Personal stories, not statistics, will help us tackle the climate crisis. It’s stories that grab our attention, create emotion
The author, Richard Powers, has a line in his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Overstory, that feels like an epigraph for our age. “The best arguments in the world won’t change a person’s mind,” he says. “The only thing that can do that is a good story.”
And it feels like we’re politically unable to tell a good story anymore. Public discourse has been reduced to soundbites, to nonsense statements that talk of patriotism and levelling up, to building a “network of liberty,” something that Liz Truss stated as an objective recently, whatever that might mean. The stories get lost as the shouting begins. And yet stories are just what we need.
Why? Because our brains are wired for them. Stories, more than data or straighforward facts, grab our atention and help us to absorb what’s being said. We can identify with the horror of a swimmer being atacked by a shark, can remember how we felt watching the story unfold in the movie Jaws. But each year there are around ten deaths worldwide atributable to sharks; whereas in the UK there were 1,472 deaths on the roads in 2020, worldwide about 700 people each year are killed by an electric toaster, and around 150 poor souls die ater being struck by falling coconuts. But sure, sharks are the danger. See? Stories.
The Harvard Business School says that “stories create a sense of connection. They build familiarity and trust, and allow the reader to enter the story where they are, making them more open to learning.” Likewise, charity The Health Foundation says that stories are transformative and have the power to bring about real change. Of course, every good story needs a good storyteller. The effectiveness of stories over statistics was recognised by the previous leader of the Labour Party, Jeremy Corbyn — he would stand at the despatch box or address the Commons during Prime Minister’s Questions with tales of Ellen from Esher, or Mike from Macclesfield. The stories sometimes achieved a degree of cut-through. However, to be really effective, they required a storyteller perhaps more proficient in wholesale engagement. And, to be fair, maybe the House of Commons wasn’t the ideal backdrop for lyrical transformation.
Given the number of existential crises that appear to be hurtling our way, we need stories more than ever to help with our understanding of the world. The immigration debate can oten be witness to vociferous arguments that end “but I didn’t mean you”. No, because person A knew person B’s story. Once you know the story, the emphasis changes.
Shortages on shelves are “a myth” until your own supply of Wheaty Flakes suddenly dries up. The facts you’ve heard about supply chain chaos suddenly becomes the story of your breakfast not arriving. Likewise, problems at the petrol pumps. The narrative of a logistical supply chain issue became transformed by the stories of a shortage. Homelessness is a statistical issue until you know someone who loses their home, until you know their story. And so it is with climate change — now, truly a climate emergency. The statistics have been around for years, but statistics are generally hard to absorb. Now, as the crisis reaches a tipping point, more and more stories — stories of heatwaves, stories of floods — affecting people like us, might just be resonating, and with that comes the desire to do something about it.
We can only hope it isn’t too late. It’s why, having founded a new independent publishing imprint, Seventy2one (along with writer Hannah Persaud), we decided our first book should be a collection of stories based around the climate emergency.
As writers and publishers, what else can we do? Yes, we can protest and yes, we can sign petitions. But in a practical sense, how do our skills allow us to make a difference? The answer lies in telling stories and continuing to engage people through the power of storytelling. And if we manage to change some minds, reach one person who perhaps hadn’t thought the problem was as grave as it is but who now reconsiders and, as a result, changes their own behaviour, our efforts will have been worth it.