Since long before human beings began to write or even to develop alphabets, they told stories, the earliest of which are recorded in the form of cave drawings. Later, around campfires, oral literature began to be created and transmitted; by the time the written language was ready to record stories for all time, there was already a body of oral literature waiting to be set to paper. Then came the printing press, and then came social media; so now, as things happen to us during the day, we’re already mentally composing our social media story to be sent out as soon as we have a free moment or as soon as the boss isn’t looking.
Story telling is as integral a part of being human as eating, sleeping, and the other necessities of survival. In fact, stories—or narratives—are themselves among the necessities of survival. In addition to fictional narratives in the form of novels, short stories, movies, and TV shows that entertain us and offer a few moments of escape into another world, narratives form the underpinnings of our belief systems and our relationships to our fellow humans. They connect us to our fellow humans and determine how we will relate to them. Every culture has its stories, shared by its members and passed from one generation to the next.
Most countries of the world have a story about children receiving gifts in the month of December; but the character who delivers the gifts, the type of gifts delivered, and the method of transportation for the gift giver vary widely from one culture to another. Our American Santa Claus, as we all know, is a jolly old white-bearded, red-suited guy who circles the globe in a single night, propelled through the sky by eight reindeer, and who goes down every single chimney in the world and leaves gifts for every child. Never mind that such a feat would actually take several years and a team of workers instead of a single night and one overweight guy surviving on cookies, this story has fascinated children for hundreds of years and underlies some of the most cherished memories of all of our childhoods.
In Iceland, thirteen mischievous creatures known as the Yule Lads deliver the gifts. In Norway, Finland, and Sweden, the Tomte are small, gnomish creatures who may travel by sleigh, but the sleigh doesn’t fly; and instead of living at the North Pole, they are said to live in the woods surrounding people’s houses. In Italy, the Befana is a witch-like character who also flies around the world but on a broomstick instead of a sleigh; legend has it that she is a kind character who provided food and shelter to the three wise men on their journey to visit the Baby Jesus. Name the location, and there is yet another legend, and all form part of the fabric of the shared experiences of that culture.
Stories are an important part of our human efforts to explain and make sense of the world we live in. Creation stories attempt to answer questions about how the world came to be and how we came to live here. Stories of gods and goddesses who are always raising a ruckus, engaging in plenty of shenanigans, and acting out their petty disagreements offer primitive explanations of things such as weather, human emotions, and other natural phenomena. Biblical writers used stories to explain and illustrate human relationships and try to steer us toward right relationships with ourselves and others. Family stories unite members and give us a sense of identity and pride in those whose DNA we share and carry on.
In June of this year, a movie was released—The Free State of Jones—about a Civil War story involving my great great grandfather Jasper Collins. He has always been a legend in my family, and now his story—and the story of his comrades—has been told to the whole world. Through reading the book and seeing the movie, I have learned even more about Jasper than I learned from my family; and I have an increased sense of pride in knowing that I am descended from such a great man.
Because stories are such an enormous part of our personal, family, and cultural identity, they’re not easily changed or let go. The Santa Claus story never made a lot of sense; there were always doubts and questions, especially among those of us who didn’t have chimneys. Yet we rationalized and dreamed and held onto that story, even when we began hearing whispers among our classmates at school that Santa was not real. Angrily, we dug in our heels and declared “I believe!” as the evidence continued to mount and the pressure to let go escalated. But if we let go of Santa, what else might we have to let go of? Would the Bunny be next to get the axe? Or what if it was something even more serious? What other parts of our shared lore might also be false?
This is my second post about stories, or narratives, because they are such an integral part of who we are and what we believe. Even though stories are not always factual, they are always part of our truth. Santa Claus, a magical sleigh, eight flying reindeer, and a large toy manufacturer at the North Pole are not facts; but in our childish minds, they were the most sacred truth. And our belief in those things was enough to induce us to be on our best behavior throughout the year so as to avoid ending up on the “naughty list” come Christmas time. Our belief steered our behavior.
What other narratives drive our behavior? What other narratives, not backed by fact, but believed as truth in the deepest parts of our beings, cause us to treat others in inhumane, immoral, and unethical ways? And how do those narratives then justify the wrong we’ve committed?
Throughout history, whenever one people group have wanted to exploit or persecute another, they’ve first had to give themselves permission to do so by creating a narrative that justifies the abuse. Hitler could not have carried out his agenda to create a perfect blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryan race without attempting to eliminate or weaken the parts of the human race that didn’t fit his plan; and eliminating those unwanted humans required a narrative to justify the action. A passage from his well-known book Mein Kampf, which makes frequent references to the “filthy Jew,” is quoted on The History Learning Site:
The Jewish youth lies in wait for hours on end . . . spying on the unsuspicious German girl he plans to seduce . . . He wants to contaminate her blood and remove her from the bosom of her own people. The Jew hates the white race and wants to lower its cultural level so that the Jews might dominate. Was there any form of filth or crime . . . without at least one Jew involved in it. If you cut even cautiously into such a sore, you find like a maggot in a rotting body, often dazzled by the sudden light – a Jew.
If that’s the narrative embedded in one’s mind as truth, one could kill a Jewish person as easily as squash a cockroach and feel as little guilt. In fact, the person who killed a Jew could feel he had done the world a great service by ridding it of such a menace. For over half a century, people have wondered how on earth Hitler persuaded so many people to go along with his diabolical plans. He created a persuasive story.
A Reuters/Ipsos poll shows the results of white Americans surveyed on the questions of whether African Americans are equal to whites in their intelligence, work ethic, manners, violence, and lawfulness. The poll rated four groups, divided by the presidential candidate they were supporting during this year’s primary: Clinton, Trump, Cruz, and Kasich. On the matter of intelligence, an average of 22.5% of respondents saw blacks as less intelligent than whites. On work ethic, an average of 26.8% saw blacks as lazier than whites. When asked about manners, an average of 31.1% said blacks are ruder than whites. An average of 32.8% said blacks are more violent, and 33.2% saw blacks as more criminal than whites.
Once again, if this narrative is someone’s “truth,” it’s pretty easy to figure out why whites see people of color as inferior and why police officers might be quicker to pull the trigger on a black person than a white person with all other circumstances being equal. It’s easy to see why some women walk a little faster and avoid eye contact when approached by a black male.
And the narrative works from both sides. One memorable experience of my life happened when I was a 17-year-old newly licensed driver, eagerly volunteering for any errand that involved my getting behind the wheel of the car. My family was visiting my Alabama relatives, and my aunt had a woman who happened to be black doing some light housework for her. The woman needed a ride home, so I drove her. As I slid into the driver’s seat, I glanced over expecting to see her in the passenger’s seat. When she wasn’t there, I looked around to see why she wasn’t in the car yet; and I discovered that she was in the car: in the back seat. I felt so strange, I asked, “Why don’t you come up here?” This thought had obviously never occurred to her, as she replied, “Oh, no! I couldn’t.” I insisted that she could, but there was no persuading her.
That experience lingers in my memory after all these years because I can’t help thinking of the narrative written into that woman’s heart and mind. Her narrative had taught her the truth that she was unworthy to take a position equal to a white person—even when that white person was a 17-year-old girl. What I wish I could say to that woman now is “You are worthy. You have lived. You have been a good, honest person. You do not need to take a back seat to anyone. My 17-year-old self should be learning from you.” Sadly, that is a narrative I feel sure the woman never heard.
The narratives about women, of course, are too numerous to list: they’re the weaker sex, their main goal in life is to get married and have children, they’re suited only for certain types of jobs, they need men to protect them, they want to be complimented more for their beauty than for their brains, they’re not as smart as men—just a small sampling but enough to make it clear why we’re just now seriously considering electing a woman as president.
Cultural narratives also play a huge part in our inability to reduce gun violence. Many gun owners have accepted as truth the NRA narrative that the government is hostile and that their personal stock of weapons is their only defense against police and other law enforcement officials. In spite of the fact that NO president or presidential candidate has ever threatened to confiscate all guns from private citizens, the narrative continues to be told as truth: Obama/Clinton/whoever is coming to get your guns and repeal the Second Amendment. And once again, if the narrative is your truth, you’re going to resist any attempt at placing even the most sensible restrictions on gun ownership.
The history of conflict in the Middle East is long and complex, and telling the whole story would require volumes; it would also require a different story teller, since I don’t claim to understand it all. So for the purpose of this brief article, I just want to look at the effects of narratives on how the rest of the world responds to the violence and turmoil. Those who accept the Zionist narrative that the Jews are simply returning to their homeland to claim God’s promised inheritance interpret any resistance or act of self-defense on the part of the Palestinians as aggression. The Jews who build settlements in Palestinian territory are claiming what is rightfully theirs, and if the Palestinians don’t want to get hurt, they should be a little more cooperative.
But that’s not the only narrative. The other story says that in 1947, the United Nations adopted a Partition Plan, to take effect in 1948, which would create two independent states: Palestine and Israel. Those who accept this narrative as their truth see the continuing conflict as Jewish violation of international law and the building of settlements in land awarded to Palestine as illegal and immoral. In this story, the Jews become the perpetrators rather than the victims, and their offenses against Palestinian human rights amount to apartheid.
Stories drive actions and attitudes. Increasingly, reciting facts to people is futile, since their stories are their truth; and any fact which doesn’t match that truth is obviously incorrect in their minds.
Since our narratives are much of what bind us together with our families, our communities, our tribes, they’re not easy to change or let go of. Many people know what it means to be ostracized from family and community because they’ve adopted a different belief system from the one sanctioned by the tribe. Our narratives are part of our world views, the belief systems that have made sense out of chaos and confusion, that have given us a sense of safety and security in an unstable and frightening world. They’ve been the anchor that’s kept us from going adrift. They’ve given us a sense of belonging, a feeling of being right, a feeling of being good and virtuous. They’ve even influenced our relationship to God. It’s understandable that we’re reluctant to make changes.
But change is necessary; if we’re to survive, the stories must be rewritten. My story is what I will pass on to my children and grandchildren, and it will affect what they pass on to their children and grandchildren. I have to get it right, even when it means making sacrifices and stepping out of my safe territory. Wrong narratives perpetuate injustice. Denouncing and working to eliminate injustice is a human responsibility, and it begins with changing the narratives. Our stories will be told for generations to come. Someone has to be the change.