Archive for the ‘ Leadership as storytelling ’ Category

Francine Klagsbrun, excerpt from Lioness

Sounding calculating, almost brutal, she meant to shake up her listeners, jar the party and its heads into grappling with a situation most would do anything to avoid. “It seems to me that we entered this war unprepared for many things,” she said, “but also unprepared for victories.” She called on the central committee to hold a full-scale open and serious discussion about the Arab refugees and, in so doing, steer the party’s course on this troubling subject. This, too, required courage. She was confronting colleagues who spent hours debating every possible subject relating to the state that would be formed but who bypassed the most disturbing topic: how to relate to the Arabs in that state. Golda Meyerson broke the silence in the party on the subject of the Arab refugees, says the historian Benny Morris, an authority on the birth of the refugee problem, but nobody picked up on her questions. It wasn’t until June, after the Pan-Arab invasion of the Jewish state, that Ben-Gurion and Sharett made it known that while the war was on, Israel would not allow refugees to return to their homes, where they could serve as a fifth column. The policy, which gradually evolved, extended later to after the war as well.

David Remnick, excerpt from The Bridge: The Life and Rise of Barack Obama

His daily work was in church basements, high-school gymnasiums, the waiting rooms of broken bureaucracies. These were the scenes of his political education. He was interviewing people: priests, ministers, activists, local officials, police officers, teachers, principals, workers, hustlers, shopkeepers. An organizer interviews people incessantly, asking them about their lives, their tragedies and frustrations, their desires and aspirations. Obama and his colleagues counted themselves failures if they were seen as visitors. The more they made themselves fixtures in the community, the better their chances of success. “Narrative is the most powerful thing we have,” Kellman said. “From a spiritual point of view, much of what is important about us can’t be seen. If we don’t know people’s stories we don’t know who they are. If you want to understand them or try to help them, you have to find out their story.”

Marshall Ganz, excerpt from What is Public Narrative

Leadership, especially leadership on behalf of social change, often requires telling a new
public story, or adapting an old one: a story of self, a story of us, and a story of now. A story of self communicates the values that are calling you to act. A story of us communicates values  shared by those whom you hope to motivate to act. And a story of now communicates the urgent challenge to those values that demands action now. Participating in a social action not only often involves a rearticulation of one’s story of self, us, and now, but marks an entry into a world of uncertainty so daunting that access to sources of hope is essential. To illustrate, I’ll draw examples from the first seven minutes of Sen. Barack Obama’s speech to the Democratic
National Convention in July 2004 (see appendix).

Story of Self
Telling one’s story of self is a way to share the values that define who you are — not as
abstract principles, but as lived experience. We construct stories of self around choice points – moments when we faced a challenge, made a choice, experienced an outcome, and learned a moral. We communicate values that motivate us by selecting from among those choice points, and recounting what happened. Because story telling is a social transaction, we engage our listener’s memories as well as our own as we learn to adapt our story of self in response to feedback so the communication is successful. Similarly, like the response to the Yiddish riddle that asks who discovered water: “I don’t know, but it wasn’t a fish.” The other person often can “connect the dots” that we may not have connected because we are so within our own story that we have not learned to articulate them.

We construct our identity, in other words, as our story. What is utterly unique about each
of is not a combination of the categories (race, gender, class, profession, marital status) that include us, but rather, our journey, our way through life, our personal text from which each of us can teach.

A story is like a poem. It moves not by how long it is, nor how eloquent or complicated.
It moves by offering an experience or moment through which we grasp the feeling or insight the poet communicates. The more specific the details we choose to recount, the more we can move our listeners, the more powerfully we can articulate our values, what moral philosopher Charles Taylor calls our “moral sources.” Like a poem, a story can open a portal to the transcendent.

 
Telling about a story is different from telling a story. When we tell a story we enable the
listener to enter its time and place with us, see what we see, hear what we hear, feel what we feel. An actor friend once told me the key was to speak entirely in the present tense and avoid using the word “and”: I step into the room. It is dark. I hear a sound. Etc.

 
Some of us may think our personal stories don’t matter, that others won’t care, or that we should talk about ourselves so much. On the contrary, if we do public work we have a
responsibility to give a public account of ourselves – where we came from, why we do what we do, and where we think we’re going. In a role of public leadership, we really don’t have a choice about telling our story of self. If we don’t author our story, others will – and they may tell our story in ways that we may not like. Not because they are malevolent, but because others try to make sense of who by drawing on their experience of people whom they consider to be like us.
Aristotle argued that rhetoric has three components – logos, pathos, and ethos – this is
ethos. The logos is the logic of the argument. The pathos is the feeling the argument evokes. The ethos is the credibility of the person who makes the argument. – their story of self.

David Remnick, excerpt from The Bridge: The Life and Rise of Barack Obama

But who Obama was, where he came from, how he came to understand himself, and, ultimately, how he managed to project his own temperament and personality as a reflection of American ambitions and hopes would be at the center of his rhetoric and appeal. In addition to his political views, what Obama proposed as the core of his candidacy was a self—a complex, cautious, intelligent, shrewd, young African-American man. He was not a great man yet by any means, but he was the promise of greatness. There, in large measure, was the wellspring of his candidacy, its historical dimension and conceit, and there was no escaping its gall. Obama himself used words like “presumptuous” and “audacious.”

David Remnick, excerpt from The Bridge: The Life and Rise of Barack Obama

Obama was among the least well-known people in the seminar but he immediately attracted attention. “Obama is the same person all the time. When we see him in public, it is not a face he is putting on—it’s him,” Putnam said. “There is no mask, or at least the mask is so well integrated in his life that it’s disappeared. He was thoughtful, but not self-revealing. People who think they know him well are never unaware that he is restrained in self-revelation. The striking feature was his style in the discussion of hot topics with a lot of big egos. His style was to step back and listen. There were some important people who looked pretty bored; he was not, he was following. He carefully listened. Bill Clinton is also a power listener, but Obama, who has this capacity, is less forward than Clinton in letting you know what he thinks. But then he would say, ‘I hear Joe Smith saying X, and Nancy saying Y, but I think Joe and Nancy actually agree on Z.’ And it wouldn’t be pabulum. It is not a trivial thing to listen for a whole day and see common themes in the midst of an arguing bunch. It’s a personal skill or a personality trait. I don’t think I have ever seen that same ability in anyone else.”