Narrative Strategy: Rethinking Persuasion
People often tell me I’m persuasive. And to be honest, I always bristle at the compliment. It’s not that I can’t take praise — it’s that I have deep misgivings about what persuasion traditionally means and how it’s practiced.
My unease comes from years of work in the movement to end sexual violence. In that space, I’ve seen persuasion weaponized. It’s used to wear people down, to push past boundaries, to manipulate. It’s the calling card of so-called “pickup artists” who train young men to override consent under the guise of charm. In this context, persuasion isn’t influence — it’s coercion.
So when someone says I’m persuasive, my gut reaction is: Am I being manipulative?
But that’s only one dimension of persuasion. I’ve had to unlearn the coercive models and reimagine what persuasion can be — something rooted in care, not control. That’s where narrative strategy comes in.
Narrative strategy doesn’t pressure people into action. It doesn’t trick or corner them into compliance. Instead, it offers an invitation — a more compelling narrative than the one they’re currently living in. It starts with deep listening: What does this person desire? What challenges shape their world? What context are they navigating?
When I listen, I do so without agenda or judgment. I’m not scanning for objections to overcome — I’m trying to understand the story they’re already in. And that’s often where the transformation begins.
Recently, I met a woman at the dog park whose dog wasn’t neutered. My dog Charlie growled, as he often does around intact males. The woman sighed, explaining that her dog is frequently charged by others, though he’s friendly. I didn’t ask why he wasn’t neutered. Instead, we talked about dogs — the joy, the stress, the cost. She confided that finances were tight. I let her know the city offers free and reduced-cost neutering and vaccination programs. She was surprised, relieved even. That conversation could have gone a very different way. But because it was grounded in listening, it became an exchange of empathy and solutions.
Was that persuasion? Maybe. But not in the traditional sense. I wasn’t trying to “win” her over. I was bearing witness to her story — and offering a new chapter.
In my work, this is how persuasion works. Not as a tactic, but as a byproduct of understanding. Narrative strategy helps us co-create a story that addresses the lived realities of stakeholders and gestures toward better outcomes. The most powerful narratives aren’t imposed — they’re built collaboratively with the people most impacted.
Ultimately, persuasion happens in the space between “this is how it’s always been” and “this could be different.” It’s not a high-pressure tactic. It’s a moment of possibility. A pause. A reckoning with what is, and a curiosity about what could be.
For me, the word “persuasion” may always carry a trace of its darker history. But in my work, I’m learning to reclaim it — not as a tool of pressure, but as a pathway to potential. A way to bridge between the narratives we’ve inherited and the ones we long to live into.