Why McDonald’s can’t declare closure on other people’s pain

Sean Farrington’s interview with the boss of McDonald’s UK & Ireland on the Today programme this week was a familiar corporate moment. A company facing difficult questions, trying its best to control the conversation and move it forward.  

But for many tuning in, it made for deeply uncomfortable listening. When asked about allegations of abuse in the organisation stemming from a BBC investigation in 2023, Lauren Schultz stating that “we have drawn a line under it” and “I don’t want to speak about the past”, landed awkwardly. 

In serious incidents involving loss of life or lasting harm, companies frequently reach for phrases like “drawing a line under it”, “turning the page” or “moving on”. From an internal perspective, the instinct is understandable. Businesses seek stability and the ability to look ahead and rebuild.  

But to those who have suffered - and who are potentially still suffering - such language sends a different message entirely. A signal that the company’s need for resolution now matters more than the harm that occurred. 

This is a signal that so often jars. In situations where a company’s actions, or absence of them, have caused or contributed to harm, it is those most impacted who get to decide when the organisation can move on. Those who suffered abuse at work, or who in other cases have suffered bereavement, injuries or trauma, don’t have a neat endpoint. Grief and suffering do not resolve themselves on a timetable aligned with a crisis plan or a quarterly reporting cycle. 

This is where organisations so often stumble. Not because they don’t care, but because they move too quickly into closure mode. 

History is littered with examples of what happens when this occurs. Tony Hayward’s remark during the Deepwater Horizon disaster - that he wanted his life back - became emblematic because the comparison was morally jarring. Eleven men had lost their lives and livelihoods had been destroyed.  

More recently, Boeing’s long reckoning over the 737 Max disasters shows how enduring serious harm can be. Years after the crashes, families continue to demand not just safer aircraft, but recognition of the lives lost. Boeing’s early attempts to move on through technical explanations and legal containment only deepened the level of mistrust; and its later efforts to address the human dimension more visibly have only partially repaired that damage. 

Most large companies proudly articulate values about care, integrity and community. McDonald’s, for instance, states that it seeks to “put customers and people first” and “do the right thing”. These are familiar, well‑intentioned commitments. But the real test of corporate values - which often exist in copy more than conduct - is if an organisation can live up to them even when they slow down progress.  

A company that truly adheres to such values is one that continues to recognise suffering long after the immediate spotlight fades, and allows those affected to set the emotional pace, even when the organisation itself is ready to move on. 

None of this means abandoning discipline or professionalism. Spokespeople are rightly trained to control the direction of interviews, to avoid conjecture and to maintain clarity under pressure. That’s important. 

But demonstrating control without care is a dangerous game. When audiences sense that an interview is being “managed” and a spokesperson’s empathy feels procedural rather than heartfelt, the result is rarely the containment sought by the interviewee. Often it is the opposite.  

To be clear, McDonald’s response has not been one of denial or inertia. Since the BBC investigation, the company has invested heavily in future prevention: strengthening safeguarding processes, introducing new reporting channels, rolling out training, and tightening internal standards across its franchise network. Those steps reflect a serious attempt to reduce the risk of harm recurring.  

What is less visible, however, is a comparable focus on recognition or long‑term support for those who have already suffered.  

In personal life, we instinctively understand this. We don’t tell grieving people it’s time to move on when they are still clearly suffering. And if we - inadvertently or not - are the cause of another’s suffering, we don’t presume it’s ok to tell them to stop complaining.  

For organisations, the lesson is the same. Rushing to draw a line may feel practical. It may feel like good leadership. It almost certainly feels like it is what is best for the business. But it can all too easily appear to be a betrayal of your values and the people you purport to care about, whether staff, customers or communities. Once lost, that kind of trust can be hard to rebuild.