There's a moment I've seen play out more times than I can count.
A nonprofit leader is putting together their year-end giving campaign. They know they need a compelling story. They know donors respond to real people, real faces, real transformation. So they ask someone in their program to share their testimony on camera or in print.
And then the tension hits.
How much of this person's pain do we share? Are we using their lowest moment to raise money? Would they really say yes if they understood how many people would see this? Are we honoring them, or are we using them?
If you've ever felt that tension, good. That means you care. And I want to help you navigate it well, because the answer isn't to stop telling stories. The answer is to tell them differently.
The Problem With "Poverty Porn"
Let's name it. There's an entire genre of nonprofit storytelling that relies on shock value. The more devastating the before photo, the more gut-wrenching the situation, the more money it raises. And it works. At least in the short term.
But there's a cost.
When we reduce a real human being to their worst chapter in order to trigger a donor's emotions, we've crossed a line. We've turned a person made in the image of God into a fundraising tool. And the people in our programs feel it, even when they don't say it.
I've heard stories from people who shared their testimony at a church or in a nonprofit video and then felt exposed for months afterward. People in their community saw the video. Their kids' friends' parents saw it. They gave permission, technically. But they didn't fully understand what they were agreeing to, and no one walked them through what it would feel like to have their story out in the world.
That's not stewardship. That's carelessness dressed up as mission.
A Better Framework: The Dignity-First Approach
Here's how I think about ethical storytelling for faith-based organizations. It comes down to three commitments:
1. Informed Consent Is More Than a Signature
A release form is a legal document. It is not the same thing as informed consent.
Informed consent means the person sharing their story genuinely understands where the story will be used (website, social media, email campaigns, presentations, video), who will likely see it (their community, strangers on the internet, potential donors), and how long it will be out there (often indefinitely).
It also means giving them real power to say no. Not "we'd really love it if you'd share" with the implied pressure that saying no means being ungrateful. Actual freedom to decline without any change in how they're treated by the organization.
Practically, here's what I recommend:
- Walk them through every platform where the story might appear
- Show them examples of similar stories you've shared in the past so they can see the format and the reach
- Give them the option to review the final version before it goes live
- Tell them explicitly that they can change their mind at any point
2. The Person in the Story Gets to Shape the Story
One of the most powerful shifts you can make is to stop telling stories about people and start telling stories with them.
When a nonprofit writes someone's story for them (or edits their video testimony into a highlight reel), the organization is in control of the narrative. They pick what to include, what to cut, and how to frame it. And the framing almost always serves the organization's goals more than the individual's dignity.
Instead, try this: Ask the person what they want people to know. Ask them what they're proud of. Ask them what they'd rather keep private. Let them define the story's boundaries.
You'll find that the stories people choose to tell about themselves are often more powerful than the ones you would have scripted. Because they're real. They're owned. And they carry a weight that manufactured narratives never will.
3. Show the Whole Person, Not Just the Problem
This might be the most important principle.
If the only time your organization features someone's face is when you're asking for money, and the only version of their life you show is the painful "before" version, you're flattening a complex human being into a single dimension.
People are not their addiction. They're not their poverty. They're not their diagnosis. They are parents and artists and neighbors and friends who happen to also be walking through something difficult.
When you tell their story, include the fullness of who they are. Show their humor, their strength, their talents, their relationships. Let the audience see them as a peer, not a project. That shift changes everything about how your community relates to the people you serve.
What This Looks Like in Practice
Let me give you a real-world example of how this plays out.
Say you're a church that runs a food pantry, and you want to share a story for your annual generosity campaign. The typical approach might look like this:
"Meet Sarah. She's a single mom of three who lost her job last year. She didn't know how she was going to feed her kids. But because of YOUR generosity, she was able to get groceries every week through our pantry program."
There's nothing malicious about that. But notice the framing. Sarah is passive. She's defined entirely by her need. The donor is the hero. And Sarah's name and face are attached to a story about her lowest moment, broadcast to the entire congregation.
Here's a different approach:
"Sarah volunteers at our pantry every other Saturday. She started coming as a participant last year during a tough season, and now she's one of the first people to show up on distribution days. She knows what it feels like to wonder where the next meal is coming from, and she wants to make sure every person who walks through those doors feels welcomed, not ashamed."
Same person. Same program. But now Sarah has agency. She's not a case study. She's a contributor. And the story invites the audience into something bigger than pity.
A Quick Checklist
Before you publish any story featuring a real person, run through these questions:
- Does this person fully understand where this story will appear and who will see it? Not just legally. Emotionally.
- Would this person be comfortable if their employer, their neighbors, or their kids' teacher saw this? If you're not sure, ask them.
- Is this person shown as a full human being, or only as a representation of a problem? Look for dimension. Look for strength.
- Would you be comfortable if this story were about you? That's usually the most honest litmus test.
- Can this person change their mind after the fact? Have a plan for that. Make it easy.
Why This Matters for Your Mission
I know some of this might feel like it makes storytelling harder. And honestly, it does require more intentionality. You can't just grab a quick testimonial and throw it on Instagram without thinking it through.
But here's what I've seen consistently: organizations that commit to dignity-first storytelling don't just avoid harm. They build deeper trust. The people in their programs become genuine advocates, not reluctant participants. Donors connect more deeply because the stories feel honest, not manipulative. And the organization's reputation in the community grows, because people see that you treat the vulnerable with the same respect you give the powerful.
That's the kind of storytelling that honors both the mission and the people it serves. And at the end of the day, isn't that the whole point?
