Who Tells The Story

The lion cub came to his father and asked, "Father is it true that we are the kings of the Jungle."

"Oh yes, it is true, boy."  he said shaking his head and bristling his mane.  "We are the strongest, fiercest, proudest creatures on the earth."

"Why then," the curious cub asked, "do the men tell stories about hunting us.  And they always tell stories that end with us being shot and dying.  Are we still the kings of the jungle?"

The wise lion looked in his sons eyes,  "Yes, we are the kings of the jungle, but so it will be until lions tell the stories."

This powerful African fable was told by the keynote speaker at the Storytelling Conference.  She called it the danger of the single story.  When only one person is allowed to frame and reflect on events it inevitably lacks the depth, context and perspective of reality.

As we sat in one of our small group sessions, the leader asked the room of about 40 of us to introduce ourselves.  About fifteen introduced themselves as "tellers".  An equal number gave their occupation as educators.  The rest were a rather varied bunch.  A few who were there just out of interest, while others were in social services.  I suppose because we are near Hollywood, there were three people who introduced themselves as producers.  Strangely, there were an equal number of physicians and ministers (2 each).  Perhaps not so strangely there were no bankers, oil executives, or scientists.  Although I suspect that the world might be a better place if some of them attended an event like this.

At a later gathering, a woman at the back raised her hand in response to a question.  "I'm from Kentucky," she said.  I thought to myself, wow a kindred spirit.  But then she continued.  "I kept getting rejected for a grant, but finally got it.  You can't imagine with the economic and religious climate in Kentucky how difficult it is to get a grant to start a palm reading business."  She said it just as naturally as could be.  She didn't act like she expected anyone to have any reaction other than, "You poor thing, we understand, how unenlightened those people in Kentucky are."  The room was quiet and polite as she spoke, but I suspect I was not the only one to think "You are a crazy woman."

And yet, her story is a part of the story of this conference.  It may not be a dominant narrative or a persuasive one, but it is a thread in the great tapestry of stories that have gathered at this conference.

One speaker did an interesting exercise when all the members of the conference were gathered.  She had each person write down the first two responses that came to each of the following questions:  What was your most formative relationship?  What do you never want to go through?  What do you really want for the future?

She then asked the members of the audience to stand or remain standing if they had written any of the following.  Was the most formative relationship you recorded with a person in your family or a special teacher?  Did you never want to go through debilitating illness or loss?  Did you hope for the success of your children or travel?

When she was finished with these six responses, every person in the room was standing.  People from around the world.  Men and women.  Black, brown and white.  Young and old.  Preacher and palm reader.  Every single person.

So many stories in the room, but the same hopes and fears.