The time for ethical storytelling is now
Last week, Refugee Action brought together over 100 charities to send a letter to the Labour Home Secretary with the following message:
Stop blaming migrants and tackle the UK’s real problems.
What I like best about this message is its ambition; more than a counterargument, it seeks to change the whole conversation. It goes beyond a story about supporting migrants’ rights to dignity and respect to say: hang on, maybe migrants shouldn’t be the story at all – at least concerning things they have nothing to do with, like wealth inequality, underfunded councils and a crumbling NHS.
But you can’t deny the emotional power of the anti-migrant narratives. As Nigel Farage knows well, fear and anger might not improve society, but they’re good for getting people out on the streets. So how can the charity sector reclaim emotional storytelling for good?
In this edition of Stories For Social Good, I discuss:
The enduring power of unethical storytelling
The emerging power of ethical storytelling
Ethical storytelling that rebalances power AND raises funds
Seven signs you’ve slipped into unethical storytelling
The enduring power of unethical storytelling
I often kick off charity storytelling training sessions with this quote from British-Nigerian poet and activist Ben Okri.
“To poison a nation, poison its stories. A demoralised nation tells demoralised stories to itself. Beware of the storytellers who are not fully conscious of the importance of their gifts, and who are irresponsible in the application of their art.”
He’s referring to the way colonialists used storytelling to persuade African countries to cede power to British Imperial rule. But I think it resonates with the stories told by leaders like Nigel Farage and Donald Trump today. They’ve identified that the UK and US are feeling pretty demoralised and used the opportunity to tell demoralising stories about how things have got this way. Migrants have become the objects of these negative stories of national identity; they’re dehumanised, serving only as a useful target to blame for why British and American citizens feel unhappy. Whereas in most refugee charities’ accounts, refugees are subjects, with complex histories and relatable hopes and dreams.
But it’s not always the case. Sometimes charities themselves are guilty of objectifying the people they support. Most notoriously, development organisations have created ‘poverty porn’ images and narratives, representing people (usually African children) as objects of vulnerability, deserving of our charity. Similar tactics have been used for other causes too, such as homelessness, disability and even animal welfare.
When we objectify the people in our stories, we have the power to use them however we like. Just as Farage and Trump do so effectively. But at the same time, we’re painting a one-dimensional picture of somebody that doesn’t tell the whole story. No one wants to be represented only at their most vulnerable. It’s undignified. But when every brand is competing for audiences’ dwindling attention spans, it’s also tempting.
Some charity fundraisers also argue that the ends justify the means – that if these representations are successful in prompting people to donate, then we should continue to use them. After all, it’s the people in the pictures who will benefit. Others say that charities nonetheless have a moral responsibility to portray people with care and respect.
To varying degrees, this debate has raged in charities for years. But while it does feel like we’re gradually moving towards more respectful representation, inclusive language and decolonised communications, you also still don’t have to look too far to find the opposite.
So, will the fundraising motive always be at odds with representing people ethically?
The emerging power of ethical storytelling
I use the Okri quote above to make the case for a better kind of storytelling – stories of shared interest, not hostility and division; of curiosity, not dogma; of the richness of human experience, not simplified, dog-whistle messages designed to stir things up.
In ethical storytelling, people are represented authentically, respectfully and fairly. They are subjects of their own stories, not the objects of ours.
Here are a few of the benefits:
It’s honest and builds trust
It can win hearts and change minds
It’s authentic, original and distinctive
It deepens long-term engagement
It helps us learn – really learn – about people’s experiences
It surprises, leading to new ways of thinking
It upsets unequal power dynamics
It helps to challenge and overturn dominant narratives
There’s a lot to like, right? Which charity wouldn’t want to tell distinctive stories that build supporters’ trust, win their hearts and create deep, long-lasting relationships?
But what about challenging dominant narratives and upsetting unequal power dynamics? That starts to feel like hard work – work that takes time, and which may not deliver the immediate results demanded by short-term fundraising goals. And then there’s the mere exposure effect, which shows how people are drawn to the things they’re most familiar with; the more we hear the same type of story, the more it grows on us.
Fundraising targets and human psychological theory appear to work against ethical storytelling, not for it. So far, so not that great. But let’s keep these challenges in mind as we return to the good stuff – winning hearts and minds, building trust, and growing relationships.
Because, yes, one-dimensional stories of vulnerability may trigger active emotions, such as shock and anger, which can prompt people to give, but there may also be diminishing returns. With repetition, these stories may lose their power and supporters’ inclination to give may wane.
However, by telling fuller stories, you can appeal to supporters on multiple emotional levels, inviting more empathetic connections and deepening their relationship to your charity and cause. Told well, these stories can lead not only to cash donations but also to longer-term engagements. And not many fundraisers would turn down a direct debit in favour of a one-off cash gift.
And then there’s the moral case for challenging dominant narratives of injustice and inequality. Whatever your cause area, your charity’s mission probably alludes at some level to rebalancing society for social or environmental good. And charities know better than most how to get there. If Nigel Farage can persuade a majority of voters to blame migrants for society’s ills, despite net migration falling by more than half last year, charities should take their cue to tell more compelling, relatable, and empathetic stories rooted in insight and truth. Just as Refugee Action are doing.
Oh yes, and it works.
Ethical storytelling that rebalances power AND raises funds
Jess Crombie has done some fantastic work showing just how effective ethical storytelling can be. But Jess goes beyond just applying ethical approaches to ensure people are represented fairly; she transfers power to the storytellers themselves – the people whose stories these are. That includes the power to decide which stories to tell, how to tell them (including the writing, photography and design), and full consent about where they will be disseminated.
In one example, two-thirds of supporters were at least as likely or more likely to donate to an appeal created by ‘participants’ (not ‘beneficiaries’, ‘recipients’ or ‘service users’). But just as importantly, this ‘participant-led’ approach was preferred by the participants themselves. Effective fundraising and respectful storytelling in practice.
There are lots of other examples from recent years too, like Amref Health Africa's Who Owns the Story?, Shelter’s video diaries or Chance for Childhood’s #OverExposed campaign. Need more inspiration? Check out The Saltways' website for loads of practical advice and real-life examples of ethical filmmaking for charities. Or Ettie Bailey-King on the power of inclusive language. Or Collette Philip on anti-oppressive brands. Or Najité Phoenix on decolonising communications (I love her provocations, not rules approach).
Seven signs you’ve slipped into unethical storytelling
Even if you’re on board with these ideas. Even if you’ve considered, for example, having a trauma-informed approach, taken steps towards co-creation and practised free and informed consent across the process. The trouble is, whatever our identities, experiences or backgrounds, we’ve all grown up in societies structured by oppression of various kinds. Which means the way we’ve learned to communicate has been shaped by those structures too.
So when reviewing your stories, it’s a good idea to check for tell-tale signs that you may have slipped into unethical storytelling by mistake. Here are seven:
People’s experiences taken out of context
Speaking on people’s behalf
Stories that reinforce stereotypes or unequal power dynamics
Neat or comfortable solutions
Heroes or victims
The supporter or the charity appears to have the most power
The imposition of a brand, fundraising or creative idea or message*
*unless people with lived experience have contributed to the idea themselves
Thinking back to the stories told about migrants that dominate our newsfeeds, I’m saying they fall foul of at least five.
It’s time to tell better stories.
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