When I was a teenager, I didn’t spend much time in front of the TV, but whenever I did, I couldn’t help noticing how different the messages felt from one another. Some lifted me up, while others left me uneasy, and that contrast stayed with me.
Beer commercials, for example, painted a world in which men grew stronger, more confident, and suddenly irresistible to women just by popping a bottle. Then, in the next break, a beauty ad promised women glowing skin and newfound self-worth with a single jar of cream.
In between the glamor and the gloss, the nonprofit advertisements cut through with something else entirely: wash your hands or risk infection. Donate, or a child might not survive. These messages weren’t about desire. They also didn’t sell a better life; these commercials warned you in order to prevent tragedy.
Oftentimes, I’d sit there on my parents’ couch, eating my chocolate chip cookies, as I felt an immediate wave of guilt that would take away my cravings. I’d end up throwing the rest of my cookies in the back of the cupboard, where they would no longer see the light of day.
Later, when I started working, I began to wonder if there was a way for nonprofit marketing to move beyond fear and guilt—and instead tell more inspiring stories. What if nonprofit marketing didn’t have to rely on fear and shame to get results? What if we told stories that inspired, that connected, that moved people without overwhelming them?
Those questions felt especially relevant in a world where news is abundant and young people get easily overwhelmed. As storytellers we have an important role in telling stories that inspire curiosity and keep people involved in the conversation.
Over time, as I got familiar with more case studies, I began to see a pattern—one that repeated itself across sectors and causes. The needs of children and women were real, and the proposed solutions were often sound. But people didn’t always adopt them.
There is an important lesson to be learned here. For nonprofit marketing to be successful, the messaging needs to reflect people’s values and daily lives. If people were not adapting the solutions, it didn’t necessarily mean families didn’t care, but the messaging didn’t always meet them where they were.
Let me give you some examples that really stuck with me:
Nonprofit marketing examples and their lessons
🚽 Toilets in Rural India
In many villages across India and Sub-Saharan Africa, NGOs built latrines to improve sanitation—a critical step for health and safety, especially for women. When people don’t have a proper toilet to use, they go into the woods to relieve themselves, and this is tricky, especially for women, because it makes them more prone to harassment.
So even though these toilets were equipped with the right tooling, they went unused. The Gates Foundation went back to the drawing board and back into the communities to hear people out, and figured out that in some communities, people saw these toilets as dirty or even shameful. Open defecation wasn’t just a habit—it was a norm. Others used it as a way to store rice.
What was missing is that the campaigns focused on solving the problem, but didn’t create an aspiration. If it’s not something people feel proud to use, they might just ignore it, or use it for something more valuable to them.
Later, India’s Swachh Bharat mission reframed the narrative—portraying toilets as a sign of dignity, pride, and care for your family. Only then did widespread behavior change begin.
🔗 World Bank on Swachh Bharat
🛏️ Mosquito Nets Repurposed for Fishing
This issue of cultural misalignment shows up in other forms too—like in the use of mosquito nets. In a fishing village in West Africa, people once noticed mosquito nets—distributed to prevent malaria—being used to fish. Technically, that’s not what they were for. But in a place where feeding your family today feels more urgent than avoiding illness tomorrow, the nets served an immediate purpose.
The lesson? Distributing mosquito nets must be accompanied by proper context and effective communication.
It reminded me how important it is—not just in aid work, but in life—to bring people into the story. Tools without trust, solutions without understanding… they often end up repurposed, or rejected. People didn’t understand how the nets worked, or why it mattered to sleep under them. There was no story attached—no emotional relevance.
So people don’t just need nets. They need to know why they matter.
🔗 New York Times: A Tragic Choice: Fight Malaria or Starve
🍲 Clean Cookstoves That Didn’t Cook
In Uganda, many families received clean cookstoves to reduce smoke inhalation. The health benefits were clear—but many of the stoves went unused. They couldn’t accommodate large pots used during gatherings or didn’t cook traditional dishes properly.
Here again, the product solved a technical problem, but didn’t respect cultural context or habits. It didn’t make life easier—it made it feel foreign. The lesson echoes the nets and the toilets: when solutions don’t align with culture, habits, or pride, they don’t stick. People need to see themselves in the solution, not feel that it was designed elsewhere and dropped into their lives.
🔗 MIT Study on Cookstove Adoption
💔 Condom Use and the Power of Messaging
Condoms are a proven tool for HIV prevention. But in parts of sub-Saharan Africa, early health campaigns used fear-based messages or moralistic tones—without accounting for local relationship dynamics or ideas of masculinity and trust. Uptake remained low.
It wasn’t until newer campaigns like Soul City’s OneLove began framing condom use around love, responsibility, and empowerment that people began to connect.
🔗 Soul City – OneLove Campaign
From Technical Solutions to Emotional Relevance
What all of these examples show is that need alone doesn’t create change. People don’t adopt something just because it’s good for them—they have to want it. They have to see it as part of their lives, their values, their story.
And that’s exactly what Coca-Cola has mastered. They don’t just distribute a product—they create desire. Through local, aspirational marketing, they make Coke feel like a small luxury, a celebration, a connection to something bigger. They shape how people see themselves.
And nonprofits can do the same.
Why the Swart Foundation Starts With Stories
That question—what if we could move from fear to inspiration?—is what led me to start the Swart Foundation.
We’re still early in our journey. We’re not a traditional grant-making organization (not yet), and we’re not coming in with quick solutions. Instead, we’re beginning with what I believe is most important: listening.
At its heart, the Swart Foundation is a content-first initiative—but to me, that doesn’t just mean creating videos or articles. It means sitting with parents, teachers and community leaders who care about the well-being of children worldwide, hearing what matters to them, and understanding what they dream of—not just what they’re missing. We want to understand what people actually aspire to, not just what they lack.
We do this through conversations, community workshops, and co-creating stories alongside local voices. We work with filmmakers, writers, and storytellers on the ground, helping communities tell their own stories in their own words—stories that reflect strength, pride, joy, and resilience.
Because I believe that when we listen, and tell stories that reflect people’s lived realities and dreams, we start to build change that feels human. Not imposed, but embraced.
Desire is powerful. If we can align that desire with purpose—if we can create solutions that people are proud to adopt—we can build systems that not only reach people, but truly serve them.
Because I’ve come to believe that change doesn’t begin with data or urgency. It begins with connection. It begins when people see themselves in the story—not as a problem to be solved, but as the protagonists of their own futures.
That’s what we’re trying to build: a storytelling space that honors dignity, amplifies aspirations, and brings people into the picture—not out of guilt, but out of genuine curiosity, care, and hope.
If we can create stories people feel proud to be part of, we can start to build change that feels less like an intervention—and more like a movement they already belong to.
You might also like this piece of writing, What nonprofits can learn from Coca Cola.
