Stories That Shift Systems: Why Non-Profits Must Rethink the Narratives They Tell

For as long as humans have gathered in circles, around fires, in longhouses, at kitchen tables, we have told stories. Before maps, we had memory. Before textbooks, we had elders. Before data, we had narrative. Storytelling is one of humanity’s oldest technologies, a means of passing on teachings, orienting ourselves in the world, and imagining what lies beyond the horizon.

Across continents, storytelling has always done more than entertain. It has helped us survive, care for one another, build belonging, and make meaning together. In Indigenous nations, stories remain sacred repositories of knowledge and governance. Across diasporas, stories are lifelines that preserve culture through migration and colonial disruption. Everywhere, stories shape how we see ourselves, and how we see each other.

The non-profit sector understands this intuitively. Today, storytelling is woven into fundraising campaigns, advocacy efforts, community engagement strategies, and communications plans. But as storytelling becomes more central, it also becomes more complicated. Many organizations continue to rely on narrative strategies rooted in charity, saviourism, and emotional extraction, strategies that can harm the very communities they aim to serve.

If we want stories to do justice, not damage, we must move beyond asking “How do we tell a compelling story?” toward asking “How do we tell stories responsibly?” And this is where an anti-oppressive approach becomes essential.

Stories hold extraordinary power in the non-profit ecosystem. They have the ability to transform public understanding, mobilize resources, and influence policy. Yet that power can easily be misused.

Consider a real scenario from a youth-serving organization:An 18-year-old woman was asked to appear in a fundraising video about youth homelessness. She shared intimate details about family violence and nights spent in shelters. The resulting video raised significant funds. But afterward, no one checked in with her. Months later, classmates discovered the video online. She felt exposed, ashamed, and betrayed. Her story, her trauma, had been used as marketing material, without true regard for her dignity or long-term safety.

This is what extractive storytelling looks like. It reinforces power imbalances. It exploits vulnerability. And it undermines trust.

But storytelling can also do incredible good when done with intention and care.

Long before storytelling was a communications tool, it was a communal practice defined by relationship, responsibility, and reciprocity.

Across cultures:

• Stories were collective: They belonged to communities, not organizations.

• Stories were reciprocal: The storyteller and listener each had obligations to honour the relationship.

• Stories were contextual: They reflected culture, land, history, and identity.

• Stories were transformative:They transmitted wisdom, not just information.

Modern non-profit storytelling often breaks from this tradition, treating stories as assets to extract, edit, and deploy strategically. Reclaiming storytelling as a relational practice requires not only ethical humility but a recognition that communities themselves are the rightful narrators.

Anti-oppressive storytelling challenges the power dynamics embedded in narrative practice. Instead of asking “What story will generate the greatest emotional response?” it asks:

Who is telling the story? Who benefits from it? Who is being represented? What systems must be named?

Four principles guide this shift.

1. Centre Agency, Not Aesthetics

Traditional non-profit stories often follow a predictable arc: a person experiences hardship, receives support, and expresses gratitude. This “success story” format centres the organization and minimizes the individual’s autonomy.

In contrast, ethical storytelling centres agency, not spectacle.

A newcomer-support organization recently demonstrated this beautifully. Instead of conducting interviews with Somali women to extract stories about immigration, they hosted a series of co-design circles. The women decided:

• what themes mattered

• which details stayed private

• how their culture should inform the narrative

• which images felt respectful

The final stories were rich, complex, and deeply human, because they were theirs.

Agency becomes more powerful than any dramatic arc.

2. Shift from Charity to Solidarity

How we frame stories determines how audiences understand social issues.

Charity-based storytelling often portrays individuals as failures of circumstance needing rescue. Solidarity storytelling highlights systemic barriers and collective action.

Consider two versions of the same story:

Charity-framed:A mother cries in her kitchen because she cannot afford groceries. The message:“Without your donation, families like Maria’s will go hungry.”

Solidarity-framed:Maria is shown leading a mutual aid network in her building. The message:“Maria is advocating for affordable food and fair wages. Hunger is a policy failure, not a personal one. Join her in this fight.”

One invites pity. The other invites partnership.

3. Honour Cultural Story Traditions

Cultural storytelling traditions vary widely. Some are circular. Some are humorous. Some are deeply sacred and not meant for public consumption.

A mental health organization once sought to share Indigenous stories about traditional healing practices. Elders explained that certain teachings were not appropriate for broad audiences. Instead of pushing forward, the organization changed direction and created a piece about the importance of protecting sacred knowledge.

This approach demonstrated respect, humility, and cultural accountability. It also built deeper trust with the community because it honoured narrative sovereignty, the right of communities to determine how their stories are shared.

4. Challenge Oppressive Systems—Not the People Navigating Them

Anti-oppressive storytelling directs attention toward the systems that create inequity. It shifts the narrative focus from individual struggle to structural harm.

A disability-rights organization once featured stories about people “overcoming” disability through assistive devices provided by the agency. After listening to community feedback, they shifted their storytelling approach. New narratives highlighted barriers such as inaccessible transit, exclusion from schools, and anti-ableist activism. Donors responded with greater interest in policy change, not just equipment donations.

Storytelling became a tool for systems change, not sentimentality.

Justice-centred storytelling is not just a philosophy; it is a set of concrete, operational practices. Organizations can begin by embedding the following:

Co-design stories with community members

Not “share your story with us,” but “let’s shape this narrative together.”

Compensate storytellers

People’s lived experiences are not free labour.

Stop using trauma as currency

Do not request harmful memories simply to provoke empathy.

Use informed, revocable consent

Consent isn’t a one-time form; it is an ongoing relationship.

Prioritize digital safety

Offer pseudonyms, anonymity, or limited distribution options. Remove stories upon requestno questions asked.

Diversify who tells and produces stories

Representation behind the camera matters as much as in front of it.

There is a growing recognition across the sector that ethical storytelling is not optional. Younger generations are particularly attuned to authenticity, equity, and accountability. Extractive narratives no longer resonate—and they never served communities well to begin with.

The organizations achieving the most meaningful impact today are those embracing a justice-oriented storytelling model. Consider a recent project involving migrant farm workers. Instead of telling stories of exploitation on their behalf, an organization gave workers cameras and facilitated a photojournalism project. Participants documented daily life, not just hardship, but laughter, friendships, cultural celebrations. They curated a public exhibit themselves. The impact was profound: policymakers attended, community members listened, and workers stood as storytellers, not subjects.

This is the future: storytelling as empowerment, not extraction. As activism, not advertising. As a pathway to shifting not just hearts, but systems.When non-profits embrace anti-oppressive storytelling, they honour the ancient human purpose of story: to connect, to teach, to transform, and to imagine a more just world.