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The stories that land always come from somewhere real

What a film scene can teach us about storytelling in global health, and why AI should support the work, not replace the human part.

What a film scene can teach us about storytelling in global health, and why AI should support the work, not replace the human part.

Graphic design in the style of a 1950s–60s American film poster by Saul Bass. A large warm teal rectangle fills the upper half. Below it: dusty rose, slightly rougher in texture. Where the two meet: a jagged, imperfect torn edge — not a clean cut, like ripped paper. A B&W photographic cutout of a crumpled sheet of paper, one corner visible, placed at the torn seam. Flat screen-print texture, heavy grain.

saw a clip of Matt Damon talking about a hospital scene in The Smashing Machine. In it, Dwayne Johnson’s character breaks down completely. Not in a neat, cinematic way. In a messy, human way.

Damon asked him how he did it.

Johnson’s answer was simple: real life. He said he pulled from two traumatic experiences in his own life, connected to his parents.

Damon’s takeaway stuck with me. He framed it as lived experience turned into something that hits people.

And honestly, that idea matters far beyond film.

The temptation to polish everything

In global health, it’s easy to default to polish.

Polished messaging. Safe language. Stock imagery that looks “right”, but doesn’t feel like anything.

I get why it happens. The work is serious. The issues are complex. Nobody wants to oversimplify or get it wrong. But professional doesn’t have to mean sterile.

What actually connects is the human bit

At Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, we see it over and over: what people remember is the human part.

When a student shares their journey from Lagos to Liverpool, it matters that it’s their story, in their words, not a rewritten “case study voice”.

When we talk about research tackling parasitic diseases, it matters that we capture the people behind the science, not just the outputs. The motivations, the communities involved, the reality of the work, and what it means day to day.

Because the “why” is what pulls people in. The output tells you what happened. The story tells you why it matters.

Craft still matters

This is the bit I don’t want us to lose.

Photography still matters. Video still matters. Writing still matters. Editing still matters.

Not because we love shiny things, but because craft is how you respect people’s stories. It helps you avoid clichés, give context, and capture something true without turning it into a slogan.

Where AI fits, and where it doesn’t

AI is a powerful asset. We should use it.

It can help with structure, drafts, summaries, transcripts, accessibility, and getting the basics done faster so teams can spend more time on the work that needs humans.

But it has limits worth saying out loud.

AI can generate. It can’t draw from lived experience.
It can assist. It can’t feel what it means to sit in that hospital room.

So the goal isn’t to replace storytelling with AI. It’s to use AI to support storytelling that comes from real people, real places, and real experience.

A simple test

Here’s the question I keep coming back to:

Does this feel like it came from someone who has actually been there?

If the answer is yes, people lean in. If it feels like generic “content”, they scroll.

AI can help you publish. Only people can help you mean something.