On a recent flight, the man sitting next to me struck up a conversation about California wildfires. Let’s just say he had some opinions.

A month ago, I’d have felt a little trapped. (Actually, I still felt a little trapped, but that’s also because it was a four-hour flight.) But thanks to TFN’s 25th Anniversary Conference, I had a new framework in my back pocket that helped me understand what was going on: cultural mindsets.

Here’s what happened.

My seatmate blamed the wildfires on the government and environmentalists, full stop. He talked about mismanagement, lax enforcement, and how environmentalists won’t let anyone clear away underbrush. Never mind that climate change plays a role and that environmentalists aren’t exactly fans of dead underbrush. It didn’t make a dent.

Then it clicked: Aha! This wasn’t a policy debate. It was about worldview. My seatmate didn’t just think the system was flawed, he thought it was rigged and that others were fully to blame. 

This was a real-time example of something I’d learned a few weeks earlier about narrative change from Nat Kendall-Taylor of the FrameWorks Institute at TFN’s conference: a growing number of Americans interpret the world through lenses of fatalism and othering. 

It’s not just that people disagree. They’re starting from completely different premises. And when someone believes the system is out to get them, and that working together is no use, dialogue ends, problem-solving is blocked and trust in democracy erodes.

Sound familiar?

Cultural Mindsets as a Powerful Tool

Here’s the hopeful part: Mindsets can shift. With the right framing, language, and strategy, we can open up space for new perspectives to take root, changing what people believe is possible.

We dove into cultural mindsets, good storytelling, and how to change minds during our workshop, which drew more than 80 funders from big cities and small towns across the country to answer a simple question: Why do some stories change hearts and minds while others just sound like noise?

The workshop was moderated by Robert Avruch, who led a narrative campaign to change how Californians view housing for the Chan Zuckerberg Initiative. Others sharing their expertise were Jonathan Tran of The California Endowment, who focuses on community infrastructure for grassroots groups to build their own narratives, and Jess Zetzman of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, whose job includes synchronizing the many different narrative efforts unfolding within her foundation. 

Leaving the Echo Chamber 

Kicking off the conversation, Avruch opened with a sobering truth: millions of people get their news from platforms like Fox News and Breitbart, and dismissing these audiences is a critical error. We have to resonate outside of liberal echo chambers. 

This is where cultural mindsets come in.

Cultural mindsets are part of how we process information —  intellectually, emotionally, and through unconscious beliefs, Kendall-Taylor said. We all hold multiple mindsets at once, and they can shift over time. But three dominant mindsets fueling division and eroding trust in our national political and cultural discourse are:

• Individualism: the belief that outcomes like health or economic status are solely the result of personal choices, overlooking systemic forces at play. 
• Fatalism: a sense of helplessness in the face of complex problems like climate change and inequality, reinforcing a belief that “the system is rigged” and leading to widespread disengagement.  
• Other-ism: An “us vs. them” mentality that weakens empathy and solidarity across race, class, or geography.

When fatalism, individualism, and othering dominate, it’s harder to imagine shared solutions or care about the common good. Democracy requires a sense of shared fate, and these mindsets fracture that foundation.

(For an example, see this timely story on how “the myth of cowboy individualism” underlies much of recent politics.)

The Battle for Common Sense

 

Too often, messaging from advocates and foundations leans on crisis, urgency, and despair. This can lead to burnout and inaction, Kendall-Taylor said.  

Matching the scope of the problem to the scale of the solution is critical. So instead of “solve climate change,” it could be “install solar panels on rooftops.” Rather than “fix our broken electoral system,” it could be “increase the number of voting locations.” The key is naming a specific problem with a specific solution. 

Narratives rise (or fall) on language. Words like “vulnerable,” environmentalist,” or “conservative” trigger assumptions that can shut down listening before a message even lands. Kendall-Taylor called this pre-motivated reasoning – when people reject information before they’ve even heard it because they think “that’s not me.” Describing the problem, rather than characterizing it or labeling people, is more effective.

Offering hope, Kendall-Taylor reminded us that contests for narrative power are going on all the time. There are many examples of narratives that moved from fringe to mainstream, forcing public policy shifts along the way as they become “common sense.”  Voting laws, seatbelt laws, smoking bans, and marriage equality are some examples. 

Narrative Power for Health Equity

Jess Zetzman shared insights from her work with the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation and the HealthEquity Narrative initiative. Her team has created the HealthEquity Narrative House — a framework uniting changemakers with a shared story rooted in justice, equity, and community.

One key challenge? Many people working in health and racial equity don’t see themselves as part of a movement, she said, even though they’re working toward the same goal. Zetzman’s work focuses on creating more alignment — not through uniform language, but by rallying around shared values and narratives that resonate across sectors.

Within RWJF, her team is also mapping narrative investments, coding grants that support storytelling, and creating affinity groups to deepen collaboration. This methodical, ecosystem-wide approach is beginning to pay off.

Narrative as Infrastructure

Jonathan Tran of The California Endowment reminded us that narrative isn’t a one-off campaign — it’s infrastructure. Like organizing or advocacy, storytelling must be nurtured, funded, and sustained over time.

Tran focuses on building narrative power in communities — especially those historically denied the right to tell their own stories. This work amplifies grassroots voices, supports cultural workers, and centers lived experience in discussions about health, safety, housing, and justice.

By empowering communities to define their reality and shape how others perceive their issues, narrative becomes a tool for power-building, not just persuasion. It becomes part of the foundation for long-term change.

The Role of Philanthropy

Moderator Robert Avruch underscored a critical point: philanthropic investment in narrative is more important now than ever. Funders are uniquely positioned to foster cross-sector alignment and help build the infrastructure stories needed to travel and take hold. 

And because narrative change takes time, philanthropy’s long view is an essential asset. It requires patience, consistency and a deep understanding that this work pays off over time — not overnight.

The key takeaway? Transforming narratives is possible — it’s been done many times before. But it takes collaboration and a long-term view. 

As this session made clear, we’re not beginning from square one. We have the resources, research, and connections needed to move forward.

What’s now required is commitment.

Because when we reshape the way people view the world, we reshape their sense of what’s possible — and that has the power to change everything.