Shiny Green Button

What’s the opposite of greenwashing?

The first answer that comes to mind is “the truth.” But I think of the truth as neutral. Taken to its extreme, greenwashing is intentionally exaggerating, misleading or even lying to promote your green credentials.

The opposite of that would be to understate your green credentials so as not to call attention to yourself.

Offhand, I can’t think of any examples of companies doing this (which is sort of the point—they’re flying below the radar). But I imagine there are at least a few out there that have chosen (explicitly or not) to downplay whatever goals or progress they’ve made.

Perhaps they’re conservative by nature. Perhaps they’re in an industry where green is perceived as a distraction or isn’t yet relevant. Maybe they aren’t a marketing-driven organization and don’t have the resources to spread the word. Or maybe they’re just biding their time for the right opportunity.

Whatever the case, I wonder if the opposite of greenwashing could have as negative an impact on an organization.  The effects might be harder to identify and measure–missed opportunities to raise awareness, differentiate yourself, strengthen your brand, open up new markets, attract top talent, etc.–but they could have longer-term impact.

I’m not suggesting that companies have to tell their green story or risk doom. Just that if they are holding back, it should be a deliberate, measured choice.

Say a word aloud over and over again, and its meaning fades and eventually disappears. Scientists call this semantic satiation. The area of our brain where the word is stored is jammed by steady repetition, which temporarily erases the link between the sound we hear and the meaning we ascribe to it.

That’s where I am with the word sustainability.

I continue to come up against this problem when it comes to the vocabulary of corporate responsibility. “Green” is the most notorious example. It’s been used so often and in so many ways that it’s no longer meaningful.

But the issue with green isn’t so much about repetition as trust. Too many liberties have been taken. The word has become shorthand for virtually any claim having to do with the environment, true or not. So we dismiss it as a marketing conceit, lacking credibility.

The origins of  “sustainability” aren’t in marketing. Its most generally accepted definition (“to meet the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs”) was suggested by the UN back in 1987.

This definition isn’t universally applied, though. Sustainability has become a very broad term. On one end of the spectrum, it’s used to describe specific ecological processes. On the other, it refers to an organization’s values-based approach or goal. And virtually anything in between is fair game.

So, like green, sustainability suffers from being too elastic. But while green lacks credibility, sustainability lacks clarity.

Though discredited, green is pretty firmly attached to the environment. Whether or not they accept its meaning at face value, when people see the word green, I’d guess most people think “environment.”

Sustainability lacks that sort of strong association. It can refer to the environment. But it can also refer to a host of social or economic issues, such as human rights, access to education and health care, or the welfare of communities. Some use it as a catch-all synonym for corporate responsibility. Others use it inconsistently, even within the same communications.

That’s why citing sustainability–even just a couple of times in succession–can render it meaningless. The link between the sound we hear (or word we read) and the definition we give it is fuzzy and tenuous at best. It quickly becomes white noise, easily tuned out.

One solution is to first define what we mean by sustainability, to get our audience on the same page before getting down to business. But that can be tedious and even counterproductive, depending on the medium and message. It also requires being diligent across ensuing communications, consistently repeating and reinforcing the definition in the hope that it will stick, at least within the context you’ve established.

Another approach is to jettison the word itself and introduce an alternative, to reframe sustainability on your own terms. But, again, that requires some priming of your audience. And it sidesteps the fundamental issue, which is that the concept of sustainability itself isn’t necessarily clear. If you start out unfocused, chances are your solution will be, too.

I think the better strategy is to translate sustainability into engaging stories or tangible actions and results that people can easily relate to. In other words, to explicitly link sustainability with ideas or concepts that have clearer, stronger meaning. Those who can tap into those associations will be more likely to get their message across, and build a bridge for future sustainability communications.

Photo credit: OregonDOT on Flickr

In reading about the benefits of implementing sustainability programs at work, I often come across something like this, from an article by Thomas Kemper titled “What is a Green Office?” in the Green Office Guide  from Sustainable Industries:

“[One benefit is] Higher employee morale, equating to increased productivity.”

That starts out sounding pretty good, but then it’s just gotta mention the “p” word: productivity. That intangible, ever-elusive carrot that every business is striving for and anyone with an office product to sell is talking about. The word productivity is quickly becoming a pet peeve of mine. It’s a buzzword. It’s everywhere. And I never know what productivity means, except, “more work.”

But more importantly, points like that might neatly sum up the concept, but are so abstract; it’s hard for me to understand them at a tangible level. Sustainability. Morale. Productivity. Nice ideas. I need to see them in action to believe them.

But then, on my weekly bike commute to work last week, it struck me that I was living out the connection between sustainability and productivity. Often as I’m pedaling, my mind noodles on something work related. On my way in, my bike commute is time to get ready for the day ahead and organize my thoughts. On the way home, it’s extra time to think. More often than not, I’ll  put my finger on how to solve some vague thing that’s been bugging me but I haven’t yet identified, or I’ll come up with a completely new idea.

In fact, while I was on my bike, I wrote half this blog post in my head.

By creating a sustainable workplace and supporting bike commuting—things like access to a locked storage room for our bikes, on-site showers and a company bike repair kit for those occasional flats or dropped chains—AHA! gets just a little more work from me. And I don’t even mind! Because I love riding my bike to work, and I love that now I have a real-life story to help me understand the how sustainability in the workplace contributes to increased productivity.

How about you? Do you have real-life examples of increased productivity—or other business benefits—as a result of your company’s sustainability programs? Leave a comment. We’d love to hear your story.

Last Friday, the father-in-law of our very own Leanne Watson blessed us with rarefied air.

Indeed, he came to our offices during lunch to teach an eager group of us how to fix a flat bike tire—and other critical bike repair things that every commuter should know. This included, of course, letting each and every one of us feel, on our foreheads, the gentle poof of air that a damaged inner tube emits.

Here’s what I learned:

• I should be carrying an extra inner tube, which is far more convenient than patching a puncture on the side of the road
• I need to purchase an air pump that attaches to my bike, because believe you me I don’t want to be stuck on Jantzen Beach with no air in my tire
• A patch kit is essential, and I’m lucky I’ve made this far without one
• When you get old, it’s nice to have a standing pump with the gauge at the top of the pump, so you can read it without a telescope
• Oiling my chain is easy!
• I no longer need to dish out ten bucks to the bike shop to fix my flats. I can do it myself!

A big thank you is in order to Bruce for imparting his bike knowledge and Leanne for orchestrating the afternoon. I’m actually looking forward to my next flat just so I can put my new-found skills to the test!

Well… almost.

Here on the banks of the Columbia River, I look out our office windows and can see traffic clogging up the I-5 bridge for four or five hours at a stretch each morning and afternoon. The Interstate Bridge was built in 1917 with a second span added in 1958. Now in 2009 its fate is in jeopardy because, faced with a problem (growth and transportation demands), our human instinct is to make something, to tear something down and build something new.

Interstate Bridge, Photo credit: Cacophony

We look at problems and see technological solutions. And in our system of free enterprise and representative government, there are an abundance of architects, engineers, contractors and politicians eager to make money or make their mark.

Those with an eye on sustainability are calling for environmentally visionary ideas—a new bridge generously accommodating light rail, bicycles and pedestrians while limiting the number of auto lanes—but still predominantly replacement solutions. The debate over funding and design has gone on for years and appears to be coming to a close. At some point we will see a new bridge.

But what if this same problem had been looked at from a communications perspective, looking at human psychology and behavior instead of steel and concrete?

The bridge traffic problem had always been characterized in the local media as a problem with the numbers of commuters traveling across the river between Portland, Oregon, and Vancouver, Washington. But an interesting thing happened in early December of 2007, the significance of which went unnoticed by the media.

Eighty-seven miles north of Portland, I-5 was flooded by the Chehalis River and closed to traffic for almost four days. Traffic crossing the I-5 bridge during those days was significantly lighter. The number of tractor-trailer rigs dropped dramatically, and you could drive relatively smoothly between the two cities at any hour of the day. I was surprised when no one in the media connected the dots to draw the obvious conclusion: A large portion of the usual traffic congestion is from people traveling between points south of the river and points north of the city of Chehalis. Commuter traffic was unobstructed and so was out of the equation. A perfect scientific test.

I-205 is the other freeway that crosses the Columbia in the Portland-Vancouver area. It was designed as a north-south interstate freeway, bypassing the metropolitan area. Interstate 205, by its very designation, is an “alternate” route. Get directions from Google Maps for how to travel from San Francisco to Seattle and you’ll be sent on I-5 all the way.

Taking a communicator’s perspective, I think the core problem is one of behavior and perception. Here’s a solution that would cost a hell of a lot less than the projected $4 billion for a new bridge: Focus funds on redesigning the I-205/I-5 interchanges south of Portland and north of Vancouver. Reverse the names of the two freeways so that I-205 is called “I-5” and the portion of the current I-5 between the two interchanges is called “I-205.” Re-engineer the interchanges so that the new I-205 running through the metropolis is experienced as an “exit” off of the new I-5. Revise signs and maps and educate travelers and interstate commercial transportation interests.

Yes, there’s more than communication in this solution, but communication and behavior are central to the idea. In watching the I-5 bridge debate, I’m struck by the thought that we communicators ought to do more to exert our influence and apply our thinking to address environmental problems in ways that go beyond marketing and telling a good story.