Whether in the private or the public sector, a leader owes it to employees, partners and voters to regularly set their shared path within a narrative. They also owe it to themselves when, faced with the uncertainties of this world, they have to take decisions. Because by writing their page, they reconnect the dots and reaffirm the foundations of their action. Without this, they have neither credibility nor effectiveness.
Management has its fashions, and the art of narrative – “storytelling” – is one of them, current or perhaps already past. The reasons for this probable, if not programmed, evanescence are various.
“Storytelling” cannot be the narrative of reality
The English name used to promote these techniques is a first reason, in a country where particularism, if not arrogance, encourages people to ignore foreign lessons, especially when they have an Anglo-Saxon flavour. After a peak, inspired by learned “benchmarking”, people tire of it and drop it, waiting for the next “fashion”. Over the last thirty years, the production of management concepts has followed an exponential curve…
Another reason is the classic reference of the narrative scheme: the fairy tale. “Tell me a story” evokes childhood, a period of life seen as naive or even gullible. And when one is in “real life” – and moreover within the Cartesian tradition of so-called “scientific” knowledge – it is hardly “serious” to claim a share for dreams, imagination and emotion. One follows the figures, the objectives, and at best has “hopes”.
Moreover, the reluctance towards, or even rejection of, this nonetheless useful practice rests on the negative connotation of the “stories” we are told…
But above all, the classic, highly codified narrative scheme is unsuited to the real world, because it must end with a resolution and a stable, lasting situation. So, unless driven by ideological constructivism, or claiming expertise in manipulation, it is impossible to narrate a real situation through the codified stages of a story.
The future is open – but its path must be traced
Indeed, the world is uncertain by nature and, to borrow the title of a fine book, “the future is open”. Subject as it is to the “fog of war” – military, cultural or economic – or simply to the intrinsic unpredictability of complex systems (and human systems naturally are), the leader cannot, in all honesty, assure their audience of an “end of the story”.
Nevertheless, while they cannot write the outcome, they must, in all humility, outline the purposes of joint action, and share them. Tell the quest – the meaning of the actions undertaken – and place the present between the past (the road travelled) and the prospects of what is “to come”…
It is a difficult work of introspection, but the return on investment is guaranteed, because writing in order to share with others forces one to clarify one’s perceptions, convictions and arguments.
This work is even harder when it comes to a collective adventure, because it is imperative to share it, so that everyone can find themselves in it, and take or strengthen their place.
But if the leader does not do it, what is the leader really for?
To decide? But without the thread, without meaning, they cannot hold firm against the storms of events, whether chance occurrences or inspired by others, competitors or adversaries. If they speak, they stammer. If they draw, they scribble.
And what legitimacy do they have to decide if they do not honestly set out the meaning that truly drives their actions, and must mobilise everyone’s energy? A meaning whose sharing takes concrete form in the employment contract signed, or the mandate given.
Is it about generating maximum profit, to satisfy shareholders? Or about serving customers better, if only to seek lasting profitability? Each of these two adventures makes sense, and neither is “morally” superior to the other.
The same goes for political action. Is it about winning one’s election or re-election – for example to contribute to the stability of institutions – or about carrying out a radical transformation, at the risk of social conflict and one’s own rejection? Here again, no intrinsic superiority of one quest over the other. Just radical differences.
But whatever the choice, it must be owned, with the stakeholders concerned.
Without a shared narrative, the risk of a road to serfdom
Because, once again, the narrative is only truly worth something if it is shared, in all sincerity.
A company leader cannot hide the chosen path from shareholders, any more than from employees and partners. If they try, they expose themselves to considerable risks. And they also deprive themselves of opportunities, and of the energies that will make their project a success, however difficult it may be to carry out. Because no one is ever “right” alone. Unless one wants to lead others down the road to serfdom – however “enlightened”.
The digital transformation under way in every field of modern activity signals the end of self-justified intermediaries. Any information can now be shared, released, beyond the circle of insiders. What lies ahead is not a tyranny of transparency, but a demand for consistency.
The confidentiality of decisions, strategies and projects is, and will always be, legitimate and necessary. And cunning is not lying. But the leader must be prepared, at any moment, to publicly own the consistency between words and deeds. To prepare for this, they must write the narrative of the collective adventure, and update it regularly, in the light of past achievements and of the future as it gradually unfolds.
And then, beyond the risks of concealment being involuntarily exposed – and without prejudging the moral aspects of such behaviour – the leader without a narrative deprives themselves of the levers for mobilising energy and talent: indispensable resources, especially when leading transformation projects that are technically difficult and humanly sensitive.
In times of transformation, the narrative reassures and comforts
By placing past actions within a coherent thread – even when they were prompted by unforeseen events – the narrative reassures.
Individually, we have only a fragmentary perception of the past. Some actions appear to us as the consequences of decisions taken, seen as legitimate or arbitrary; others as the effects of chance. This partial perception is natural and normal – no one is omniscient. It is also influenced by one’s own psychological predispositions, depending on whether one favours “destiny” or the hand of man.
Telling the story of the battles fought, won or lost, glorious or discreet, makes it possible both to recall (or sometimes give) meaning to the efforts made, and to recognise them. It makes it possible to reconnect a thread between disconnected events, to restore a reassuring continuum, to give perspective on the road already travelled. And while the narrative cannot guarantee the road still to be travelled – only outline some expected obstacles, with no guarantee that they will arise or that others will not – it also reassures simply by unfolding: because everyone knows that, by being part of the adventure, their efforts will have meaning.
Owning emotions, too
Finally, the comfort the narrative brings also lies in its ability to produce emotions, to reconnect each person with those they have felt, feel, and will feel.
Many people’s reluctance to own “emotions” is not new, and can be illustrated by one of the Larousse dictionary’s definitions of the French word « émotion »: “under the Ancien Régime, an unorganised popular revolt, generally short-lived”. Emotions would thus be destructive, chaotic, ephemeral. The very opposite of a reason that sees itself as constructive, organising, lasting – conservative, in the end.
But when reason deploys these three characteristics and becomes bureaucracy, it gets bogged down. And while in a Taylorist or post-Taylorist universe, as lean management conceives it, the organisational approach may seek systematic optimisation, this quest is vain in a shifting, unpredictable context, in which creativity, responsiveness and adaptation win out over programming, in terms of value creation and even resilience.
And then, everyone can see that emotions are part of life. But when they are seen as a “necessary evil”, they are accepted only when channelled, orchestrated in “great masses” – often televised or sporting – that naturally carry “positive” emotions. Isn’t that reductive?
Because emotions, whatever they are, can also carry positive dynamics within a company or, more generally, in collective action. These emotions also reveal the trials endured and the successes achieved. Denying them means denying each person’s humanity, in its weaknesses and its many strengths. Recognising them means accepting a true assessment of the leader’s skills. Because you cannot cheat with emotions.
Offering a place of convergence, written or spoken, to reconnect the emotions felt by each person (fears, joys, enthusiasms, disappointments…) to collective emotions also contributes to strengthening the “pack”, the collective, the lived solidarity of the social body.
The collective narrative must therefore own these emotions, tell them, link them to events so as to give those events flesh and lived reality.
Sincerity about the destination, authenticity of motives, recognition of the road travelled and of the emotions felt by each and all: these are some of the keys to a mobilising and responsible collective narrative, especially when supporting difficult changes.
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