If a story moves you, act on it

So earlier this year,

I was informed that I would be

doing a TEDTalk.

So I was excited, then I panicked,

then I was excited, then I panicked,

and in between the excitement
and the panicking,

I started to do my research,

and my research primarily consisted
of Googling how to give a great TEDTalk.

(Laughter)

And interspersed with that,

I was googling Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

How many of you know who that is?

(Cheers)

So I was Googling her
because I always Google her

because I'm just a fan --

(Laughter) --

but also because she always has
important and interesting things to say.

And the combination of those searches

kept leading me to her talk

on the dangers of a single story,

on what happens when we have
a solitary lens through which

to understand certain groups of people,

and it is the perfect talk.

It's the talk that I would have given

if I had been famous first.

(Laughter)

You know, and you know, like,
she's African and I'm African,

and she's a feminist and I'm a feminist,

and she's a storyteller
and I'm a storyteller,

so I really felt like it's my talk.

(Laughter)

So I decided that I was going
to learn how to code,

and then I was going to hack the Internet

and I would take down all the copies
of that talk that existed,

and then I would memorize it,

and then I would come here and deliver it
as if it was my own speech.

So that plan was going really well,
except the coding part,

and then one morning a few months ago,

I woke up

to the news that the wife
of a certain presidential candidate

had given a speech that --

(Laughter) (Applause) --

that sounded eerily like a speech
given by one of my other faves,

Michelle Obama.

(Cheers)

And so I decided that I should
probably write my own TEDTalk,

and so that is what I am here to do.

I'm here to talk about
my own observations about storytelling.

I want to talk to you about

the power of stories, of course,

but I also want to talk about
their limitations,

particularly for those of us

who are interested in social justice.

So since Adichie gave that talk
seven years ago,

there has been a boom in storytelling.

Stories are everywhere,

and if there was a danger in the telling
of one tired old tale,

then I think there has got to be
lots to celebrate about the flourishing

of so many stories and so many voices.

Stories are the antidote to bias.

In fact, today, if you are middle class
and connected via the Internet,

you can download stories
at the touch of a button

or the swipe of a screen.

You can listen to a podcast about
what it's like to grow up

Dalit in Kolkata.

You can hear an indigenous
man in Australia talk about

the trials and triumphs
of raising his children in dignity

and in pride.

Stories make us fall in love.

They heal rifts and they bridge divides.

Stories can even make it easier
for us to talk about the deaths

of people in our societies

who don't matter,

because they make us care.

Right?

I'm not so sure,

and I actually work for a place
called the Centre for Stories.

And my job is to help to tell stories

that challenge mainstream narratives

about what it means to be black

or a Muslim or a refugee
or any of those other categories

that we talk about all the time.

But I come to this work
after a long history

as a social justice activist,

and so I'm really interested in the ways

that people talk about
non-fiction storytelling

as though it's about
more than entertainment,

as though it's about being
a catalyst for social action.

It's not uncommon to hear people say

that stories make
the world a better place.

Increasingly, though, I worry
that even the most poignant stories,

particularly the stories about people
who no one seems to care about,

can often get in the way of action
towards social justice.

Now, this is not because
storytellers mean any harm.

Quite the contrary.

Storytellers are often do-gooders
like me and, I suspect, yourselves.

And the audiences of storytellers

are often deeply compassionate
and empathetic people.

Still, good intentions can have
unintended consequences,

and so I want to propose that stories
are not as magical as they seem.

So three, because it's always
got to be three,

three reasons why I think

that stories don't necessarily
make the world a better place.

Firstly, stories can create
an illusion of solidarity.

There is nothing
like that feel-good factor you get

from listening to a fantastic story

where you feel like you
climbed that mountain, right,

or that you befriended
that death row inmate.

But you didn't.

You haven't done anything.

Listening is an important

but insufficient step
towards social action.

Secondly, I think often we are drawn

towards characters and protagonists

who are likable and human.

And this makes sense, of course, right?

Because if you like someone,
then you care about them.

But the inverse is also true.

If you don't like someone,

then you don't care about them,

and if you don't care about them,

you don't have to see yourself
as having a moral obligation

to think about the circumstances

that shape their lives.

I learned this lesson
when I was 14 years old.

I learned that actually,
you don't have to like someone

to recognize their wisdom,

and you certainly
don't have to like someone

to take a stand by their side.

So my bike was stolen

while I was riding it --

(Laughter) --

which is possible if you're
riding slowly enough, which I was.

(Laughter)

So one minute I'm cutting across
this field in the Nairobi neighborhood

where I grew up,

and it's like a very bumpy path,

and so when you're riding a bike,

you don't want to be
like dididit, you know.

And so I'm going like this,
slowly peddling,

and all of a sudden, I'm on the floor.

I'm on the ground, and I look up,

and there's a kid peddling away
in the getaway vehicle,

which is my bike,

and he's about 11 or 12 years old,
and I'm on the floor,

and I'm crying because I saved
a lot of money for that bike,

and I'm crying and I stand up
and I start screaming.

Instinct steps in, and I start screaming,
"Mwizi, mwizi!"

which means "thief" in Swahili.

And out of the woodworks,
all of these people come out

and they start to give chase.

This is Africa, so mob justice in action.

Right?

And I round the corner,
and they've captured him,

they've caught him.

The suspect has been apprehended,

and they make him give me
my bike back,

and they often make him apologize.

Again, you know, typical
African justice, right?

And so they make him say sorry,

and so we stand there facing each other,

and he looks at me, and he says sorry,

but he looks at me
with this unbridled fury.

He is very, very angry.

And it is the first time that I have been
confronted with someone

who doesn't like me simply
because of what I represent.

He looks at me with this look
as if to say, "You with your shiny skin

and your bike, you're angry at me?"

So it was a hard lesson
that he didn't like me,

but you know what, he was right.

I was a middle class kid
living in a poor country.

I had a bike and he barely had food.

Sometimes, it's the messages
that we don't want to hear,

the ones that make us want to
crawl out of ourselves,

that we need to hear the most.

For every lovable storyteller
who steals your heart,

there are hundreds more
whose voices are slurred and ragged,

who don't get to stand up on a stage
dressed in fine clothes like this.

There are a million angry boy
on a bike stories,

and we can't afford to ignore them

simply because we don't like
their protagonists

or because that's not the kid
that we would bring home with us

from the orphanage.

The third reason that I think that
stories don't necessarily make

the world a better place is that too often

we are so invested
in the personal narrative

that we forget to look
at the bigger picture.

And so we applaud someone
when they tell us

about their feelings of shame,

but we don't necessarily link that

to oppression.

We nod understandingly
when someone says they felt small,

but we don't link that to discrimination.

The most important stories,

especially for social justice,

are those that do both,

that are both personal and allow us
to explore and understand the political.

But it's not just about
the stories we like

versus the stories we choose to ignore.

Increasingly, we are living in a society

where there are larger forces at play,

where stories are actually
for many people beginning

to replace the news.

Yeah?

We live in a time where we are witnessing
the decline of facts,

when emotions rule and analysis,

it's kind of boring, right?

Where we value what we feel
more than what we actually know.

A recent report by the Pew Center
on trends in America

indicates that only 10 percent
of young adults under the age of 30

"place a lot of trust in the media."

Now this is significant.

It means that storytellers
are gaining trust

at precisely the same moment
that many in the media

are losing the confidence in the public.

This is not a good thing,

because while stories are important

and they help us to have
insights in many ways,

we need the media.

From my years
as a social justice activist,

I know very well that we need
credible facts from media institutions

combined with the powerful voices

of storytellers.

That's what pushes the needle forward
in terms of social justice.

In the final analysis, of course,

it is justice

that makes the world a better place,

not stories. Right?

And so if it is justice that we are after,

then I think we mustn't focus
on the media or on storytellers.

We must focus on audiences,

on anyone who has ever turned on a radio

or listened to a podcast,

and that means all of us.

So a few concluding thoughts

on what audiences can do

to make the world a better place.

So firstly, the world would be
a better place, I think,

if audiences were more curious

and more skeptical

and asked more questions
about the social context

that created those stories
that they love so much.

Secondly, the world would be
a better place if audiences

recognized that storytelling
is intellectual work.

And I think it would be important
for audiences to demand

more buttons on their favorite websites,

buttons for example that say,

"If you liked this story, click here
to support a cause

your storyteller believes in,"

or "click here to contribute
to your storyteller's next big idea."

Often, we are committed to the platforms,

but not necessarily
to the storytellers themselves.

And then lastly, I think that audiences

can make the world a better place

by switching off their phones,

by stepping away from their screens

and stepping out into the real world
beyond what feels safe.

Alice Walker has said,

"Look closely at the present
you are constructing.

It should look like the future
you are dreaming."

Storytellers can help us to dream,

but it's up to all of us
to have a plan for justice.

Thank you.

(Applause)