By implication, it is the absence or failure of solidarity that allows xenophobia to speak louder than reason. If we are to solve the crisis, that is, if we are to respond adequately to the human need that is urgently manifest, we need not just political institutions and agreements about burden sharing, but also more solidarity. 2 Thus, as well as asking what practical actions must be taken, and by whom, we must also ask how we can foster and sustain solidaristic attitudes. One answer is to tell stories, or better, to facilitate the means and the space for refugees to tell their own stories, and to amplify their voices. As Diana T. Meyers (2018, 23) argues, "By dispelling ignorance of or confusion about victims' moral claims, empathy with victims' stories can erode indifference to them." Activists deploy refugees' stories to engage the wider public and garner support for their cause. Mainstream news reports focus on specific stories to illustrate widespread injustices. Scholars use refugees' stories (some fact, some fiction) in academic writing on refugee or migration issues (e.g., Miller 2016). This suggests some consensus around the thought that through the telling of refugees' stories, understanding is enlarged, and empathy is engaged. I do not claim that hearing stories is, on its own, sufficient to generate solidarity, only that it has a valuable role to play. While this role is assumed in everyday practice by media editors, activists, and others, and is invoked by some theorists of solidarity and cosmopolitan norms, 3 it is currently undertheorized. There has been some recent philosophical discussion of the ethics of storytelling (