Jeremy Corbyn’s election to the Labour leadership is truly remarkable.
He only made it onto the ballot paper at all because a group of MPs, some of whom cheerfully admitted they wouldn’t actually vote for him, decided at the last minute to nominate Corbyn in order to ‘widen the debate’.
Well he certainly did that! Even when he made it onto the ballot paper, Corbyn was still a 100/1 outsider with the bookies to win. But then something truly remarkable happened.
He didn’t just widen the debate, he changed the entire nature of it through a willingness to speak plainly, directly and with obvious passion. And it had a striking impact.
This isn’t just about Jeremy Corbyn though. The same could equally be said for the likes of Nigel Farage or Boris Johnson.
Across the political spectrum we find the politicians who have most caught the public imagination in recent years are those who speak ‘plain English’ rather than politicobabble, and have a ‘man of the people’ image (albeit very carefully cultivated in at least one case).
Over the last 20 years or so, certainly since the advent of New Labour and it’s media savvy spin machine, modern political communication has become cliché-ridden and soundbite-driven; an exercise in finding ways to avoid giving a straight answer to a straight question in a ‘Westminster Bubble’ parlour game to which only a closed elite of politicians and media know the rules or are allowed to play.
To the party spin doctors this may have seemed like an exercise in great media management, but the net result has been that the language of politics has become entirely divorced from the everyday language of the people the politicians are supposed to serve.
Against this backdrop it’s no surprise that we have seen a growing disenchantment, not necessarily with politics per se – the Scottish referendum turnout, the Iraq War march, or the number of petitions doing the rounds on social media demonstrate that people still care about important issues – but with the politicians themselves.
I’m not saying that the likes of Corbyn, Farage or Johnson are better politicians than their more ‘on message’ colleagues – the relative appeal of their policies is a matter of subjective personal opinion – but they have each found a way to connect directly with the public, which in turn gives them a more powerful platform from which to persuade people to their point of view.
So given we have seen the power of authentic communication in politics are there any lessons for marketers in all of this, or is the term ‘authentic marketing’ simply an oxymoron?
Is it possible to have true authenticity in a discipline where the primary objective in most cases is to maximise sales?
Certainly some people must think so. A Google search for the term “authentic marketing” yields 6,590,000 results.
But in a cutting response to one advertiser request, director Johan Liedgren wrote “I don’t view the opportunistic call for “authenticity” as a hope for our industry, but rather as an all-time low point for a trade that is no stranger to constantly lowered ambitions for the communication between organizations and real humans”.
Liedgren goes on to say: “Authenticity would be a short clip of you asking the audience to buy more of your product so you can keep your job and get a bonus.”
Which brings us neatly onto the current campaign for Oasis soft drinks:
Maybe we really have just entered a new age of authenticity?