This article is the first of a new series called “Looking Ahead: the Future of Communications for Good,” produced in collaboration with the Communications Network. Look for additional pieces every other Wednesday, and add your thoughts in the comments.
The only things people remember are stories.
That’s it.
As the Communications Network celebrates its 40th anniversary, it is collaborating with the Chronicle to figure out what’s coming next.
It’s a lesson my mother, Ann Richards, taught me. She was the first woman to be elected in her own right as governor of Texas. It’s a lesson I saw proven time and time again during my 12 years as president of Planned Parenthood. And it’s a lesson I’ve learned once again over the past two years as I have been traveling the country, listening to women, and preparing to start a new organization to build women’s civic participation and political power.
At Planned Parenthood, more than 5,000 patients walked through the doors of our health centers every day. More than a million young people turned to us each year for sex education. Every single one had her own story.
I met Deja Foxx when she was a 16-year-old high-school student. We were in Phoenix planning for a big town hall meeting on the Affordable Care Act with Sen. Jeff Flake.
Everybody had signs, and most were dressed in their pink shirts.
But not Deja.
Because, she explained to me, “I think I have a better chance of getting up to the microphone if I’m not dressed in a Planned Parenthood T-shirt.”
I had just landed back in New York when I got a text. It was a video, with a note: “You have to see this.”
There was Deja right up on the microphone in front of a packed house of hundreds of strangers.
“I’m a young woman of color,” she started, “and I haven’t always had a parent to care for me. I depend on Planned Parenthood for birth control so that I can finish school. So what is your right to take away that care and keep me from living the American Dream?”
Deja Foxx, 16 years old. Of course the clip went viral, and millions of people saw it.
But that’s not the point.
Deja went back to her high school. She fought for comprehensive sex education for her peers. Last spring she found out she had gotten into Columbia University with a full scholarship. She’s the first in her family to go to college, and she is setting the world on fire. She fills me with hope for the future.
Telling Stories Leads to Action
Storytelling can also put people on the path to activism.
I met Lori Hawkins from Bristol, Wisc., back in 2017 during a visit to former Congressman and House Speaker Paul Ryan’s district. We were gearing up for a fight to protect access to Obamacare and Planned Parenthood. Lori shared the story of how she had turned to Planned Parenthood when she was underinsured. The clinicians helped detect a medical condition that could have made it impossible for her to have children. She says Planned Parenthood is the reason she’s a mother today.
A few months later, Lori flew to Washington, D.C., to lobby on behalf of Planned Parenthood. And she brought her daughter Delaney so the teenager could look Paul Ryan in the eye and tell him she wouldn’t be there if not for Planned Parenthood.
A few weeks later, during the run-up to vote on repealing the Affordable Care Act, there was a televised national town hall.
I looked up at my screen when I heard Jake Tapper on CNN saying, “I now would like to call on Lori Hawkins from Bristol, Wisc.” There she was, on national television, telling her story.
And then, last spring, I was on a book tour and I got a text from Lori. She said, “Hey, I know you’re busy, but can you call me?”
So I did and asked her what was up.
“I was just talking with my husband and the kids, and even though I just started a new business, I have to do more,” she said. “So I’m filing to run for state Senate.”
Last November, Lori Hawkins was on the ballot in Wisconsin running for the state Senate. She lost to the incumbent but still got 42 percent of the vote.
Reminding Us Why the Work Matters
Stories matter. Stories that you tell, stories that you lift up.
Stories about Deja, about Lori, and about countless others help people feel less alone in their experiences, their passions, their beliefs.
Great stories help us all feel like we can make a difference, whether we’re heading a national organization or standing alone at a microphone at a town hall.
Stories inspire people to do more than they ever thought they could.
And stories remind us what this work is all about.
One of my all-time favorite stories happened during the 2012 presidential campaign. The first debate between President Obama and Gov. Mitt Romney had not gone well for the president, and the stakes were high going into the second debate.
I was there watching that night when, almost right out of the gate, President Obama voiced his support for Planned Parenthood and talked about the lifesaving care that we provided to millions of women.
I couldn’t believe it.
Planned Parenthood had never been the topic of any presidential debate. Now, the president of the United States was standing up for us in front of 70 million Americans. He mentioned our lifesaving care not one, not two, but three more times.
And he went on to win re-election with the largest gender gap in the history of the country.
A few days after that debate, a woman walked into a Planned Parenthood health center in Houston. She had found a lump in her breast, and she didn’t have a doctor. Our clinician welcomed her and asked who referred her.
She said, “Well, I heard President Obama say on television the other night that Planned Parenthood provides breast exams. That’s why I’m here.”
Closing the Empathy Gap
Now more than ever, there is a severe lack of empathy and compassion in our politics. And that is one reason stories are more important than ever. Sometimes that means sharing your own experiences; other times, it means handing over the mic.
Because the truth is, the best person to tell Deja’s story is Deja. The best person to tell Lori’s story is Lori. We need to empower and train people how to tell their own stories.
The exciting thing is that people are speaking up on their own — telling their stories, reaching out to others in their community, and taking action on important issues. That’s why I am working with a diverse group of inspiring women leaders to launch Supermajority, an organization dedicated to amplifying the extraordinary things so many people — especially women — are doing as we speak.
As we forge ever onward with new communications technologies, the landscape will continue to shift under our feet. We’ll have to keep pace with the new tools and platforms that enable us to spread messages far and wide with the click of a button.
As we do, we can’t forget the importance of stories. There’s a reason they have withstood the test of time for as long as humans have walked the earth and amid constant change.
Being Heard
All of us in the nonprofit world also need to remember that the story itself has to be accessible: It really doesn’t matter how smart your ideas are or how persuasive your pitch is if nobody can understand you.
My mom used to say, “If my momma back in Waco can’t understand you, what you are saying isn’t being heard.”
There is no better way to make yourself understood than through the most time-honored method of communicating: sharing stories.
Cecile Richards, former president of Planned Parenthood, is the co-founder of Supermajority, a group that seeks to guide women to political activism.
