A recent New York Times report notes that Growth Energy, an ethanol advocacy group, has blanketed the subway station closest to the U.S. Capitol with ads saying “No beaches have been closed due to ethanol spills” and calling ethanol “America’s clean fuel.” The article goes on to dispute that claim with a pile of data, including this nugget:

Fertilizer and pesticide runoffs from the U.S. Corn Belt are key contributors to “dead zones” in the Gulf of Mexico and along the Atlantic Coast. A 2008 study by independent researchers, published in the [National Academy of Sciences'] Proceedings journal, calculated that increasing corn production to meet the 2007 renewable fuels target would add to nitrogen pollution in the Gulf of Mexico by 10 to 34 percent.

Thus the ads violate at least two key credibility factors: full accuracy, not just technical correctness (beaches may not have been closed due to spills, but normal production has polluted coastal waters), and claims that are consistent with actions. (For more, see the Thinkshift Credibility Quotient™ fact sheet.) Most clean energy options have some sort of downside, and you know the old saying: if you’re a pot, don’t call the kettle black.

I can’t speak to Growth Energy’s intentions, but even the most ethical organizations sometimes fall into the bad comparison trap: seizing on current news to draw attention to your benefits is smart communications, but you have to make sure any comparisons you make will stand up to scrutiny. This may sound like an obvious point, but true believers often become blind to their solution’s downsides. Skeptics, on the other hand, will see them in high def.

Accuracy is essential to credibility. Duh, right? Yet organizations miss the accuracy boat all the time. And even one or two innocuous slip-ups can cast doubt on everything you say.

Just look at the “climategate” kerfuffle, where a few questionable (stolen) e-mails between scientists were taken to indicate rot at the heart of all their work. Or at how the inclusion of an unsubstantiated speculation on the melting rate of Himalayan glaciers in the 2007 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report brought forth a barrage of claims that all climate science is bunk.

Sure, these reactions came from people who are climate science skeptics (at best)—but that’s the point. Every business making a benefit claim for its products or services and any advocacy group promoting a policy solution faces skeptics. Inaccuracy encourages doubt to spread.

So why is there so much inaccuracy in communications of all kinds? Anyone who’s not actively trying to deceive realizes that factual statements should be correct; when they’re not, speed and sloppiness are usually the culprits. The rule: check every statement. Then check it again.

The more slippery (and common) problem is claims that are inaccurate by implication—for example, packaging that can be recycled only at rare, specialized facilities but is simply  labeled “recyclable” with no explanation. Companies that do this may earn greenie points from the uninformed, but once people find out their recycling can’t actually be recycled, they tend to get peeved—and massively distrustful. Credible claims are realistically correct, not just technically correct. The rule: if you’re implying something untrue, then you’re not telling the truth.

Current talk about the Obama Administration’s trouble with transparency reveals a strong parallel with sustainability-oriented businesses: it’s easy (and sounds so nice) to say you’re committed to transparency; try to deliver on that promise and you’re likely to encounter walls of uncertainty, fear, and bureaucratic resistance.

When transparency means revealing unfavorable or unflattering information (and it usually does to some extent), companies and institutions often get cold feet. They consider the negative publicity that could ensue and decide they can’t risk it. What they often fail to consider is the risk of continuing to hide and the benefits of public confession.

Someone’s bound to find out your secrets eventually, and then you have no control over the story. On the other hand, social psychology research, along with plenty of anecdotal evidence, shows that organizations that acknowledge problems—and say what they’re doing to address them—are perceived as more credible. Telling the truth makes you trustworthy. This is why attention to challenges is a factor in the Thinkshift Credibility Quotient™ (see an earlier post on how this applies to companies introducing advanced technologies).

You may be familiar with one of the best examples of transparency and acknowledging challenges: Patagonia’s Footprint Chronicles program, which traces the company’s products through the supply chain. If not, here’s a look at the site in action:

I look up a jacket, and the website tells me the sustainability “good” (it’s recyclable), and the “bad” (the waterproof finish uses a chemical that persists in the environment). It also tells me they’re researching alternatives, but for now the finish stays because it’s essential to performance.

The fact that they’re telling me a negative thing makes the positives they point out all the more credible. It also has the interesting effect of making me as a potential purchaser share responsibility. They’ve told me about the chemical; if I want to reduce its incidence, I can forego waterproofing. If I want the waterproofing, I am partly responsible for the sustainability problem. Nice, huh?