Why We Need Storytelling Now

In her 2019 book Wayfinding: The Science and Mystery of How Humans Navigate the World, M. R. O'Connor explores the role of navigation in human evolution. She talks to linguists and neuroscientists, and spends time with members of Indigenous societies that still practice traditional methods of wayfinding.

O’Connor quotes anthropologist Michelle Scalise Sugiyama’s research in the oral traditions of foraging societies around the globe:

“Narrative serves as a vehicle for storing and transmitting information critical to survival and reproduction.”

Sugiyama analyzed more than 3,000 stories from these traditions, finding topographic information in 86% of them. “By linking discrete landmarks, these tales in effect chart the region in which they take place, forming story maps.”

Wayfinding is a book I pick up, put down, and pick up again. (In other words, it’s a book I read on my phone.) I returned to it recently after the conclusion of “The Future of Storytelling,” a three-part series of workshops led by Mass Humanities staff. Convened in Worcester, Holyoke, and Boston, and supported by Mass Cultural Council and the Barr Foundation, the workshops brought together directors of projects funded by our Expand Mass Stories initiative. They came from every part of the state to share knowledge, identify challenges, and build new relationships.

When the series ended last month, I found myself searching for a way to express the mix of gratitude and awe I felt after listening to these storytellers describe their work and the places where they live. We will publish more extensive reflections and assessments of the EMS initiative in the months to come.

What I can say: These stories are maps. These storytellers are wayfinders. We face a future—for Massachusetts and for the nation—that is less clear than ever, more fraught with danger and misinformation, desperately in need of imagination. Active, participatory storytelling can chart the pathways toward a future commonwealth that can once again inspire the country.

I’ve said it before and repeat it now with more urgency: There is not a crisis in the humanities. Rather, the crises call for the humanities.

In Massachusetts, this will depend on a shared willingness to co-create and embrace narratives that challenge the state’s self-image. This does not mean abandoning the Revolution or the succeeding progressive movements that influenced national politics and policies. Rather, it means reexamining those movements for contributors whose names were buried under the bases of statues that glorified great men. It means acknowledging that that deep inequities persist and hold back the realization of Massachusetts’ full potential.

We can be deeply grateful to live here AND be absolutely committed to fulfilling unmet promises. Humanities-based storytelling and story sharing lies at the intersection of those two feelings.

The future is murky and holds so many “what if’s?” that keep us up at night. What is the story of Massachusetts? What if it became the story of a people that decided that many, many stories were what made Massachusetts a great place to exist? What if our identity was wrapped up in our collective willingness to weave stories together?

At our Boston convening, I had the chance to reconnect with Barbara Burgo of the Cape Cod Cape Verdean Museum and Cultural Center, who I met during my first year on the job. The museum’s EMS grant supported a new exhibition on Cape Verdean military veterans. We hugged and she shared the latest news, including her recent trip to Cape Verde to participate in the events commemorating the centennial of the revolutionary leader Amílcar Cabral, founder of the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cabo Verde.

In July, Cape Verdean Prime Minister Ulisses Correia e Silva visited the museum. "The presence of the museum is important for the new generation, for Cape Verdean-Americans, and for Americans too," he told the Cape Cod Times. "The history of Cabo Verde and the United States is common. We share a lot of love."

During a coffee break, I received more news: a feature article about Barbara in the Boston Globe’s special fall section on museums.

“All of my earlier years were difficult because I had no history,” she told Julian Sorapuru. “You can’t really be proud of who you are unless you really know who you are.”

In a state blessed with world class museums and libraries, how could a resident still lack access to their own history? What do we lose as a people when that obstacle persists?

The answer is a combination of resources and respect. We know that not everyone feels welcome in the marble galleries of most prominent repositories of culture. A 2022 report by Slover Linnett, commissioned by the Barr Foundation, captured this problem:

“Many Massachusetts residents – a greater percentage than Americans overall – believe systemic racism is present in each genre of arts and culture organizations. For example, 47% of respondents think systemic racism is present in history museums, and 42% think it exists in art museums. These percentages increase significantly, to 83% and 78%, respectively, for Massachusetts residents who identify as Black or African American.”

Smaller, community-based organizations offer people familiar, welcoming spaces for storytelling that excavates and celebrates these histories. Those local spaces operate on shoestring budgets through the blood, sweat, and talent of volunteers. Burgo works as a pharmacy technician at Stop & Shop; her co-founder Wesley Leite owns a food truck and works in construction. As Burgo told the Globe, “I have to work because I’m not only helping subsidize the museum, I’ve got to pay the gas to get there.”

Since COVID, Mass Humanities has prioritized funding for organizations with annual operating budgets of less than $300,000. Over the last three years, the Expand Mass. Stories initiative contributed more than $3 million in funding to 163 projects, nourishing a storytelling movement that includes oral history, documentary filmmaking, community archives, exhibitions, and digital media including walking tour maps and podcasts.

In 2023, we launched a distinct grant-making track to ensure that organizations with small staffs and leadership from previously excluded communities weren’t competing against giant institutions for scarce funds to tell stories that emerge from those communities. It was a start.

We know we are only at the beginning of this effort and that we must find more resources to fuel the work of people like Barbara Burgo. Over the last two weeks, I felt more grateful than ever to know it is possible.

In Wayfinding, O’Connor refers to Keith Basso’s Wisdom Sits in Places. The title comes from Basso’s conversations with Dudley Patterson, an Apache horseman who responds to Basso’s question, “What is wisdom?”

“Your life is like a trail. You must be watchful as you go. Your trail will extend a long way. You will be prepared for danger wherever you go. You will see it in your mind before it happens. How will you walk along this trail of wisdom? Well, you will go to many places. You must look at them closely. You must remember all of them. Your relatives will talk to you about them. You must remember everything they tell you. You must think about it.”

Patterson continues:

“Wisdom sits in places. It’s like water that never dries up. You need to drink water to stay alive, don’t you? Well, you also need to drink from places. You must remember everything about them.”

This seems intuitive for anyone involved in storytelling work: Wisdom sits in places. The diverse practices and spaces now engaged in storytelling in Massachusetts point to the promise of the public humanities—and of Massachusetts. From start to finish, the public humanities are concerned with trust. In order to drink from a place, we must trust that we are safe enough to sit there. For too many people, the most famous reservoirs of wisdom did not feel welcoming. For too many, the story of Massachusetts did not sound familiar.

I believe the wisdom exists in Massachusetts to reimagine the ideas and possibilities of American democracy. There is something powerful in setting out on this journey from the place where those ideas began, particularly with the commemoration of that Revolution less than 2 years away. We must find ways to bring more people into that reimagining. Inclusive, grassroots storytelling provides the landmarks and language to get started.