Christmas isn’t Christmas until you’ve watched, read or listened to at least one version of A Christmas Carol.
(The Muppets’ is my favourite - “Even the vegetables don’t like him!”).
Here is my humble contribution to the genre…
I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly.
- Charles Dickens, December 1843
Act 1: In which Ebenezer Scoop cancels Christmas
It was Christmas Eve, and Ebenezer Scoop sat alone in his office. As Chief Communications Officer he hadn’t survived twelve “transformation programmes” by slowing down for the Holidays.
The city clocks had only just chimed three. Yet it was already nearly dark outside. The dense fog and biting cold came pouring in at every chink and keyhole.
“Let everyone else work from home today”, he grumbled, “all the more peace and quiet for me to review the comms plans, evaluation dashboards and festive TikToks that still need approval”.
When the team were back they’d see he had been right to cancel the Christmas Party. Who had time in December anyway? Much better to go with the “morale boosting event” for January he had suggested instead.
His phone buzzed. His laptop pinged. His smartwatch vibrated.
He sighed and took another look at the latest narrative. He couldn’t tell whether these were worse now they were done by AI than they had been when they were drafted by Committee. Either way, he couldn't imagine himself saying any of this nonsense out loud.
Exhausted, he decided to rest his eyes for just a moment… and promptly fell asleep at his laptop.
Act 2: The Ghost of Communications Past
Scoop woke to find a small glowing figure hovering above his inbox wearing a waistcoat patterned with flip charts, fountain pens and Post-It notes.
“This better not be a cyber-attack” he thought. He knew he should have updated his password.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Comms Past!” the figure declared as it stepped breezily out of the screen. “And Ebenezer, dear boy, we need to talk.”
The world dissolved before Scoop’s eyes and the spirit whisked him away to a time long ago: it was a comms department without screens. A time when a long lunch with a journalist counted as work. A time when press releases were printed on paper.
Scoop watched his younger self - wide-eyed, optimistic, hairline fully intact - engaging passionately with people. All around him people answered landlines, sent faxes, designed posters. He was telling stories. He was persuading people. He was drinking in the office. He was even smiling.
“You see?” said the Ghost. “Communication used to be about talking to people, relationships with others, telling a great story. And then…”
The scene dissolved again and Scoop saw himself just a few years later. It was Christmas Eve again.
The rest of the office were starting their celebrations, but he was spurning the entreaties of a young woman to join them.
“I sometimes wonder if you care more about your evaluation dashboard than me, Ebenezer. Can’t it wait until the New Year?”
“You don’t understand.” he replied, hunched over his PC and waving her away. “This is the way of the new world. If I don’t optimise for reach, impressions, shares, sentiment, and click-through rates now it shall be too late.”
“Maybe you’re missing the most important signal in the noise,” she said sadly.
He didn’t hear her. He sat entranced by the ghostly glow of the screen as she returned to the party,
“This,” said the Ghost gravely “was the beginning. You started with Search Engine Optimisation and you became so focussed on feeding the machines you forgot about the people.”
Scoop swallowed hard. “Spirit, show me no more! Why do you delight to torture me?”
“These are the shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”
“Is it too late to change?” asked Scoop?
The Ghost smiled. “No. But Act 3 is unlikely to cheer you up.”
Act 3: The Ghost of Communications Present
Suddenly, a blinding light filled the room. A new spirit towered above Scoop - vast, swirling and pulsing like a thousand notifications firing simultaneously.
“I,” boomed the figure, “am the Ghost of Christmas Communications Present.”
A notification pinged and Scoop was transported instantly to a commuter train. Every single person - everyone - was staring at their phone. Couples. Teenagers. Elderly passengers. Even a dog appeared to be scrolling.
“Spirit, why does no-one speak?” Scoop whispered.
“Why would they?” replied the Ghost. “Their news feed tells them everything they need to know. The scroll is endless. People consume stories alone, silently, in infinite bubbles and solitary fragments.”
Next, they drifted from office to office, home to home, pub to pub. Everywhere Scoop looked people sat together but lived separately - captured by glowing rectangles and content tailored especially for them.
Scoop saw his team. Rather than arrange their own Christmas Party they were glued to their separate screens.
“Each person sees a different world,” the Ghost explained. “The public square has become thousands of private rooms. No two people see the same thing. No two have the same facts.”
Scoop watched in horror as the beautifully crafted statement he had spent the previous day drafting appeared in someone’s feed sandwiched between a meme of a dancing donkey and a conspiracy theory about Brussels sprouts.
No wonder no-one understood what he was trying to say.
“Ghost,” Scoop said softly, “is this really what comms has become?”
The Ghost shrugged. “It’s what happens when technology knows how to capture attention more effectively than people do.”
And with that, everything went dark.
Act 4: The Ghost of Communications Yet To Come
Scoop awoke in deadening blackness. At first he thought it was a tomb.
Then, in the gloom, he saw a single, blinking LED.
“Are you the Ghost of Christmas Communications Yet to Come?” Scoop asked nervously.
The LED blinked twice.
Scoop looked around again and realised where he was. It was his company’s communications department of the future. It was immaculate. Cold, clean, calculating, efficient… and entirely empty.
No press officers. No content designers. No strategists. No one arguing about fonts.
Just AI agents.
One machine drafted messages. One optimised content. One created avatars to deliver announcements. One conducted focus groups with other machines pretending to be humans.
“But… who is this all for?” Scoop asked.
A wall of screens illuminated. From there came a gentle and perpetual hum as AI systems interacted with other AIs. They negotiated, tested, refined, optimised. Humans were just data points to be nudged towards outcomes.
Scoop felt faint.
“This is terrible,” he whispered. “A world without communicators? Where machines persuade other machines? Where humans are complicit in their own manipulation?”
Still the Ghost said nothing.
It simply blinked silently above the date: December 25th. No celebrations. No festive cheer. No office party. For there was no office.
“Please,” Scoop begged. “Tell me this future can change.”
The room went black.
Act 5 - Christmas morning
Ebenezer Scoop awoke with a start, slumped over his desk. Morning sunlight streamed in.
He rubbed his eyes.
Had it all been a dream?
Then he noticed a sheet of paper in front of him and there, written in his own hurried hand, were the following words:
Search changed discovery.
Social changed publishing.
Mobile changed behaviour.
AI is changing everything.
And beneath them a final line:
Tools change. Humans don’t.
Scoop sat back breathing deeply.
He understood.
The world of communications had been transformed, but people hadn’t. Their instincts, their emotions, their need for stories, trust and connection had all stayed the same.
He leapt to his feet. He needed to tell the world. He tried to fling open the windows, then remembered that Health and Safety had bolted them shut.
Instead, he drafted a message for his socials.
For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t optimised for engagement, click-throughs or reach.
Instead it was written simply and warmly:
“Merry Christmas! Let’s make next year about people again.”
And with that, Ebenezer Scoop felt the true spirit of Christmas, and of communications, return.
The End
I hope you enjoyed that cautionary tale.
Cut Through! will be back on 6 January with a short series exploring what has really changed in communications over the last 30 years, and what it means for communicators today.
It will take a more nuanced (and rather less bleak) view of the role of technology and why human judgement has never been more valuable.
Until then, have a great Christmas and a very Happy New Year!
Simon
