. Pritzker, despite the early hour and the location of Edwardsville, closer to St. Louis than Springfield or Chicago. Pritzker still got himself there to praise emergency workers and to try to comfort some of the afflicted.
You know who was not at that press conference? Anyone from Amazon. Stunning, given that the company owned the warehouse where people died. Worse yet, the absence of Amazon in front of the cameras that morning allowed confusion to grow over precisely how many people had died. The authorities said they didn’t know how many people were gone because Amazon didn’t know how many people had been in the warehouse during the incident.
Only hours later did Amazon finally put out a statement from a spokesman that was so anodyne as to be insulting to those victims: “We’re deeply saddened by the news that members of our Amazon family passed away as a result of the storm in Edwardsville. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims, their loved ones, and everyone impacted by the storm. We also want to thank all the first responders for their ongoing efforts on scene. We’re continuing to provide support to our employees and partners in the area.”
Thoughts and prayers? Please. Anything but that cliche. And when families and “partners” are in pain, they show up for each other. And who is the “we,” exactly? Without a face or a name, this was meaningless language.
It got worse. Early Saturday, Jeff Bezos, still the chairman and public face of Amazon despite handing over the CEO reins to Andy Jassy last summer, was tweeting Saturday morning about the pleasures of his fun space venture. He, Jassy, or a top lieutenant should have been at that microphone at 5:45 a.m., or at least on Zoom, answering real questions and attending to the pain of the good people of Edwardsville.
“The company with one of the most sophisticated logistics systems in the world can’t say how many employees are still unaccounted for nearly 24 hours after the tornado hit its warehouse?” tweeted the Springfield NPR-affiliate reporter Hannah Meisel. Apparently, it could not. We share Meisel’s amazement.
Company leaders used to understand that in a crisis, CEO must stand for Chief Emergency Officer. And we’re well aware of what they used to teach in business school: Act immediately, show empathy, do the right thing fast. And take care of your people. But tech companies hide behind the new ease of anonymity, avoiding the costs of human contact. There are exceptions, of course, but the perception certainly did not improve this past weekend. Big bosses hid.
