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Writing encouragingly with the aim of providing constructive feedback in 1979 Mary Critch asked of Enid Herring, ‘Is ‘They wanted to be Nightingales’ a title for the finished book?’. Both were former members of the AAMWS working on their own separate compilations of the VAD/AAMWS in the Second World War. Critch, however, was alarmed by Herring’s choice of a title, and put the question to Herring, asking: ‘Is it not rather embarrassing to the hundreds of AAMW [sic.] who worked as General Duty and Mess Orderlies, as clerks, cooks etc and never saw the inside of a ward?’ Referencing Florence Nightingale, the woman noted for her humanitarian efforts during the Crimean War and cited by some as shaping modern nursing, Herring chose to perpetuate the stereotype of VAs and AAMWS. The First World War myth that all VAs either aspired to be nurses, or already saw themselves as nurses, was a common perception that tainted the VAD and AAMWS in the Second World War. While writing her own account of the VAD/AAMWS, Herring could have chosen to debunk this myth. However, she claimed its truth.
Explores how scientific meaning and decision-making are filtered through the stories we tell about science and through our social, cultural, and personal identities. Focusing on mothers as a prominent and important identity in science communication, this Element explores both the obstacles and the opportunities for public engagement with scientific topics. After providing an overview of the nexus of science communication, stories, and identities, the author applies key insights from these topics to the case study of motherhood in the climate change and vaccination controversies. They then offer science communication strategies based on these insights for science communicators, mothers, and other caregivers. This analysis is original research that demonstrates the value of understanding stories and identities in mobilizing mothers for both science skepticism and science advocacy.
This chapter explores Scotland’s relationship with utopia, arguing that this relationship is complicated by Scotland’s perceived peripheral, and potentially oppositional, identity within the United Kingdom. Twentieth-century Scottish fiction has often been reticent to engage with fully developed utopian paradigms, instead focusing on quotidian experience. However, utopian communities are also positioned as an opportunity to look beyond the nation to examine questions of individual and collective desire. The chapter focuses on three main strands of Scottish utopian fiction from the post-war to the present: the unusual emphasis on death and cyclical return in key utopian texts; utopian novels that explore communal life and homosociality; and queer works that employ storytelling as a utopian act. The texts discussed in this chapter reveal that in Scottish literature utopia is not located in some far-off future but, rather, operates within the continuity created by shared narratives of identity, community, and desire. Examining these themes, the chapter concludes that Scottish utopian fiction is more varied than previous accounts have noted.
Native American worldviews suggest that humans create the world through story; storytelling is central in oral societies. Storytelling was embodied in artworks made at and disseminated from Cahokia, and it was also embodied in the landscape. Cosmological, goddess, and hero stories were told, but heroes depicted in Braden-style artworks found far from Cahokia suggest that the story of a Birdman wearing human-head earrings and braid was a charter myth at Cahokia. As the foundation of ideology and ritual, stories drew people to Cahokia, but the heroic epic was a new type of story critical to the spread of Cahokian ideologies.
This article advances a story-driven, theoretical exploration of how entanglements of agony, exile and Land relations can reconfigure understandings of justice. Opening with autobiographical vignettes of “in-betweenness”, the article illuminates the unfolding of exilic life between Palestine and North America, naming the ruptures of writing about Palestine from afar as an ethical site of dwelling in the middle. Drawing on relational ontology, Indigenous and decolonial scholars, alongside posthumanist and new materialist thinkers, the article highlights convergences and dissonances in conceptualising Land as more than property: as kin, teacher and agentive being. From such relationality, this article argues that Land-bodied rights offer a framework for rethinking justice and education beyond the abstract, hierarchical assumptions of universal human rights, grounding learning in human and more-than-human relations. The final section explores diffractive pedagogies, suggesting that storytelling and more-than-human educational entanglements can foster an ethic of reciprocity and accountability towards the more-than-human justice. In envisioning rights through rupture, environmental education can become a site where ecological and decolonial justice are rethought and enacted through relational, Land-based and story-driven pedagogies.
This exploratory project aimed to develop online learning materials with interactive narratives for supporting persons living with dementia, with particular focus on initial diagnosis and helping children to understand changes which may occur.
Background:
Dementia is a range of neurological conditions that cause the ongoing decline in brain function, manifesting as loss of memory, language, and problem-solving abilities. Over 55 million people worldwide are living with dementia, straining health and social care resources in their ability to provide information, care, and support for the family. There is a need for easily accessible, high-quality, and nationally scalable resources for dementia support for this growing population.
Methods:
Twine was used to produce online digital storytelling media titled ‘Grandad Forgot My Name’, following the narrative of dementia care for family members. Design, theming, artwork, and story pathways reflected key aspects of dementia and dementia care to facilitate additional support for readers, and health and social care workers. Usage statistics were monitored and readers answered evaluative surveys with numerical scoring and descriptive free responses. Story pathways and information were continuously updated following survey responses.
Findings:
Twine and interactive storytelling had potential to reach a wide audience at minimal cost, bridging the gaps between initial concerns, diagnosis, and appointment. However, there were issues with stakeholder adoptability and uptake when sharing materials which must be resolved in full-scaled outputs. Grandad Forgot My Name successfully demonstrated key design and logistical considerations when creating support resources of national impact, with cross-generational communication and reader-centric design optimising engagement.
Stories are important for individual areas of endeavour and for communities. Beyond the purpose of storing and sharing communal and national knowledge, heritage and consciousness, stories can be used as a powerful source of guidance in life. In what one may regard as a journey towards moral truth, the paths we create in that journey are forged with the support of our families and communities as well as with the guidance of those who have forged their journeys in similar ways. For the Onkwehón:we (i.e., the Native peoples of Canada and related territories), the stories of their communities and ancestors provide important points of reference and inspiration represented in cogent paradigmatic structures that can support their respective journeys. The following will explore how storytelling supports the retention, sharing and celebration of Onkwehón:we knowledge, heritage and consciousness with a focus upon archetypes, struggles, achievements and territory. Using Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey Framework and with a focus on the Journey of the Peacemaker, the following will explore how the various components of such a story may be related to and inform the journey through life of Onkwehón:we and their communities.
This article presents the first sustained narratological analysis of the embedded stories in Nikephoros Bryennios’ Material for History. It argues that pleasure in storytelling was a valued feature of Byzantine historiography and that Bryennios’ anecdotes derive their appeal from four interrelated features: eventfulness, tellability, narrativity, and immersion. The article further contends that, by mimicking oral storytelling through rhetorical questions, direct speech, and vivid sensory detail, Bryennios crafts narratives suited to performative settings while preserving a sense of authenticity. It concludes by proposing narratological criteria for identifying and analysing anecdotes across Byzantine historiography and reassessing the role of pleasure in historical writing.
Management scholars and psychologists have puzzled about how best to define, identify and measure hubris and hubristic tendencies, with only partial success. Such attempts try to help us see what lies behind the analogy between the ancient vice of hybris and its modern re-conceptualisation. In this chapter we explore how the processes of making metaphors work and how storytelling affects the teller and the audience. We examine what purposes storytelling serves, especially when its achieves a mythic character. We explore where aesthetics and literary theorising intersect with evolutionary psychology, and by connecting that to management studies. This leads to observations about the nature and practice of leadership that might signal hubris in the making. That might just help us see when the dark side of modern hubris snuffs out its bright-side potential, and perhaps how to prevent it doing so. This may help leaders learn when not to believe their own storytelling (or press releases).
Chapter 4 offers larger excursions into other concepts and ideas that have been discussed in the context of African American or Black Psychology for decades. Among other things, it goes back to W. E. B. Du Bois, but also to more controversial concepts such as that of the ‘post-traumatic slave syndrome’. The consequences of racism are given a great deal of coverage. The relevant research on the disadvantages and inequalities of African American communities is discussed. Particular emphasis is placed on cultural mistrust and medical mistrust, the latter of which stands in the way of epidemiological research. The positive value orientations of Afrocentrism and associated Black Psychology identity studies are a preparation for the presentation of the remedies, which include empowerment, storytelling, and counter-narratives. All of this has a broad basis in the work of African-American expert authors.
In 2019, the NCD Alliance – the global civil society network dedicated to noncommunicable diseases (NCD) advocacy – developed a project called Our Views, Our Voices. Training on NCD storytelling was organised in several countries, including Ghana, with the aim to “enable individuals living with NCDs to share their views to take action and drive change.” In Chapter 7, I examine the encounter between the NCD Alliance storytelling project and the local patient advocacy movement and discuss the scope and limits of storytelling for ‘taking action and driving change’ for NCD prevention and control in Ghana. I argue that the NCD Alliance project builds on a chequered history of global health storytelling, such as the HIV confessional technology (Nguyen, 2010), where cultural appropriation meets corporate branding. Narrative is central to social life, and stories of lived experiences of illness have reported benefits. However, the culture and politics of storytelling also matter: investing in narrative health at the expense of structural and political solutions to complex health problems can have harmful consequences, particularly for marginalised communities.
Rotterdam, a city in the Netherlands, experienced significant bombing in its city centre during the Second World War. Despite the trauma associated with this event, in 1948, the city adopted a new motto: ‘Sterker Door Strijd’, translating as ‘Stronger Through Struggle’. This motto remains visible today under the city’s coat of arms, symbolising the resilience and strength of its inhabitants as they rebuilt their city. ‘Sterker Door Strijd’ has become a central aspect of Rotterdam’s development, particularly in its architecture and urban planning. It showcases a shift in the city’s memory from pain to pride and hope for the future. The motto beautifully embodies Rigney’s ‘memory–activism nexus’ from a spatial perspective, reconstructing the city’s traumatic memory of destruction into a narrative of resistance. The motto is widely known and felt by every Rotterdammer, including foreigners who live and work in the city, like me. The visual essay ‘From Struggle to Strength’ poetically focuses on the city of Rotterdam and its motto. It intimately follows my personal artistic journey and my embodiment in the city. The story unfolds as I walk and draw around the city. Additionally, I interviewed inhabitants focusing on the challenges of social housing issues in the city, such as displacement and demolition and considering how the residents are actively resisting these issues. Through these interactions, the visual essay reflects on the transformative power of memory and activism in shaping the city’s past, present and future.
Islands have a disproportionate role – as strategic locations, as imaginative or symbolic locales, as extractive zones and as ecological bellwethers – in oceanic imperial histories. They were and are places of ‘great practical use and metaphorical power’. And yet Newfoundland was seen (and continues to be seen) as marginal and peripheral, even if the biomass that was pulled out of its ocean fed – quite literally – a global network of exploitation. This article uses four overlapping maps to tell four overlapping stories: James Cook’s circumnavigation of the island in 1763–8; Lt David Buchan’s trek into the interior to contact the Beothuk in 1811 and 1820; William Eppes Cormack and Joseph Sylvester’s trek across the island in 1822; and finally, a series of story-maps created by Shanawdithit, who is apocryphally known as ‘the last of the Beothuk’. In doing so, it draws in Indigenous ‘storywork’ and cartographic histories and makes a case for storytelling as powerful methodology for examining overlooked colonial histories. These maps and stories highlight the complexity of encounter with a place rather than a coherence of colonial ideologies. Through the stories these maps help me tell, I hope to show how the peripheries of some people’s empires were the centres of other people’s worlds.
We offer a novel analysis of conspiracy theorizing, according to which conspiracy theory communities are engaged in collective projects of storytelling. Other recent accounts start by analyzing individual conspiracy theorists’ psychologies. We argue that a more explanatorily unifying account emerges when we start by analyzing conspiracy theorizing as a social practice. This helps us better account for conspiracy theorists’ psychological heterogeneity. Some individual theorists care about uncovering the truth, while others incorporate truth into their theorizing in subtler ways; viewed as a social phenomenon, though, the function of conspiracy theorizing is not to discover the truth, but to tell good stories.
Political and industrial changes during High Imperialism produced social anxiety. Journalists sought explanatory symbols to narrate these changes in the form of short news messages and photographs. Publicity politicians fulfilled this symbolic function. Journalists used celebrity politicians as ‘communicative anchors’, to which they attached overlapping identities of nationalism, imperialism, and modernism. These personae even embodied industrial progress and a ‘business-like’ politics – novel and transparent compared to traditional secretive politics. The politician as a strong ‘captain of industry of the nation-state’ appealed to anxious audiences. The communicative anchor moored individuals to their imagined community. Communicative anchors formed recognizable reference points people could relate to; as projections, journalists infused these anchors with changing meanings. Journalists used these anchors as protagonists to simplify and narrate the complexity of a changing world order. Journalists invoked the power of images, and both technologically and figuratively it was easier to visualize a story about eccentric politicians than about abstract parliaments or bureaucracies. Path dependency followed: the more journalists used anchors to narrate politics, the more useful these anchors became for continuing stories. Consuming these narratives, citizens ‘participated’ in political meaning-making. The politician’s communicative anchoring peaked around 1900, amidst a pervasive press but before further diffusion of institutional power.
Suicide remains a global public health crisis, claiming over 800,000 lives each year and leaving millions more to struggle with attempts, ideation, or the ripple effect of loss. Traditional prevention strategies often focus on crisis intervention and identifying “warning signs,” but these approaches overlook the many who suffer in silence. Drawing on personal experience of suicide loss and a decade-long journey toward suicide literacy, the author argues for a reframing of suicide prevention. She challenges stigma-driven assumptions, underscores the power of honest storytelling, and introduces the concept of “preemptive, protective conversations” as a vital upstream prevention tool. By empowering ordinary people to become suicide prevention advocates equipped with knowledge, compassion, and a willingness to talk openly, we can build stronger connections, dismantle stigma, and create a broader societal safety net. Suicide is preventable, and each of us has a role to play in saving lives.
As social media continues to grow, understanding the impact of storytelling on stakeholder engagement becomes increasingly important for policymakers and organizations who wish to influence policymaking. While prior research has explored narrative strategies in advertising and branding, researchers have paid scant attention to the specific influence of stories on social media stakeholder engagement. This study addresses this gap by employing Narrative Transportation Theory (NTT) and leveraging Natural Language Processing (NLP) to analyze the intricate textual data generated by social media platforms. The analysis of 85,075 Facebook publications from leading Canadian manufacturing companies, using Spearman’s rank correlation coefficient, underscores that individual storytelling components—character, sequence of events, and setting—along with the composite narrative structure significantly enhance stakeholder engagement. This research contributes to a deeper understanding of storytelling dynamics in social media, emphasizing the importance of crafting compelling stories to drive meaningful stakeholder engagement in the digital realm. The results of our research can prove useful for those who wish to influence policymakers or for policymakers who want to promote new policies.
1. How can we work with stories in global social work? 2. How can we include ourselves as practitioners in storytelling? 3. How can we, as social workers, safeguard the integrity of those who tell us their stories in a good and trustworthy way? 4. Being a social worker is very much like being a collector of stories. How do we learn by stories, and add them to be powerful tools in our everyday practice?
1. What characterizes decolonial social work? 2. How can cultural practices and sociocultural relationships among different caste and ethnic groups be valued through acts of storytelling? 3. Social work’s promotion of human rights and social justice can be challenging in everyday practice in Nepal. How can you as a social worker, living somewhere else, contribute to support colleagues living in these areas?
This article shares a unique form of public humanities created with an ethical community partnership between a university team, a community nonprofit organization, and a museum. Our podcast focuses on the stories of the staff of an organization that is affiliated with the International Rescue Committee and that resettles refugees, asylees, and immigrants. Most of the staff were immigrants themselves and shared their experiences as both outsiders and insiders in the communities that they serve. Given this historical moment of intense anti-immigrant sentiment, we aim for this podcast to serve for conversation and education about immigration not only in our local area but also in similar small cities and towns. Our podcast takes place in an upstate region of New York, approximately 200 miles outside of the city. We share our experience of putting into practice the methods and concepts drawn from public humanities, critical community engagement, ethnic studies, digital humanities, and podcast studies.