The Stories We Tell - Changing Narratives
Last week, I offered up the first of a two-part series about the stories that we tell, and the stories we don’t tell. I wrote about how the presence of one person’s story, and the absence of someone else’s, could impact the messages that we send about power and equality in our communities and places of work. Having dealt, in some small way, with which stories we tell, I want to shift to look at how we tell the stories that we choose to tell. In short, how does the way we tell a story change the narrative?
If you’ve read this blog for a while, you’ve come across references to Chicago’s Lookingglass Theatre Company. I’ve been fortunate to see several of their productions, but earlier this year I saw one that connected with me in intense, profound ways. “Mr. & Mrs. Pennyworth” is a play that deals with storytelling. Specifically, the play tells the story of two spouses who travel around telling old fairy tales, myths, and nursery rhymes. We come to find out, over the course of the play, that they have been tasked with keeping these stories (and the characters within them) alive. And so they are understandably distraught when one of the three little pigs comes to them to say that one of his brothers has been murdered. The two begin an investigation, both to find the killer and to understand what’s going on. Because these characters are not supposed to die. As long as their stories are told, the characters remain. But when a character dies, his or her story can no longer be recalled. And that threatens the stories and the myths and the poems themselves.
Okay. I’m now going to get into some spoiler territory for those who may get a chance to see the play in the future. The production in Chicago was the world premiere, and I would hate to give away critical plot points for those who may plan to see this excellent play in the future, and don’t want to know more. But for those who don’t mind the odd spoiler, by all means, read on.
[WARNING – SPOILERS BELOW]
All right. You're still with me. So Mr. & Mrs. Pennyworth begin to investigate the crime, and their search leads to ultimately to Sæhrímnir, a giant boar from Norse mythology. We first hear about Sæhrímnir from Mr. Pennyworth, who tells a tale of the boar in Valhalla who is butchered every night to feed the hosts of heroes and warriors who abide there. Every morning, Sæhrímnir is reborn, only to be slaughtered again later in the day. Mr. Pennyworth’s tale is full of guts and gore, focusing on knives and blood with a slight nod to the pain that the beast must feel. Mr. Pennyworth tells the story to let Mrs. Pennyworth know that Sæhrímnir did in fact kill the little pig, and that they must confront Sæhrímnir. One thing leads to another, and they are split up in their travels to Valhalla. Mr. Pennyworth arrives first, and finds Sæhrímnir waiting. The boar attacks, and leaves Mr. Pennyworth near death.
When Mrs. Pennyworth arrives, she finds her husband with Sæhrímnir standing over him. And Sæhrímnir challenges her, asking if she’s heard his story. She says that she has, and she begins to retell the story in her own way. Her version of the story focuses not on the death of Sæhrímnir at the hands of the butcher. Rather, she tells of a noble beast who willingly sacrifices himself daily to feed the heroes of Valhalla. She speaks of Sæhrímnir’s pain, as bone is reattached to bone and sinew is relaid upon sinew. And she speaks of the gratitude of the warriors, who salute Sæhrímnir as a fallen hero in his own right.
“How did you do that?” Sæhrímnir asks when she finishes her story.
“Do what?” she replies.
“You changed my story,” he replies. He talks of centuries of having his story told by boys and men, eager to speak of knives and butchery and blood. He thanks her, for restoring a thread of nobility and meaning to his tale.
[END SPOILERS]
This idea, that the way we choose to tell a story has a profound impact on the way the story is heard, and retold, is not necessarily new. But it speaks to the heart of narrative, and language, and the choice that we each have at any given moment to tell a story that inspires, or demeans.
A lot has been written and said about political correctness over the last 30 years. There are some who talk about politically correct (PC) language as something limiting, and imposed upon them. I would agree, in a manner of speaking. Because I’m not a fan of political correctness. I’d rather adopt, and hope to see others adopt, inclusive language. Author Sam Killermann, writes about this important distinction, saying:
Being politically correct is behaving in a way that will gain you approval from others…Being inclusive is all about being a better person to other people. Being inclusive is a mindset. Once you have it in your mind that you want to make others feel more comfortable around you, you’ll find that you’ll be looking for ways to do so. It’s not about compromising your values; it’s about refining and developing values of empathy and concern for the other.[1]
I think that Killermann’s analysis can also be summed up by saying that political correctness involves specific language being imposed on a person from outside. Inclusive language is a choice, wherein a person is intrinsically motivated to speak of, and around, others with respect and dignity.
The good news regarding this, from a workplace diversity and inclusion perspective, is that the distinction makes it clear that inclusion is not a plan to impose PC language on others. Rather, it’s about defining a set of organizational values that make it clear that the way we speak to one another in a given team of company is going to be respectful, and will not leave anyone out.
Up to this point, I’ve been talking about the language that might be used when telling another’s story. That’s important, and can be necessary at times, when someone with privilege uses their power to call out inequity or injustice. But how much more powerful is it to encourage others to tell their own stories. And how much more can be learned from a narrative that’s told from a different perspective, when the storyteller has experienced the story?
What can we learn, and what new ideas can come to the fore when we encourage others to share their own stories and ideas in their own, authentic voices? In April, I was working with a member of our Diversity & Inclusion Advisory Council, based in China, on a short article for our company’s intranet page. We had agreed to start sharing more cultural information from around the globe, so that employees could learn more about the traditions that matter to their coworkers, and Qingming, Tomb Sweeping Day) was approaching in China. So my colleague sent along a story that told the mythological and cultural history of Qingming.
I read the story, and it was really interesting. But I kept coming back to a couple of elements of the story that involved a character sacrificing and cooking his own leg to feed his master, the Prince. And I thought, very briefly, about tweaking the language of the story in a way that would de-emphasize some of the more gory aspects. Then a voice in my head asked a very important, pertinent question.
“Who are you to Disney-fy a story that has held cultural meaning for billions of people over the course of millennia?”
The story was ultimately published as it had been submitted to me, and I have no doubt that maintaining the integrity of the tale was the right choice.
2017 has been a year where records were broken for the biggest opening weekends of films by black and female directors.[2] The film “Moonlight” won the Academy Awards for Best Picture, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Adapted Screenplay earlier this year. I’ve written before about Marvel Comics’ efforts to bring in a diverse slate of writers and artists to tell stories in a more authentic, interesting ways. These are just a few examples that come to mind. There are others. And I say all of this to say that creating space for others to tell their stories is interesting and, I believe, the right thing to do. It can also be a recipe for business and financial success.
Inclusive leadership is about encouraging multiple voices, in all of their diversity, in an effort to drive a stronger end result. Hearing what others have to say, in their own way, is an important start.
And failing that, if we find ourselves telling another’s story, we can at least tell it in the most generous, respectful way possible.
[1] Sam Killermann, http://itspronouncedmetrosexual.com/2011/12/political-correct-versus-being-inclusiv/#sthash.MkdgcSUZ.dpuf
[2] Jordan Peele’s “Get Out” and Patty Jenkins’ “Wonder Woman”
