“Controlling the narrative” used to be a benign communications tactic. Now it’s an all-important outcome pushing us deeper into a post‑truth era. What started as a way to provide clarity has morphed into a reflex to dodge, deflect, and deliver talking points.

During the current Minnesota legislative session, bipartisan agreement is a prerequisite for bills to pass, yet platforming and pointing fingers seems to be an acceptable use of valuable committee time. Lawmakers are leaders whether they intend to be or not, and a generation of social-media-savvy communicators has escalated these tactics for a decade or more. In some cases, this is the hallmark of modern political and government communications.

I have zero doubt that rewarding mean-spirited virality increases divisions and lessens civility in those spaces. But this is no longer just a political issue—these same tactics are increasingly showing up in business, advocacy, and organizational life. And it’s eroding trust in every direction.

You can see it in the way leaders answer questions—or avoid them. Ask about X, and you’ll get a polished statement about Y. Ask for clarity, and you’ll get a pivot. Ask to acknowledge nuance, and you’ll get a moral indictment. (If you think I’m joking, it’s only my personal commitment of avoiding “shame and blame” tactics, and not calling people out publicly, that stops me from providing real-life examples.)

When did we decide that acknowledging a credible opposing point of view is a sign of weakness? Why are we allowing the outrage meter to stay permanently at 11, where every disagreement is treated as a betrayal and every admission of uncertainty is framed as incompetence? When stories being told are more about protecting power than elevating truth, then we’ve hit the danger zone.

This isn’t just exhausting. It’s corrosive.

Two things can be true at the same time, and they often are. A business decision can have benefits and drawbacks. A public policy can help some people and hurt others. A leader can be right about the goal and wrong about the tactic. Complexity isn’t a threat—it’s reality. But “controlling the narrative” leaves no room for that. It demands simplicity, certainty, and a single storyline, even when the real world refuses to cooperate.

Meanwhile, the Edelman Trust Barometer continues to show that business is now the most trusted institution in American civic life. That trust is an asset, but it’s also a responsibility.

At the recent St. Paul Area Chamber Annual Meeting and Greater MSP’s Next26 event, I heard leaders talk about competitiveness, innovation, and the future of our region. What struck me was how much those audiences were craving straight talk. Not spin. Not curated narratives. Just clarity about what’s working, what isn’t, and—most importantly—what we’re going to do about it. (And if we don’t know, how we’re going to figure that out.)

If business is now the most trusted voice in our civic culture, then business leaders have to take that role seriously. That means resisting the temptation to over‑manage perception. It means acknowledging complexity instead of oversimplifying a challenge. It requires telling the truth, even when the truth is messy. Trust isn’t built by perfect messaging; it’s built by consistent honesty.

To achieve that goal, we’re going to need communications staff, and boards of directors, and partners, and stakeholders who support a more nuanced narrative. And media and platforms that are willing to share more than a soundbite in storytelling.

The question isn’t whether we can control the narrative. The question is: Why did we ever decide that was how we win? From my perspective, that strategy has only delivered losses all around. So let’s do something different.

Let’s choose a different posture. Let’s shift from controlling the narrative, and instead contribute to a shared reality. Let’s decide that the truth is not a liability to be managed, but a foundation to build on. Let’s reframe our goals around what we’re FOR, and what we all need to contribute to get there. If we aim to control our future, the narrative can take care of itself.