Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Are Meaningful Conversations Considered Social Impact?: A Lesson from Grace Lee Boggs and American Revolutionary


By Sahar Driver, Program Director, Active Voice


Watch American Revolutionary - Trailer on PBS. See more from POV

This is a re-post from PBS's POV Blog.  

Sahar Driver, Active Voice Program Director, shares takeaways from Active Voice‘s engagement strategy and partnership with The World Cafe around POV’s “American Revolutionary: The Evolution of Grace Lee Boggs“. 

“Why are we afraid to talk to one another?”

This question set the tone for a recent dialogue at the Malcom X and Dr. Betty Shabazz Center in NYC, which followed a screening of Grace Lee’s film American Revolutionary: The Evolution of Grace Lee Boggs. According to Active Voice program coordinator Micael Bogar who helped organize the event, “At that moment you could almost feel something in the room tighten, then lift, as attendees began to talk about the challenges that arise when conversation turns to tough issues like race, inequality, and revolution. People often worry about disagreement or possibly offending someone. But just getting that question out in the open really helped to create a safe space to go deeper.“ As Bogar puts it, “Grace’s life is an example that really sets the tone for that.”

The NYC event was part of a trio of pilots led by Active Voice and inspired by the World Café dialogue model. The idea came about when Grace Lee and her producing partner Caroline Libresco came to us wondering how we could effectively leverage the film’s power for impact. Lee and Libresco knew that the impact potential of the film did not lie in the number of people it could draw to a theatre. Rather, true to the philosophy of Grace Lee Boggs, they were intrigued by the nature of conversations that took place after screenings of the film. As we brainstormed about how to harness that energy in a meaningful way, we developed our goal for the film’s campaign: Use the film’s convening power to bring together diverse activists and prompt cross-issue organizing around specific, localized social change goals.

To test this idea, we conducted a series of pilot screenings—in New York, Chicago, and Oakland—in partnership with local social justice organizations. I had the opportunity to attend our first event in Oakland, and admittedly, I wasn’t sure whether we would be able to spark something meaningful beyond a few good conversations. But when the lights went up after that screening, everyone in the room leaned in as we started our World Café-inspired dialogues.  After three rounds of dialogue with dozens of people, we all walked away with a better sense of our collective priorities—building community, furthering dialogue, advancing economic justice—and, moreover, a renewed sense of collective willingness to change things together.

Of course, this event was just the beginning of something bigger. Our evaluation revealed that using the film to attract diverse activists and then undergoing carefully structured post-screening dialogue was indeed a powerful vehicle for inviting connection across issues, inspiring and rejuvenating attendees in their activism, and generating creative ideas. But how can you measure the value or impact of having your ideas challenged in a way that honors and respects where you’re coming from? How do you calculate the impact that has on your life and what you carry forth into the next conversations and interactions you have? If Grace Lee Boggs’ commitment to revolution over the past 70 years teaches us anything, it is that the deepest transformations—of self and of society—take time.
Check out Active Voice’s toolkit for a successful World Café-inspired dialogue around American Revolutionary: The Evolution of Grace Lee Boggs, available here. If you’d like to organize a free screening in your community, register in the POV Community Network. 


Get more documentary film news and features: Subscribe to POV’s documentary blog, like POV on Facebook or follow us on Twitter @povdocs.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Creating An Impact Community

Lindsay Green-Barber is the Media Impact Analyst at The Center for Investigative Reporting. We're pleased to share her thoughtful reflection on the issue of assessing impact within the fields of media and journalism. The point she raises at the end of her piece around the "immeasurable" value of connecting to share personal stories and lessons learned in service of creating a "true community of practice" really resonates with us here at TWI. It also touches on the ongoing question many of us grapple with in this work around how to capture the impact of the seemingly immeasurable. 


Creating An Impact Community 
By Lindsay Green-Barber
Since I began my position as media impact analyst at The Center for Investigative Reporting last July, I've connected with many people working to measure, analyze and maximize the impact of media. Through phone calls, Skype meetings, Google Hangouts and emails, my contacts have generously shared their strategies, best practices and frustrations. While some were already connected through professional and social networks, when I began there wasn't a coherent community of practice: journalists were in one silo, documentary filmmakers in another, foundations occupying a third, academics in the ivory tower and so on.
It was clear that my peers were facing many of the same challenges around how to define, track and measure impact. There was always a lot of "Do you know Jessica in New York?" or "Have you spoken with Sarah in D.C.?" when it came to suggesting people to talk to about measuring impact. Also, I found I was repeating myself a lot in explaining my approach to impact analysis.
To draw together these disparate conversations in one place and set a shared agenda with others committed to examining questions about media impact, CIR created and hosted its first Dissection: Impact event in Oakland, Calif., in October. Media makers, academics and foundation representatives attended the event to "dissect" both the concept of impact and tools for measuring it. The first Dissection was experimental, but the spontaneous combustion of ideas assured us we had touched on something valuable. CIR hosted Dissection B: Impact in January at Mercer University's Center for Collaborative Journalism in Macon, Ga.
A few weeks ago, CIR hosted two more Dissection: Impact events: one in New York City and the other inWashington, D.C. Participants from the first two Dissections rejoined us, along with a new cohort of individuals and organizations – especially from public media – who infused the events with new ideas and concerns. During the course of these thought-provoking gatherings there were five core strands of conversation.
1. Impact feeds sustainability
CIR's goal is to produce stories that protect the most vulnerable individuals and communities and hold powerful institutions accountable. Our funders invest in investigative reporting as a powerful and necessary force in our democracy, while at the same time expecting us to demonstrate measurable success in achieving our mission. Thus, impact measurement and analysis is increasingly essential to organizational sustainability.
"When I ran a newspaper, profit was driven by ad revenue," says CIR Executive Director Robert J. Rosenthal. "For CIR, and other journalism organizations, impact helps forge the revenue that sustains us." Impact translates into philanthropic revenue, membership, partnerships and an understanding by the public that investigative journalism is relevant to them and can touch their lives.
During CIR's Dissection in Washington, we learned from NPR that it defines impact as behavior or attitudinal change, the process by which NPR "creates a more informed public – one challenged and invigorated by a deeper understanding and appreciation of events, ideas and cultures.” When NPR successfully achieves this type of impact, its listeners will likely feel an emotionally significant bond with stations and become members, share material online or talk about programming with others who will then be exposed to NPR and/or local stations. Thus, in the case of NPR, impact (attitudinal change) is linked to sustainability.
The specific process linking impact to sustainability will be different for each organization. There was a consensus among Dissection participants that by dissecting the process of anticipating and tracking impact, we can discover new ways to translate the good we do into outcomes that contribute to our sustainability.
2. Shared language
During all of CIR's Dissections, words like taxonomy and typology came up time and again in discussions. Wonky words aside, everyone recognized the need for a shared language around impact that is both expansive and specific.
Some universally agreed-upon elements of the emerging framework were
  • Impact is change.
  • Impact is an ongoing, iterative process (not a phase in evaluation).
  • There are many types of impact, from attitudinal change to law change.
  • Impact of an organization flows directly from its mission.
  • Organizational culture must value capturing and understanding impact.
During the New York meeting, a working group formed to further the conversation around this issue. If you work in a media organization, you can help with this project by filling out this survey.
3. Big data versus thick data
We have more data than we need. Participants at CIR's Dissections recounted organizational histories in which attempts to capture all the data associated with Nielsen ratings, online comments, likes and shares, page-related analytics and other sources were so overwhelming and ultimately so useless that they quit data gathering altogether.
Rather than thinking solely about "big data," we need to think about useful data. What can we glean from the data streams to which we have access? Which data are indicators of what phenomena? How can we get not only big, but qualitative, "thick" data?
4. We need humans
In order to parse the relevant data from the "noise," impact analysis requires humans with the appropriate skill set to carry out this type of research. Analysts might need to be able to do textual, network and/or statistical analysis in order to make sense of not only the plethora of data available, but to identify other data sources not traditionally included in impact assessment. For example, if a media organization is interested in effecting attitudinal change, impact analysis might include surveys of listeners or textual analysis of online comments.
5. Community
"Keep me in the loop" has been the most common parting at all four CIR Dissection: Impact events. The value of face-to-face time to share experiences and strategies and to make the connections needed in order to form a true community of practice is immeasurable.

Re-posted from http://cironline.org/blog/post/creating-impact-community-6301

Friday, May 2, 2014

Relationships Are (The) Work


Sean Thomas-Breitfield is the Co-Director of The Building Movement Project, a grantee of TWI. We're Pleased to share his recent reflection on the importance of relationships in movement building, a theme that strongly emerged from Building Movement's insightful evaluation of the New Bottom Line Campaign. It's great to see the power of relationships explicitly raised up in this way. What might happen if more funders started explicitly directing resources to building them in whatever work they are supporting?



Relationships Are (The) Work
                   
Written by Sean Thomas-Breitfield

Lately, I’ve been thinking about relationships. Maybe it’s that my partner just proposed to me. Or maybe it was the time with our Project Team earlier this month working, laughing, and struggling together. Either way, it’s becoming clear how important relationships are in the social change sector.
Relationship building was a theme that came out of our evaluation of the New Bottom Line campaign. The success of the NBL campaign to advance innovative policy ideas and Dump DeMarco was just as important (and was maybe even a lesser accomplishment in some people’s assessment) as the deeper connections that grew between the organizations, staff and members who worked together on the campaign. One of the most telling quotes from the interviews and survey we did with NBL’s stakeholders reflects why relationship building matters:
... the long-term commitment to each other has deepened relationships. We’ve hung together through good times and bad, and as a result feel very close to the other organizations and feel like I could bring a critique to these allies, ask for their help and be vulnerable with them.
This quote reflects a surprising level of intimacy. Words and phrases like “commitment,” hanging together through “good times and bad,” and “be(ing) vulnerable” all sound like the things that would be said about an intimate relationship between friends or lovers, not coalition partners. But the reality is that long-term movement building requires that same level of trust, openness and acceptance.
The usual ways that coalition partners talk about and relate to each other doesn’t work in today’s political context. Temporary, transactional alliances between advocates are just not powerful enough to challenge the deep alignment between corporate power and a conservative governing philosophy that only benefits the wealthy. In a sector where scarcity is real and there’s not enough money or credit to go around, a strong relational grounding makes it more likely that activists and organizations will see these bad times as the very times to hang together. Stronger relationships also help activists see the connections between our struggles and deepen commitment to collective solutions.
The old theory that relationships just happen by doing the “real” work is fortunately giving way to greater focus and intentionality on building deep relationships. Here are some ways groups have started the process. Storytelling is one practice that the domestic workers movement drew on to build connections and energize their campaigns, and many other groups are weaving narrative strategies into their organizer trainings to foster a deeper level of connection between movement activists. Some groups have the resources to take retreats and cram as many relationship building activities into a day or two as is humanly possible, and programs like Rockwood’s Art of Collaborative Leadership are very strategically fostering relationships between leaders in particular movements and sectors. Creative “un-networking events” are also emerging where people commit to NOT talk about their professional identities, in order to focus on cultivating authentic relationships first and then figuring out the transactional piece of how they can work together after.
The truth is that relationships have always been important in our movements and social change work. They are the basis of trust, and the foundation of what differentiates movement building alliances from so many other (and necessary) formations. Temporary, transactional connections will always have their usefulness, but the growing recognition of the importance of relationship building is a critical Investment in connecting groups, reaching beyond organizational boundaries, and building the movement infrastructure we need to win lasting social change.


Friday, April 18, 2014

How Media Can Be a Force for Good


A thoughtful and engaging interview with the American Press Institute and Mallary Tenore, the new managing director of TWI grantee Images and Voices of Hope (IVOH), that explores themes of our ongoing conversation about storytelling, journalism, dialogue and community. 

How 'Restorative Narratives' Shape Communities: 9 Good Questions with Mallary Tenore of IVOH

IVOH has been doing some work around “restorative narratives.” What are they?

“
These aren’t positive, happy-go-lucky fluff pieces. They explore the tough emotional terrain of disruptions like the Newtown shooting and the Boston Marathon bombings.
”
MALLARY TENORE: As we look for ways to highlight how the media can be a force for good, we’ve become increasingly interested in a storytelling genre we’re calling restorative narratives. These are stories that show how communities and people are learning to become resilient after periods of disruption. In doing so, they express empowerment, possibilities and revitalization. Last August, we convened 35 media makers to deepen our inquiry into restorative narrative and came up with this working definition: “Restorative narratives are honest and sustained inquiries that reveal opportunities in times of disruption. They express empowerment, possibilities and revitalization.”
This type of storytelling isn’t new, but it’s never really been given a good name. “Feature stories” and “human interest stories” don’t capture the depth of restorative narratives. The word “restorative” — which is defined as “having the ability to restore health, strength, or a feeling of well-being” — is a better fit; it reflects resilience.
These aren’t positive, happy-go-lucky fluff pieces. They explore the tough emotional terrain of disruptions like the Newtown shooting and the Boston Marathon bombings. But they’re “positive” in the sense that they focus on themes such as growth and renewal — themes that, at some point in our lives, we can all relate to.

What made you want to start focusing on restorative narratives?

TENORE: We came up with the term after reading Rachel Aviv’s December 2012 New Yorker story about how a small community newspaper, The Newtown Bee, was responding to the Newtown shooting. The paper’s editor, Curtiss Clark, really listened to what readers wanted during that time; he asked them questions and acted on their responses. He found himself thinking about the paper’s greater purpose and about ways in which the paper’s reporters could be supporters.
As Aviv wrote:
“He didn’t care if national reporters thought that he lacked a ‘hard-ass clinical angle.’ When he learned that a camera crew had rung the doorbell of parents who had just lost their child, he wrote a letter to the New England Newspaper and Press Association, urging the media to stop ‘invading the yards and space of grieving survivors.’ Another resident implored him, ‘Do anything in your power to get these media people out.’ In an editorial in a special edition of the Bee, published three days after the shooting, Clark counseled residents not to conform to the expectations of the ‘legions of journalists who had arrived in caravans of satellite trucks as if drawn by some dark star of calamity.”
Clark’s response made us think about how often the media swoops in during the immediate aftermath of tragedies. It’s understandable; they need to be there to inform the public about what happened. But sometimes reporters’ approach comes across as insensitive. And after awhile, these “what happened” stories can make the world feel like a callous place. The persistent focus on death and devastation ignores the fact that there are stories of resilience and recovery to be told.
“
What if newsrooms were to put as much emphasis on recovery and restoration as they did on tragedy and devastation?
”
What if, instead of reporting so many “what happened” stories, journalists reported more “what’s next” stories that explain how people and communities are finding the strength to move on after experiencing tragedies or other difficult times? What if newsrooms were to put as much emphasis on recovery and restoration as they did on tragedy and devastation?
It is not unlike Victor Frankl’s premise in “Man’s Search for Meaning” — even in the concentration camps during World War II, there were people who were able to find meaning in their circumstances and find inner strength.
I get it — these stories aren’t always easy to report. Journalists are strapped for time and resources, so the thought of spending an extended period of time following people and communities through their recovery process can seem unmanageable. And sometimes, people don’t want to talk to the media. I think the media could build trust, though, by telling stories about resilience and recovery — aka restorative narratives. These stories would show the public that journalists are invested in telling important stories that have a meaningful impact. I’d like to think that if more journalists told stories about resilience in a particular community, they could help other communities learn how to become more resilient.

This seems to imply a deeper idea — that journalism doesn’t just reflect what happens in a community but actually helps to shape what a community becomes. Am I right about that?

TENORE: Yes. There’s been a lot of talk recently about how the media can help rebuild struggling communities. This is especially true in Detroit, where media startups like Detroit143 are trying to improve community life and create meaningful change. Two other projects — the Detroit Journalism Cooperative and Zero Divide — are also trying to play a role in Detroit’s revitalization and recently received funding from the Knight and Ford foundations. In a release about the projects, the Knight Foundation’s Katy Locker made a good point:
“How residents and policymakers understand and deal with Detroit’s crisis will have repercussions decades into the future. … Some say the bankruptcy could herald the start of a recovery, but that can only happen if the community is informed and engaged and has a plan for continuing improvements the day after bankruptcy. Nonprofit journalism can help.”
At ivoh, we believe restorative narratives are part of this equation. We’ve written and talked a lot about restorative narratives, but we would like to do – and learn – more.

Can you point to some examples of restorative narratives?

TENORE: One example of a restorative narrative is Josh Haner’s New York Times video about Jeff Bauman, a Boston Marathon survivor who lost both of his legs and is now learning what it means to move on in the wake of tragedy. It’s a poignant video that shows a progression from physical and emotional pain to recovery. (Haner just received the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Photography for his essay on the same subject.)
On ivoh.org, we recently profiled another restorative narrative by Dallas Morning News reporter Scott Farwell. He wrote an eight-part series about Lauren Kavanaugh, a young woman whose mother and stepfather locked her in a closet, starved her and abused her for six years. The story is painful to read in parts, but in the end it shows how Lauren is learning to cope with her hardships. (Farwell was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Writing for his work on the same subject.)
Farwell told me that Dallas Morning News Editor Bob Mong read the first draft of his story and said it needed “more hope”:
“He wanted me to reconfigure the first few days to give more of a whiff of hope — to let people know that this was going to be a painful journey, but if you stuck with us, there would be some emotional payoff in the end and something restorative that you could look forward to. … He was right,” Farwell told me.
The response to the story ended up being “unprecedented.” It generated half a million unique page views during the eight days it ran online, and the paper’s print circulation increased by 5 percent that same week, Farwell said.
That says something about the appetite for this type of content.

What effects do you see restorative narratives having on readers and the broader communities?

TENORE: I think restorative narratives have the potential to make a big impact. The trick is getting media practitioners — and higher-ups — to see their value.
There’s been a lot of recent research on resilience at places like the University of North Carolina, Vassar College and the University of Pennsylvania.
And some news organizations (but not enough!) see the value in resilience reporting. The BBC’s Media Action project, for example, is geared toward showing how the media can improve humanitarian responses and increase resilience. The BBC explains that “Media and communication can help build the resilience of people vulnerable to shocks and long-term trends by providing information, by changing attitudes towards risk and innovation, by supporting dialogue that will facilitate positive change and by encouraging greater accountability in service provision and policy making.” For one of its projects, BBC Media Action created a series of films aimed at helping people cope with life as a refugee.
There’s also the Guardian’s new “resilient cities” project, which focuses on resilience in cities around the world. The project is being funded by the Rockefeller Foundation, which is also funding a resilience reporting fellowship in collaboration with the Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research. The center has been studying the factors that make someone resilient and issponsoring a nine-month-long fellowship “to train a reporter to take a rigorous look at the academic literature on resilience,” the Columbia Journalism Review reported in November. Trevor Tompson, director of the Center, told CJR that the fellow will study data analysis and social sciences research to learn how to tell more nuanced stories about resilience:
“A lot of the coverage of disasters had to be pretty anecdotal … There’s a lot of storytelling, but it’s hard to connect it to the big picture. … If [research is] not accessible to journalists for news then we’re missing a huge opportunity to get that information out there to people who could really use it.”
As we dive deeper into the concept of restorative narratives, we hope to learn more about the impact they have on communities.

Is there evidence that this approach is good for a publisher’s business as well?

TENORE: Journalism’s going through a tremendous amount of change, so I think there’s a lot more openness to different types of storytelling than there used to be.
“
People’s appetite for news is changing, and with that change comes opportunity — to tell stories that shift the traditional journalistic focus from tragedy to recovery.
”
We’ve seen this with the rising popularity of sites like Upworthy and BuzzFeed. Recently, Time Magazine highlighted research indicating that “the recipe for attracting visitors to stories online is changing. Bloggers have traditionally turned to sarcasm and snark to draw attention. But the success of sites like BuzzFeed and Upworthy, whose philosophies embrace the viral nature of upbeat stories, hints that the Web craves positivity.”
People’s appetite for news is changing, and with that change comes opportunity — to tell stories that shift the traditional journalistic focus from tragedy to recovery.
When I talk with journalists who are producing stories along these lines, they say there’s an interest in this type of content. Take WBUR’s Kind World series, which we wrote about on ivoh.org recently. WBUR producer Nate Goldman created the series because as a way to counteract negative news fatigue — the feeling that news stories are too heavy and depressing. The series, which highlights the power of small acts of kindness, generated a huge response from readers of WBUR’s website — so much so that the station decided to do a radio series to accompany the online component of the project.
Other news sites, including Global Voices, have launched “Good News” sections, for lack of a better term. Global Voices’ section isn’t about fluff pieces; it’s about featuring solutions journalism that helps people identify ways they can help their communities. As more news sites experiment with this type of storytelling, I think they’ll start to generate more interest in it and see a payoff.
And there’s the Solutions Journalism Network, which has recently made great strides in helping journalists report on solutions to social issues — instead of always focusing on problems.

What shortcomings do you see in the ways many journalists usually cover these stories?

TENORE: When I mention the phrase “restorative narratives,” some people think I mean feature stories or human interest stories. Restorative narratives tend to go deeper; they address harsh realities and show a meaningful movement — from heartbreak to hope, tragedy to recovery, and so on.
Other times, I’ll come across a story that I think is a restorative narrative based on the headline, only to find that 90 percent of it is about a tragedy and 10 percent is about restoration. That’s not a restorative narrative; restorative narratives address tragic circumstances, but they give equal or greater weight to the restorative aspects of a person’s story.
“
Restortative narratives tend to go deeper than feature stories or human interest stories; they address harsh realities and show a meaningful movement.
”
Over the next year, we plan to deepen our understanding of this genre by creating programs that will enable media makers to report stories on social issues within the framework of restorative narratives. We want to convene dialogues with these media makers to hear what they’ve learned and to get a better sense of the impact their stories have had.

Sometimes a news event seems just all-around bad. Is there always a hopeful side of a story to present? How should journalists identify the hopeful story angles?

TENORE: That’s a good question. Not all stories about a tragedy can be turned into restorative narratives. Time is a critical component of restorative narratives. You couldn’t write a restorative narrative about a person in the immediate aftermath of a tragedy/difficult time because it would be inauthentic; the person wouldn’t have had time to heal yet. Sometimes these stories take months, and even years, to report.
Some storytellers have a tendency to wrap up stories with a pretty bow and end them on a happy note. But this approach can feel forced. Recovering from something doesn’t mean that everything’s all of a sudden perfect. Recovery is a journey and a process of discovery — one filled with twists and turns, bumps and setbacks. Good restorative narratives embrace this idea.

How can journalists get more involved with your organization or find more resources for embracing this approach?

TENORE: We hold an annual media summit at a retreat center in the Catskills, New York. This year’s summit is June 26-29 and will be centered on restorative narratives. We have a great group of speakers — including Andrea Elliott and Ruth Fremson, the reporter and photographer behind The New York Times’ “Invisible Child” series, and Solutions Journalism Network co-founder David Bornstein, who will lead a workshop.
We welcome anyone who’s interested in restorative narratives to attend. We’ll also be having a series of local conversations around the country, where we gather people from the media and the arts to talk about restorative narratives and other related topics.

Reposted from www.americanpressinstitute.org

Friday, November 22, 2013

TWI Grantee Voice of Witness receives the Smithsonian “Ingenuity Award” for Social Progress
















by Pia Infante




We are proud to share that on November 21, 2013, mimi lok, Executive Director of Voice of Witness was joined by the organization's founder to receive the Smithsonian's "Ingenuity Award" for Social Progress. 


Smithsonian magazine editor-in-chief Michael Caruso wrote in the official announcement: “We’ve polled the directors, curators and staffers at the Smithsonian Institution to find those innovators who are revolutionizing their fields with recent, high-impact achievements. While their work is different in objective, each winner is embracing the Smithsonian’s mission to increase knowledge and shape the world of tomorrow. We are delighted to showcase their work across all platforms.” 



Read the full feature here.



Congratulations mimi and Voice of Witness!





Tuesday, September 3, 2013

ivoh explores and defines restorative narrative

This post was originally posted at http://ivoh.org/exploration-of-restorative-narrative/ and has been written by Steve Myers.


Nailing down the attributes of hazy concepts is never easy, and the early going of ivoh’s exploration of “restorative narrative” was no exception.

Maybe that’s why the room came alive when journalism professor and ivoh board member Jon Funabiki (photo above) suggested we make a list of “what’s in and what’s out” to help us define this emerging media genre.

“No gloss,” Funabiki began, echoing the view of ivoh founder Judy Rodgers, who first got the organization thinking about restorative narrative and insisted it be rooted in often painful reality.

“Knowledge-based,” Funabiki added, picking up on one of the elements listed by Harvard professor Tom Patterson as he discussed his forthcoming book, “Informing the News.”

Funabiki, Rodgers and Patterson were among several dozen participants in a gathering ivoh (Images & Voices of Hope) sponsored earlier this month in the Catskills to examine the idea of restorative narrative and brainstorm ways that ivoh could encourage its practice.

Reading from his notbebook, Funabiki added a few more attributes: “Not so broad-brush,” “authentic,” “leading to positive outcomes,” “journalism with purpose and intent.”

He also put some things on the “what’s out” list, including: “happy and misleading,” “exclusive focus on the negative,” “leading to despair.”

John Yearwood flanked by Kelly Cornell and Keith Hammonds
Although not especially visible on the current media landscape, restorative narrative is an idea that, in one form or another, has been under discussion for some time. Other organizations are pursuing media forms with significant overlap, including The Solutions Journaland the Solutions Journalism Network, and ivoh leaders expressed interest in collaborating with such ventures. Keith Hammonds, COO of the Solutions Journalism Network, participated in ivoh’s gathering.

Much of what was on Funabiki’s list could be said of other forms of journalism and media, of course.

As the group discussed several stories and documentaries (see list in right rail beneath our Twitter feed), we quickly identified ways that these stories were different. It became clear that these stories didn’t simply transmit facts, but helped to transform a situation. We noticed they didn’t dwell on human suffering — neither did they overlook it — but they looked beyond to see what comes next.

Restorative narrative defined and deconstructed

Many questions remain, but a working definition emerged: “Restorative narrative is an honest and sustained inquiry that reveals opportunity in times of disruption. It expresses empowerment, possibilities and revitalization.”

Roberta Baskin, president of the ivoh board, suggested boiling that down to six words, perhaps these: “Restorative narrative reveals opportunity in disruption.”

Here are some characteristics that, considered together, help differentiate this type of work from most types of storytelling:

It’s forward-looking. It highlights hope and choice. While most stories focus on what brought us to where we are, a restorative narrative pays special attention to what’s next. It searches for resolution. Conflict and challenges are necessarily part of the story; the difference is that the story focuses on how people respond.

Watch The New York Times’ video about Boston Marathon bombing survivor Jeff Bauman. The story isn’t about him losing his legs in the blasts; it’s about him learning to find a new equilibrium on his prosthetic legs.

It considers the effect of the narrative on the audience. A story can change its audience. It can stay with them, a constant reminder of what’s possible. As several people mentioned, witnessing an act of kindness has an effect on someone — they’re more likely to do something kind themselves. Restorative narrative seeks that effect; it’s deliberate without being manipulative.

Participants view a CBC report about a student who
returned to high school after dropping out.
It’s authentic. Storytellers may have to look harder for a restorative narrative, and they may have to ask different questions to find it. But the process must be intellectually honest, rooted in an inquiry rather than an argument. This framework cannot be imposed upon every story. Storytellers cannot gloss over important challenges and questions.

In an authentic restorative narrative, the hope comes from within. Listen to Dan Grech and Kenny Malone’s radio story about an unexpected moment of hope in the aftermath of the Haiti earthquake. The characters in the story are lifted up, and we along with them.

It’s sustained. Time is a key factor in discovering a restorative narrative. The story of a disaster does not have to end with the last funeral or moment of silence. Jeff Bauman’s story would have been different had it been told after a few weeks rather than a few months. It’s difficult to stick with a story when there are no obvious events driving it forward, when you can’t see where it’s going. As storytellers, can we pay attention long enough to see the signs of the new normal?

It awakens a sense of human connection. A restorative narrative resonates with audiences by making them feel connected to their communities. It creates a forum for discussion, perhaps literally. And it reminds people of what they can accomplish by working together.

It’s action-oriented, though not prescriptive. A restorative narrative empowers the audience to act, but it doesn’t necessarily advocate for a particular solution. The action could vary; it could be as basic as enabling people to connect with other members of their community or to help the victims of a disaster. Perhaps it brings a massive social problem, like Detroit’s blight, down to human size by showing how some people are improving the blocks around them. The story may equip people to deal with their own suffering.

Storytellers may want to consider a strong post-publication action plan. Philip Lauri, one of the creators of “After the Factory,” which shows similarities between the Polish city of Lodz (prononced “woodge”) and Detroit, said his team is directing some of the film’s proceeds to community initiatives.

Martha Bebinger, a WBUR radio reporter whose report on “moral injury” was reviewed by the group, asked how journalists can best allocate their time among conflicting responsibilities of pursuing new assignments vs. sticking with stories for the long haul.

It’s responsive to the community. In the aftermath of a tragedy, people are often searching for answers and ways to help. A restorative narrative can help with both (though answers may not come as quickly as ways to help). The best storytellers get in tune with the community to know what people are searching for at that time. If not, one risks telling a story that rings false or fails to respect what the community has been through.

It reveals something universal, yet localized. The most moving, most memorable stories connect us to a universal truth or experience. Restorative narrative aims to address a common experience, truth or feeling that reveals something about a universal theme as well as the particular focus of the media at work.

Lorie Conway’s documentary, “Beatrice Mtetwa and the Rule of Law“, focuses on the human rights lawyer in Zimbabwe who serves as the film’s main character, but also highlights the universal theme of “the rule of law” that supports the film’s relevance to circumstances far removed from Harare.

It’s character-driven. Not just a compelling character, but the right one. In discussing a series of stories he supervised for Canadian Public Television, Eric Le Reste described how he guided his reporters on a story about a teenager who had dropped out of school, then returned and was about to graduate. Suddenly, the presumed story line was interrupted when the student cheated on a test.

Bob Walter, Vanessa Trengrove and other participants
As the reporting unfolded, the main character shifted from the student to the school principal who refused to give up on the young man. And sometimes, as illustrated in “After the Factory,” it’s something other than a person — in this case a couple of cities — playing the role of main character.

It looks for root causes. Many stories address symptoms and effects; restorative narrative requires the storyteller to look deeper. Lorie Conway could have produced a documentary about the poverty, violence and decay underway at the hands of President Robert Mugabe. The filmmakers looked at what lay beneath the decay of a society and found that it was the erosion of the rule of law.

Some risks inherent in this type of storytelling

Most of the potential problems we imagined involve insufficient intellectual honesty — succumbing to the temptation to let the best of intentions overwhelm the facts of the matter. Some examples:

Overreaching. Not every search for a restorative narrative will find one. With inquiry rather than argument as the guiding technique, the media maker is better equipped to root the reporting in reality. Timing is important. Especially in the aftermath of violent or tragic events, restorative narratives often take time to take shape.

Lack of context. Authors of a restorative narrative may be tempted to omit details that complicate or conflict with the arc of the story. Smart decisions about what to leave out is a hallmark of good storytelling, and restorative narratives will often focus more on the hope ahead than the horror behind. But taking that too far results in a distortion that serves no one.

Understanding key stakeholders is key. In describing how the journalists at the Newtown Bee covered the Sandy Hook shooting, The New Yorker reported that Editor Curtiss Clark “wanted the paper to draw the community together, to reclaim its routine. … In crafting a redemptive narrative, the Bee avoided much of the story. For weeks, the paper simply focussed on documenting acts of benevolence.”

One could argue that the rest of the story was being amply covered by other media. It’s important to tell the audience, perhaps explicitly, what is being left out.

False positives. Restorative narrative does not mean the good guys win, or that the positive narrative promoted by a company or community should be accepted without question. Especially when an uplifting angle serves particular interests, skepticism is called for as much in restorative narrative as it is in other forms of nonfiction storytelling.

Journalists aren’t trained to do this kind of work. Most journalists have been trained, on the job if not in the classroom, to begin their reporting with a focus on a problem. Although effective as far as it goes, such an approach often fails to discover the full arc of the story. Other approaches (ivoh favors the Appreciative Inquirymethod) pursue what is working and will require new training.

Eric Le Reste discusses Canadian Public
Television project on returning student
Restorative narrativists are probably a self-selecting group. Journalists who think of themselves as storytellers, not newshounds or systems analysts, will want to do this kind of work. Some already are.

As an organization, ivoh is focused on all forms of media, including music, the arts and advertising as well as journalism. A presentation by artist Riki Moss and a performance led by cellist Michael Fitzpatrick prompted discussion of restorative narrative in those media. But for the most part, this initial inquiry focused on various journalistic platforms.


Help us figure out this niche of storytelling

In the process of trying to define this thing called “restorative narrative,” we often felt the need to defend why this is a valid form of storytelling — why it isn’t a whitewash of reality.

Conflict is one of the core elements of journalism. When people complain about the media’s focus on “bad news,” the standard response is, “It’s not news if the plane lands safely.”

If we were to dig into people’s complaints, perhaps we would discover that they aren’t really talking about good news vs. bad. Maybe people simply lack the media vocabulary to explain what they would like to see more of.

We hope that we’ve laid the groundwork for this discussion.

In the coming weeks, we’ll point out stories that have characteristics of restorative narrative. You can help us by tweeting with the #restorativenarrative hashtag or tweeting to @ivohMEDIA. Ivoh is planning a larger gathering June 26-29, 2014 to further explore restorative narrative. If you’re interested in taking part, please contact Bill Mitchell.

In the meantime, let’s continue the conversation in the comments below. What’s your view of restorative narrative? How might media makers pursue it to maximum effect?

(Bill Mitchell contributed to this report.)

Friday, August 30, 2013

An Interview with David Inocencio of the Beat Within

We're pleased to re-post Katy McCarthy's recent interview with David Inocenio of The Beat Within, which appeared in Juvenile In Justice. TWI has been supporting The Beat since 2007.

“The Beat Within” by Casper.
Image courtesy of The Beat Within.
David Inocencio is the coolest. He’s one of those guys who starts talking about his passion — bringing a voice to the voiceless incarcerated masses — and you think to yourself, “Why can’t everyone be such a badass crusader for human rights and the arts?” But that’s just what David does. As founder of The Beat Within, David Inocencio works to bring a crucial expressive outlet to kids behind bars. The Beat Within is two things: a biweekly publication of writing and art from inside juvenile halls and prisons, and a workshop program inside juvenile halls across the U.S.  It all started in 1996, when David started facilitating writing workshops in San Francisco juvenile hall. What he found was staggering, that young people behind bars had so much more to say than was perhaps revealed in a police report or psychiatric evaluation. He found that what he could provide them with, a voice and a place to air it, was critical to their self-esteem and ability to feel connected to the outside world. 

A San Franciscan born and raised, David always knew he wanted to make a difference in his community. “In the late 80s/early 90s I saw the drug (crack) epidemic, rising youth violence and the decline of the public schools and I figured that I needed to connect with this population because their truth wasn’t being told,” he said. “I knew it was important to tell their story to their peers and also to those outside the system.”

The writing and art produced by young TBW participants is poignant and tragic. Each piece — be it a poem or a drawing — paints a humanizing and complex self-portrait of a young person’s life history. Oftentimes, that is a history riddled with abuse, neglect, poverty, drug abuse and violence. The writing is also deeply insightful. Every piece I read is a reminder that these children are just that — children, with sorrows and hopes and dreams that need to be expressed and listened to.

Today, 17 years since their humble beginnings, The Beat Within has expanded exponentially to serve over 5,000 youth annually through workshops operated in 13 California county juvenile halls and at facilities in Arizona, Texas, New Mexico, Hawaii, Oregon and in Washington, DC. Good news for you, they are always accepting donations and volunteers! But if you’re not convinced yet, read on. You will be.

Katy McCarthy: So, how did The Beat Within get started?

David Inocencio: I saw a need for it. I was working at the juvenile hall in San Francisco and through that work I recognized a real need to give these young people a voice. They were being unheard in every aspect — everywhere from the courtroom to their day-to-day lives. In the work I did prior to The Beat Within, I did a great job of building relationships. So, when I approached the juvenile hall in San Francisco about starting writing and conversation workshops there was no red tape — with open arms they embraced my visions. I didn’t know I was going to start a publication. This was January 1996. I just knew the importance of listening to human beings and building trust. I saw what you got out of that. You got young people hungry to connect. That there was more to their stories than a police report, a psyche evaluation, etc. Little did I know at that point that my colleagues from Pacific News Service and I, especially Sandy Close (who believe in my work and my vision), were creating the template of The Beat Within, which would become what it is today.
Art from youth in Bernalillo County, New Mexico.
Image courtesy of The Beat Within.

Nine months later Tupac died and around the young people I was working with came an outpouring of response, and it was so moving I knew I needed to publish this writing quickly so that people could know how they felt. It was shortly thereafter, in September 1996, that we committed to being The Beat Within — a weekly publication of art and writing from inside the hall.

TBW is more than a publication. It is truly organic and has organically grown. It has moved beyond the city and state. There is a lot of hunger from other counties to be a part of this form. They see it as truly a lifeline for these young people — giving a voice to the voiceless. I am blown away by how many counties have embraced TBW and our work. We’ve been able to connect with so many institutions. People really feel a connection with the work.

A judge in San Francisco told me once that the TBW publication was a real window into the world of these young people. Young people who are up against it dealing with hard choices and raising themselves. We need to pull them into the conversation. It’s an amazing resource guide if you use it that way, a great indicator of what the struggles are. A lot of the same issues keep popping up. Issues of family, dysfunction, addiction, and above all a hunger to connect and be heard.

K.M: What is the most important issue TBW is working on today?

D.I: Giving a voice to the voiceless. Empowering these young people to realize how important their voices are and that there is a platform and a place for them to be heard. They have to make the ultimate choice — low road high road: do I abuse my body or feed it with knowledge? So we do our program, and they need to realize it’s their choice to change their lives. That’s a lot for a young person. They also have this amazing opportunity to tell the system (and their peers) where it’s broken and what it needs. We encourage them to be teachers and to share their truths.

K.M: I’m sure in your work you have encountered people with amazing/heartbreaking stories about their experience with the juvenile justice system. Can you share one with us?

D.I: There was a fourteen-year-old boy, James, charged with a double homicide for gang related killings. He raised himself in the youth system, before being sent off to adult prison where he would serve 30-years to life. James is someone I worked with closely. The juvenile hall feared him in a sense. They wanted to segregate him from his peers, because of the high profile nature of his case, so they kept him in isolation for long stretches for a couple of years. He should have been put in the maximum-security unit with others, yet they isolated him from everyone, so he wasn’t in our weekly writing workshops, but afterwards I would always stop by his cell and talk to him and give him a prompt and a copy of the beat. The facility administrators kept him disconnected, but they allowed him a pencil and paper. He would give me these amazing writings. He also, at that time, was a new father. Fresh out of 8th grade he and his girlfriend got pregnant. So he’s coming to terms with being a father. I worked with him over time, and he delivered some of the most powerful, eloquent writing I’d ever read at that time. I was able to watch him grow from a 14-year-old wanting to be the biggest, baddest gangster to an 18-year-old realizing he had thrown a part of his life away. It’s the whole idea of seeing him grow and how powerful an outlet The Beat was to him. He ended up with this amazing following because the facility allowed me to publish his work. Writing was his way of communicating with his peers, and it was so respectful that all of us could embrace it, despite the sign on his cell door saying that no one should communicate with this minor.

There are so many stories of young people learning how powerful their voices were after working with us. In some cases there have been lawyers and advocates using TBW as a character witness in helping shed light that this young person, their client, has grown up quite a bit in the system and is not the same person who initially walked in, thanks to their writing. Of course, action speaks louder than words, but these young people have only their words until they are given, if they are lucky, a chance to put their words into action. The Beat is consistent in their lives when there isn’t any consistency, so these kids trust and share with you. There is so much more to them.

K.M: What are TBW’s goals for the future? Where do you want to see TBW go?

D.I: I want to take care of funding for the next year. We still do workshops EVERYDAY, but I had to cut the publications back to two double-issues a month. It’s just a matter of getting the word out, being the face in the community, and building relationships with folks that can share the vision. This year I’m blown away by how many folks in the Midwest want to get involved and get their kids involved — Illinois, St. Louis … We are also connected with a juvenile hall in El Salvador, where two Fulbright Scholars are working so we’ve been able to feature those kid’s writing for the past couple of months. I aim to see that The Beat Within is alive and well in 10-20 years, staying true to our mission of giving a voice to the voiceless.
Artwork by Rhonda Jones.
Image courtesy of The Beat Within.

When the initial workshops happened in 96’ I stressed to the kids that “no matter where you go, just keep on writing—whether it’s prison, a solitary housing unit, or freedom.” We publish works from those who have moved on beyond juvenile hall and want to stay connected and share their stories: The Beat Without. They want to reach out, to donate their words to help break the stereotypes. That prison isn’t cool. These stories speak to the youngsters. It’s important to get the elders to be a part of the conversation and to include that in our publication.

K.M: How is TBW distributed to those on the inside?

D.I: When we had money, we had an out-of-control mailing list of prisoners who wanted it and couldn’t afford it and we would send a copy to them. Now, things are tighter. Everyone who gets published gets a copy of it in the mail, and kids in every workshop take away a copy. At a workshop on Tuesday night, all 150 kids walked away with a copy to read in their cells.

K.M: What does a workshop look like?

D.I: Workshops are all one hour — they all have the same writing prompts, no matter where you are (D.C., S.F., N.Y.). The leaders give the kids the prompts, they discuss them as a group, the leader shares a passage, and then we all share our stories. Once we exhaust the 3-4 prompts we break off into writing groups. Ideally there are 2-3 facilitators per class and we walk around and check in, helping with grammar, sometimes checking in to talk about the stress of court tomorrow and just listening. Maybe there is another kid who can’t write, but wants to be in the publication… we may be helping him or sitting with him penning his story. They know its cool because it gets published and goes to all these interesting institutions — more than 25 — beyond their own. I want them to feel an ownership. The other night I told kids, “I spoke at SF State and told them about the success of our project and your writing.” It takes a whole community to pull it off. At the end we open it up for them to read what they’ve written aloud and we all clap. The counselors and the guards standing nearby are always blown away when they hear these kids talking about longing for the touch of their mothers, the fear of the unknown, saying “all I want to do is be home with my mom and I cry in my pillow.” When these kids write, a lot of pain and weakness comes out. And then we make sure that every young person walks out with a publication. Speaking of the publication, we also make sure that every entry that is published in The Beat Within has a response from us adults. We want the young person to know at least one person is paying attention to what it is they are writing about.

K.M: What is the best thing that a concerned citizen can do today to get involved in your work?

D.I: Donations of any size are always needed and appreciated and can help us with our printing costs for the 60-80 page publication. We are always accepting volunteers. We have monthly training sessions. We have over 200 volunteers, all just trying to touch lives. All it takes is an individual with an interest in wanting to touch lives. All ages are welcome, though you have to be at least 21 years old to go into juvenile hall.

Thanks David! 

Stay connected with the Beat Within!
Facebook.com/thebeatwithin
Twitter.com/_thebeatwithin
Also: through their website you can get access, with a small donation, to most of their publications!