When everyone is a 'storyteller', whose stories are really heard?
Decoding the politics of narratives - what sticks, what doesn't, and at what cost?
An Uncomfortable Narrative
On a recent trip to my local library, as I skimmed through the non-fiction shelves, I stumbled upon a book by Dina Nayeri titled ‘The Ungrateful Refugee’.
Strange title. Ungrateful refugee? It almost sounded like a slur. Why would she say that?
Back home, book in hand, I settled in to read it comfortably on my couch on a pleasant and peaceful weekend. Only to steadily realise that Nayeri never meant for The Ungrateful Refugee to be a comfortable read.
The book paints a haunting picture of the kinds of stories refugees must tell to be granted legitimacy in the West. How their truth alone is not enough. How they must ‘craft’ a truth that ‘fits’ and ‘perform’ it in a manner that resonates with Western entities.
Dina outlines the story of Kaweh Beheshtizadeh, an Iranian refugee who arrived in the UK hidden in the back of a lorry, and spoke no English. Initially living off £31.35 a week from the state, he subsequently overcame his situation, assimilated into British society and culture and came to be a celebrated and award-winning British lawyer. She then juxtaposes this against the story of another Iranian refugee, Kambiz Roustayi, a man who arrived in Netherlands, made multiple futile asylum attempts, and eventually set himself on fire in Dam Square, Amsterdam in protest of not being granted asylum legally even after 11 years in Netherlands.
It lays bare how those whose narratives hit the right notes, e.g. triumph against the odds, exalting the virtues of his host country, are celebrated while others who fail to register in public imagination owing to their stories being messy, too visceral, too inconvenient, are forgotten and left to the wayside.
She highlights real conversations among asylum seekers, their lawyers, helpful volunteers, and friends and family, that call out how the truth alone is no good. How there are certain implicit guidelines on how their stories need to be crafted, twisted, and at times entirely made up to appeal to Western sensibilities. Dramatic, but not too dramatic. Believable, but with a touch of incredulity. Unique, yet not too far from the dominant narrative. Personal, yet not messy. Grateful, yet dignified.
The book isn’t about refugees being ungrateful, but rather about the pressure put on them to ‘perform gratitude’, to package their trauma in ways that are palatable to Western audiences.
The Power of a Strategic Narrative
Just a little while ago, I attended a 3-hour Masterclass on ‘Strategic Narratives’ by researcher Jan Chipchase of Studio D Radiodurans. In it, together with a dozen attendees, we dove into insightful and critical discussions on the role of storytelling in society, what makes a narrative ‘strategic’, what might make people question it versus buy it, and how do you maintain a strategic narrative.
For the discussion, a ‘strategic narrative’ was defined as:
An intentionally composed, compelling and inspiring narrative that explains the enduring values shared by members of a community, their origins as a collective, and what they want to achieve in the future – and how’ (Adapted from Zulman, 2022).
Strategically crafted narratives can wield power and help create clarity and alignment. They can translate the complex and the chaotic into simplified and sticky terms.
Cricketer Virat Kohli’s story feels more iconic than that of Rohit Sharma, despite both being star players. His story of transformation from an ‘angry young man’ of sorts, to a disciplined champion resonates with many.
It is simple: a clear story of a hot-headed player transforming into a mindful leader who channels that energy well.
It is relatable: a feel-good story of growth and self-control.
It is powerful: it gives fans more than just great game play, it gives them a story to root for, to aspire towards, to draw inspiration from.
[L-R] Virat Kohli and Rohit Sharma celebrating their win - both star players, but who’s story feels more iconic?
At times though, things are just complex and in attempting to simplify them, narratives can also obscure. Like the arduous life and journey of a refugee that cannot be compressed into a few lines in an asylum application. Trying to distill that into a neatly packaged narrative doesn’t just fall short, it risks erasing the very truth of that experience.
But it is what ‘sounds good’ that is rewarded, and not what is ‘good’.
In the age of social media, attention is currency. No one has the time for complexity. You see evidently how fake news spreads faster than fact because it is packaged in a way that (going back to Nayeri’s call out) is dramatic, but not too dramatic. Believable, but with a touch of incredulity. Unique, yet not too far from the dominant narrative.
What’s more, influencers or literally any person who can make assertions with confidence tend to be trusted more than domain experts because they offer digestible narratives rather than dense explanations. Authority comes not so much from expertise and evidence, but narrative fluency – and with algorithms rewarding clicks, views, and comments, those with such narrative fluency will be more centerstage.
Spotted on Reddit
Case in point, Osama Bin Laden. He rose to prominence after 9/11 because he delivered a strategic narrative through that horrifying visual of a plane crashing into America’s heart of capitalism - the Twin Towers. With that, he effectively condensed Al Qaeda’s ideologies and message to America into a singular visual that remains evocative till date.
9/11 scenes - an unforgettable tragedy
The Cost of Not ‘Performing The Right Narrative’
The context of ‘strategic narratives’ applies far beyond asylum interviews, or stories in mass media. Closer to you and me, it can apply also to your personal and professional life.
For instance, how people are seen, valued, or promoted in organisations. Naively, you might believe (or like to believe) that promotions are about merit, performance, or hard metrics. But if you have spent enough time in workplaces, you would know that progression lies more so in how your work is perceived, framed, and believed.
[Credit - gapingvoid] Are you sociopath enough to rise to the top?
Does your story fit the dominant narrative? For instance, are you that ‘gets shit done’ guy, or the ‘hard negotiator’, or the ‘fiery, opinionated one in the meeting room’? Can executives remember your story? Does it gain a certain virality within the organization?
If not, you likely start slipping through the cracks. Not because you didn’t deliver, but because your story didn’t land.
I personally, have experienced this when I moved from an agency side role to a client side one where I was to build and lead the practice. My professional narrative built around my ability to ‘deliver’ no longer cut it. The client side role demanded a narrative built around ‘impact’ instead, and I had to adapt because that was the only way to succeed in that role.
Not only is it about how your story lands, but also about how well you accept the organisation’s dominant narrative. I have seen cases where perfectly capable and smart colleagues who questioned the dominant narrative were asked to leave, or whose life was made a living hell until they were forced to leave of their own accord. It’s not that their work lacked value, it’s just that they refused to accept and propagate the dominant narrative.
Getting your narrative ‘right’ isn’t something to be taken lightly. It could stall your growth, make you lose your job, and in high stake situations cost you your life like it did for Kambiz Roustayi.
Narratives and the Cost of Personal Integrity
In that masterclass on strategic narratives, one little exercise we all did was to craft the ‘right’ narrative in context of landing an imaginary dream job. We were asked to come up with our ‘professional narrative’ strategically, carefully weighing consequences and determining what details to include or exclude, what to play down versus up, what to embellish versus state plainly, what to recast versus mention matter-of-factly.
Many things came up. For instance, how would you curate the narrative of why you left that one job in a short span of 4 months? How would you explain why you took a gap year, or what you did with it?
It might seem like a simple exercise, just customising a CV for a specific job application, but personally, it brought up feelings of discomfort for me. It brought me right back to Dina’s book where she talked about the need to ‘perform’ your story.
What role does the ‘truth’ play here, and just how much can you ‘twist’ it to serve your purpose? What happens if you are unable to deviate from that truth? What if that truth is core to your very identity?
In The Ungrateful Refugee, Dina highlights cases of refugees who refused to change their stories, because in some way or the other, it was core to their identity and personal integrity. Like Kambiz Roustayi, who was repeatedly told to claim apostasy – say that he was an Iranian Muslim who had converted to Christianity, thereby putting his life at risk in Iran – as those were the kind of stories that Dutch authorities were more familiar with and more likely to believe. But to Kambiz, it felt like too big a lie. He refused to change his story. Why should he claim to have given up on his religion when he hadn’t? It was more than just a fact for him; it was core to his identity.
On the flip side, there were cases like a woman who had been raped, and an Iranian who was likely gay but had yet to admit it to himself. They were not yet ready to share these narratives – despite these having a good shot at being compelling to Western authorities – because they were yet to come to terms with it themselves.
Twisting facts on a CV might seem like a minor undertaking in comparison, but it follows similar principles. What if embellishing a certain detail just doesn’t sit right with your self-identity? It might get you that job, but would you be able to live with that?
Finding the Balance
Strategic narratives work. For better or for worse, the stories we tell matter greatly.
But we are in an age of performative everything. We are constantly editing our story to fit in, be it on social media, or for that hiring manager, or for that social circle you need to prove a point to.
The problematic bit is when that narrative becomes a mask rather than a mirror.
A while ago, I was hiring for a role and evaluating CVs. One shortlisted CV had a promising summary that highlighted experience in exactly what I was looking for. It was also crafted in a way that conveyed a strong interest in the role. An interview later, I realized it was all a gross misrepresentation. It’s one thing to craft a narrative that helps showcase your (genuine) experience and interest in a compelling manner, but to craft a narrative that has no seed of truth in it feels rather deceptive.
I know a few people who manage to keep things authentic, even as they ‘perform’ their narrative. Their intentions and motivations are pure. If they write a Substack, or start a podcast, it is not because they are chasing clout or attempting to build a certain image. It is because they genuinely enjoy the act of writing, of podcasting. And everything else flows naturally from there.
Dina Nayeri’s The Ungrateful Refugee is a powerful reminder that beneath every seemingly polished narrative is a messy and complex truth. And not everyone is willing or able to trade that truth for upward mobility.
So maybe the real question isn’t “Can you craft a winning narrative?”
You likely can.
The real question is “What are you willing to give up to perform it and make it stick?”
Excellent write up. Congratulations!
From what you’ve written, I gather The Ungrateful Refugee is a must read