Transcription Audio

Hello and welcome. Today we’re talking about how stories can reframe the way we see Australian animals—and why the best people in the game don’t just tell animal stories; they co-author place-based narratives with communities. Ask most Aussies to picture wildlife and you’ll get two kinds of stories. The cuddly—koalas in a gum tree. And the perilous—sharks in a murky break. Smart storytellers don’t erase that split. They ground stories in Country, community, and lived experience, turning animals from ornaments or threats into neighbours we know how to live alongside. Here’s what most people miss: when personal and community stories link animals to specific places, shared values, and practical actions, public perceptions shift faster—and stick. Behaviour-change work shows this again and again. And the context has changed. Most Australians are on social media. First-person, candid stories travel further than institutional messages. That matters in a country where most people live in cities, meeting “wildlife” through screens, quick roadside glimpses, and surprise backyard visits. We’re shaping first impressions for people who may never meet a cassowary on a rainforest track or a quenda in a Perth garden. Remember: our fauna is staggeringly unique. The vast majority of our mammals, reptiles, frogs, and plants are found nowhere else. When we change the story here, we’re steering the future of biodiversity the world can’t replace. Coexisting with cassowaries in Queensland or adapting gardens for quenda in WA aren’t just local wins—they’re global victories that can’t be cut-and-pasted elsewhere. Now, what goes wrong? After years working with councils, museums, and ranger groups, I’ve seen the same trap: we lead with spectacle or fear and hope the facts clean up later. The result? Cute-animal virality without genuine care, or fear-heavy headlines that inflate risk and entrench conflict. Emotional whiplash. People share the adorable video but don’t slow down at dusk. They rage about habitat loss but skip the vote on wildlife corridors. Three blind spots drive this: - Disembodied storytelling: we cast animals as “iconic,” “dangerous,” or “pests” instead of neighbours inside real ecosystems. We strip away place and people—and community agency. - Misaligned messengers: scientists explain risk brilliantly, but people remember their cousin bitten by a snake. Without trusted local voices, research rarely lands—especially regionally. - No pathway from feeling to action: we spark empathy, then stop. Emotion without agency curdles into apathy or backlash. There’s a technical gap too. We ignore contemporary animal welfare science. The Five Freedoms—and, more robustly, the Five Domains—tell us welfare isn’t just survival; it’s subjective experience. The Five Domains—nutrition, environment, health, behaviour, and mental state—move us from “is it alive?” to “what does a good life look like here?” When stories reflect sentience, people naturally shift from spectating wildlife to caring for it. So what works? Five approaches matter, and today I’ll dig into the first because it unlocks the rest: map the local narrative—then reframe, don’t bulldoze. Before you create anything, harvest stories already circulating. Go to the surf club, the CFA hall, the school gate. Ask: what’s the best thing about living with magpies? What’s hard about it? Listen for values: safety, pride, fairness, freedom, care. People don’t resist new information as much as they resist having beliefs invalidated. If someone feels attacked, they double down. Find the thread of truth and weave new understanding around it. Then reframe. If sharks equal fear, move from “threat” to “shared space and smart safety.” Acknowledge fear, then redirect toward behaviours: reading conditions, understanding drone or flag signals, swimming with a buddy, respecting closures. If kangaroos are “road hazards,” reframe to “neighbour on the move.” Offer dusk and dawn driving tips, celebrate habitat connectivity wins, and connect road design to wildlife corridors people can support. Here’s the insider secret: the most powerful reframes come from within the community. Listen for outliers—the farmer coexisting with flying foxes without losing the orchard; the surfer who learned to read shark-spotting drone cues and teach mates; the suburban family whose scrappy native garden became a mini corridor. Elevate those voices. They align messenger with message and model a clear pathway from feeling to action. You’re not parachuting in a lecture; you’re amplifying a neighbour’s lived solution. While reframing, bring in the Five Domains in everyday language. Not just “keeping flying foxes alive,” but helping them be healthy and calm, with places to rest, feed, and raise young away from heat stress. Not only “preventing magpie swoops,” but planning paths and planting that reduce threat responses and give both people and birds some breathing room. That subtle switch—from survival to wellbeing—matches our intuition about a good life for any sentient being. Let’s make this practical. If you work in a council team, a school, a community group, or you’re the unofficial wildlife person on your street, try this four-step sprint over the next fortnight: 1) Do five micro-interviews. Two minutes each, at places people already gather. Ask: what do you love about living with , and what’s tough? Note their exact phrases. 2) Map the values you hear. Kids’ safety. Local pride. Fairness to farmers. Love of backyard birds. Don’t correct anything yet. Just listen. 3) Write a one-sentence reframe that honours emotion and redirects it: - From “sharks are out to get us” to “we share the sea, so let’s surf smart.” - From “roos wreck cars” to “our neighbours are on the move—here’s how to drive with them.” 4) Pair your reframe with one doable action and one trusted messenger. - Dusk driving tip from the local mechanic. - Heatwave flying fox advice from the fruit grower who adjusted netting. - Backyard habitat tweaks from the neighbour whose garden hums with small birds. Keep it local, specific, and tied to place. If you’re communicating on social, remember the channel dynamics. First-person, candid stories travel further. A selfie video from the footy coach explaining how the team reads beach safety signs will land better than a polished institutional clip. In cities where many only meet wildlife through screens, your story might be their first impression. Treat it like an introduction, not a verdict. Name trade-offs. Place-based narratives don’t pretend there’s no conflict; they make trade-offs visible and manageable. We can protect pets and bandicoots by agreeing on leash zones and underpass designs. We can support farm viability and flying fox welfare by sharing netting standards that reduce heat stress and crop loss. Respect complexity—paired with agency. Underneath it all is a simple promise: when we co-author stories with communities, in place, with trusted messengers, and connect emotion to a clear next step, perceptions shift faster and last longer. And because Australia’s animals are irreplaceable, every local shift adds up to a global win. So as you head into your week, try that quick interview sprint. Tune your ear to values. Write a reframe that starts where people are. Add one doable action. Choose a messenger your community already trusts. And wherever you can, bring that Five Domains lens into everyday language so people don’t just want animals to survive—they want them to have good lives, right here, with us. If you want to go deeper, there’s robust research on media and storytelling approaches that consistently move public behaviour in Australia. But you don’t need to wait for a perfect plan. Start with one street, one surf club, one school gate. Let the place write the story with you. Thanks for listening—and here’s to telling better, truer stories that make us better neighbours, human and otherwise.