Telling the Story, Not the Spin: How Communicators Keep Sustainability Honest

31 July 2026

Devyn Feinman:

There is currently a discussion in sustainability circles on the role of storytelling in ESG reporting. And of course, sustainability needs stories. Nobody gets driven for change by a bar chart on emissions reduction. We remember the forest that grew back and the farmer whose success has changed generations of futures.

The discussion is, in all actuality, misplaced. It’s not whether storytelling belongs in sustainability; it’s that sustainability has a spin problem. Storytelling can most definitely enable greenwashing., and when we’re not careful, storytelling goes from contextualising data to becoming a soft-focus layer we drape over uncomfortable realities, leading us gracefully into greenwashing without even noticing our hands are dirty.

I have spent more than a decade turning impacts into narratives across different industries and geographies. I preach the importance of storytelling, but firmly believe we have the responsibility to know how far the narrative can go before the facts must carry us forward. Our job is not to disguise weak impact as transformational change; it is to make the truth legible, compelling and fair to the reality.

Non-negotiable

Clearly, storytelling is needed: without it, most sustainability initiatives would remain unnoticed and, therefore, most likely unfunded. Technical language (species counts, hectare reforested, etc) are non-negotiable for monitoring and compliance, but it doesn’t kindle empathy. 

Stories are the solution.

They turn poultry donations into school attendance.
They turn reforestation into stabilized income streams.
They turn “climate resilience” into a mother’s thriving business.

Storytelling is the bridge between complex systems and human meaning. It’s how we move sustainability out of technical reports and into people’s imaginations and, more importantly, into decision-making conversations.

When stories start spinning…

The problem isn’t that we tell stories.
The problem is that stories are powerful enough to modify, misdirect and wash the undesirable out of sight.

I’ve been there many times, staring at a data set from a program not designed to measure impact, with the expectation that I “create” the feeling of intention. But that’s all it is: creation. 

• Inflating impacts: We dress up modest outputs as “transformational change” and quietly teach our audiences that their scepticism is justified.
• Sugar-coating reality: We smooth over the conflict and the trade-offs, replacing them with a frictionless story that simply isn’t true.
• Selling fantasy futures: We script win-win-win endings that ignore hard choices and unintended consequences, and in doing so, sell an illusion.

That’s the slippery slope: when storytelling serves the reputation of the project more than the reality of the work, we’ve crossed from sharing into spinning.

Storytelling, but with boundaries

It’s not about abandoning storytelling. The pendulum does not need to swing back that far. It’s about safeguarding our storytelling from transforming into spin.

How do we do that?  We draw boundaries and hold ourselves accountable to them.

Concerns over greenwashing and tightening of reporting standards respond to the same issue: programs designed to satisfy CSR obligations are fluffed up to look like catalysts of development.

I’m sorry to say that a donation of 600 chickens to a community does not development make. 

And yet, we have all seen the glossy brochure and the wrap-up video that try very hard to convince us otherwise. That is precisely where communicators need to draw the line: storytelling should not be the smoke machine that turns a small, short-term activity into a grand narrative of transformation.

And yes, we communicators get left with data points and the question of “What does this mean?” Regardless… storytelling needs to stop compensating for poor program design.

Before we engage in program storytelling, a few questions can act like a quiet ethical checkpoint:

• Is this story proportional to the evidence?
  If the narrative sounds much bigger than the data behind it, we need to scale back the claims or add nuance.
• Whose perspective is missing?
  If we only include voices that agree with us, we risk erasing legitimate concerns and reinforcing existing power imbalances.
• Did we simplify a complexity? Did we cross the line into distortion?
  Storytelling requires clarity, but not at the expense of truth. Cutting every uncomfortable detail is a warning sign of over-fluffing what is available.
• Could the people we’re representing read this and say: “It’s not perfect, but it’s fair”?
  That’s a useful ethical test. Aspirational is fine; misleading is not.

These questions aren’t about slowing progress; they’re about safeguarding trust and encouraging evolution. ESG requirements are meant to guide programs that genuinely support the sustainable development. The sustainability community can see through the lines and is (rightly so) increasingly sceptical, especially when something looks too perfect.

Stories as ethics in practice

Ethical storytelling isn’t a bolt-on review step at the end. It’s part of the craft.

Programs give birth to narratives. We don’t pluck them from thin air. When we design narratives that are transparent about limits and candid about trade-offs, we’re doing more than communication: we’re practicing sustainability in how we speak. The accountability to create these narratives lies there; we communicators just give form to what already exists. These programs must support the creation of the desired narratives; when they don’t, we find ourselves dancing dangerously close to greenwashing and unethical reporting.

Stories that admit uncertainty and imperfection might have less sparkle, but they’re far more powerful in the long run. They invite dialogue instead of shutting it down. They create space for communities, teams (and even critics) to add to the conversation.

In my experience, the most impactful pieces have rarely been the ones that showed only success. They were the ones that shared a real win, a hard lesson and a next step towards a more desirable outcome. Those are the stories that engaged leaders and demanded discussions.

Safeguarding the story 

I’m not arguing for fewer stories in sustainability. I’m arguing for more courageous ones.

We need narratives that can carry both hope and humility, progress and limits. We need to be willing to say, “Here’s what worked, here’s what still worries us, and here is what we are going to do about it.” That’s not weakness; it says credibility and accountability to our leaders, our program managers and, most importantly, the communities we claim to serve.

As communicators, we sit in a powerful position. We translate complex work into narratives that speak to audiences, and we decide whether those stories invite shared action or act as rose-coloured glasses. We are the line between story and spin.

My challenge to all of us is simple and crosses all industries, regions and other imposed boundaries:

Keep telling the stories but refuse the spin.

Ditch the flash and sparkle for the reality that our teams and communities are pushing and pulling for. Refuse to turn donations into revolutions. Champion the credibility and engagement of the business. The future we are trying to build is only attainable when we can see the present for what it really is. That is the only way to co-design the path to move sustainably forward.

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Devyn Feinman is a communication leader and consultant based in Antananarivo, Madagascar