The Silent Way Insurers Increase Your Premiums

It starts, as these things invariably do, on a perfectly innocuous Tuesday. The coffee is hot, the cat is judging me from the sofa, and the world seems, temporarily, at least, to be behaving itself.

Then, you make the fatal error. You check your bank account.

There it is. A debit order. But not the friendly, familiar figure that you have grown accustomed to, the one we agreed upon over a handshake (or, more likely, a “pick me” shiny tick box on a glowing screen). 

No, this figure has swollen. It has gorged itself. It is startlingly larger.

There was no phone call. No email. No, we need to talk. Just, boom. The money is gone.

Now, before the suits in the glass towers start hyperventilating, let me stop you. I do not live under a rock. I am an ordinary homosapien, camping on this third rock from the sun, making my way through this thing called life. I buy milk. I see the price of bread. I understand the great, grinding machinations of the economy.

I know the “spiel”. I can recite the sacred texts of the insurance giants: "Inflation, dear boy. The rising cost of parts. The volatility of the Rand. The sheer, unbridled volume of claims.” Blah, blah, blah.

We get it. Truly, we do. Insurers are not the bad guys. They are not charities. They are businesses. To stay afloat, to keep the lights on and to ensure that if a runaway veld fire obliterates everything you own, they actually have the funds to pay, they must cover their expenses and make a profit. Prices go up. The Rand takes a tumble. This is the way of the insurance universe.

My gripe is not with the insurance mathematics. It is with the bedside manners. Some may call it professionalism. Novel idea.

There is something distinctly unpleasant about a silent price hike. It feels less like a necessary business adjustment and more like a pickpocketing. It relies on the hope that I am too busy, too tired, too hypnotised by AI to notice that you have dipped your hand a little deeper into my receding pocket.

"Trust us," the slogans say. "We’ve got your back,” and “Call us and save,” or “Comprehensive cover now just R299.99 pm. Smile & Wave. But for today only.” Or, my personal favourite, they promise you cash rewards for not doing what insurance is supposed to do. Talk is cheap and so is insurance, it seems.

By the way, this obsession with “cash back” has always mystified me. Why would people buy into that, unless insurance is a con? Which, to be clear, it is not. But one gets the feeling it is leaning toward a mass marketing “pick me, shiny object” tactic dressed up as generosity. Quite frankly, it is insulting. Why should I be rewarded for not using the product I paid for? Why not just reduce my premiums if I am a good boy? Try treating me like an adult customer who can manage their risk profile. Asseblief tog.

Yes, you have my back. And my bank details. And, apparently, the audacity to assume that my silence is permission to do whatever you please, now that I have signed up.

The solution, my dear corporate behemoths, is simple. It requires no algorithms, no actuarial tables and no board meetings.

Talk to me. Truthfully. Please.

Before you unleash the increased debit order, be brave. Man up. Do a Stevie Wonder. Pick up the phone. But please don’t sing. Rather say, “I just called to say your premiums are going up”. Send a letter. An email. A carrier pigeon, if you are feeling retro. And, pretty please, I am not a template, so please do not send me the bad news premium increase template. I can smell them a mile off. The smell is rather unpleasant. Please treat me like a human, like you want to keep me as a customer.

How about this for honesty:

"Dear Johnny, look, the world is a mess, car parts now cost more than gold dust, petrol is going up, so we are going to have to bump your premium up by 15% next month. We hate to do it, but such is life and insurance.”

That is step one. But if you really want to dazzle me? Give me options.

"If this increase makes you want to sob uncontrollably into your pillow, Johnny, here are some alternatives. We could tweak your excess. We could remove that car hire option you never use. Also, we recommend reviewing your motor sums insured. Let’s dance." Marvelous. Thank you, I would say. And I really mean that.

Suddenly, I am not a victim of the system. I am a participant. I am a human being with a name, not just a policy number to be harvested.

It is a small thing. Basic courtesy. The digital equivalent of looking someone in the eye before you ask to borrow a tenner.

And while we are on the subject of table manners, let me address the slightly less silent cousin of this crime. The 3:36 am email.

You know the one. It arrives in the wee hours of the morning, like a hadeda shrieking outside your window, when all decent people are either asleep or questioning their life choices. The subject line is vague. The tone is apologetic in that corporate way that means nothing. And after two paragraphs thanking you for being a valued customer, buried somewhere in paragraph four, nestled between the platitudes and the legal disclaimers, is the news.

Your premium is going up. In 48 hours, "nogal".

Technically, you have been notified. Legally, the box may have been half-ticked. Morally? Just not cricket. Not even close.

So, by all means, raise the premiums if the state of the insurance business demands it. But for the love of money, do not sneak in and do a digital smash and grab.

Be friendly. Be professional. And above all, try picking up the phone and saying hello before you reach for my wallet.

Let's treat the customer fairly, shall we?

What do you think?

* Views expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect the views of Independent Newspapers.

* Chadwick is the CEO of Chadwicks.

PERSONAL FINANCE