Dallas Fort Worth Nonprofit Business Journal

Tag: nonprofitaf

  • Answers on Grant Reports if Nonprofits were Brutally Honest with Funders

    Hi everyone, this Friday is my birthday. If you want to help me celebrate, please donate to Mujer Al Volante, an awesome organization with the mission of helping “immigrant women become independent and empowered through obtaining a driver’s license, financial sustainability, and community support.” Mujer Al Volante does amazing and important work; thanks for supporting it. Don’t worry about me; I got myself some dark chocolate and a 3-pound bucket of Maldon salt, so I’m good until next year.

    Grant reports. We all love to hate them. A reason is that like most things related to grants, we’ve learned to tell funders what we think they want to hear. Imagine if we could be honest, though:

    1. What progress did you make on your proposed outcomes? You and other funders have created an atmosphere of absolute risk-avoidance, so we only proposed outcomes we knew we would likely achieve. So we achieved them. Sometimes we stare wistfully at the distant horizon, imagining a world where we are supported to pursue ambitious, visionary goals, which may include failing spectacularly a few times.
    2. What obstacles did you encounter this grant period? Just the usual stuff: Severe community needs, understaffing, overwhelmed and underpaid staff, lack of funding, micromanaging and/or clueless board members, donors who don’t get it, funders like you who make our lives difficult, a pandemic, systemic racism, white moderates focused more on respectability than equity and justice, pervasive generalized existential anxieties, and a cease-and-desist from MacKenzie Scott.
    3. What are some critical lessons you learned? We learned several important lessons, including that it is crucial to get community input and ownership before launching new programs, cultural dynamics affect everything, and that if you don’t take care of mice problems, it may lead to rattlesnake problems when the office is empty for months at a time. But the main lesson we learned is that we’re all exhausted and this system is untenable and rich people should stop putting money into wealth-hoarding vehicles and just pay their taxes.
    4. What are your program priorities for the next period? Our main priority is to ensure that this program remains running. It’s been touch-and-go. Maria, who has been the instrumental program lead, is seriously considering resigning because we don’t have enough funding to pay her what she’s worth. If she leaves, it will cause a severe chain reaction that may cause the implosion of the program. A lot is riding on this $50 gift certificate for food delivery and a virtual thank-you note signed by the rest of the staff and board.
    5. How did you spend the grant that we provided you? The grant you gave us went into our bank account, which is used to pay for everything. Disaggregating what you paid for versus what others paid for is one of those meaningless time-wasting activities you force on us that harm our work. Here’s a detailed financial report of every expense we made this year. Look through it, and if it makes you feel better to think that you paid for books for low-income children and not staff salaries or whatever, please use your own time to craft that delusion.
    6. Were there significant changes in your budget? Yes. Due to COVID-19, our budget decreased 40%. Unfortunately, we could not get out of our office lease, even though everyone was working from home and the office was empty most of the time except for the rattlesnakes. We had to lay off half the staff and furlough the rest. We’re not the only organization severely affected. Seriously, you should significantly increase your payout rate beyond the legal minimum of 5% (3.5% in Canada) to support the orgs and communities that are suffering.
    7. How much in funding did you gain through leveraging our support with other funders? We do drop your name whenever it made sense to do so when talking to other funders, quietly assessing whether your name would motivate other funders or piss them off. But how much funding resulted from all that, who the hell knows; there are all sorts of confounding variables. Instead of playing these weird funding games, why don’t you just talk to the other funders and collectively fund us so we don’t waste time “leveraging” and can do our work?
    8. Please share a short story that illustrates the impact of this grant on the community you serve: “Eddie,” 13 years old, comes from a low-income household and was three grades behind when he reached our program. After six months, we noticed vast improvements, not just with his grades, but with his general outlook on life. His parents noticed too and came to thank us. We said, “We owe it to the XYZ Foundation; they’ve been supporting the program.” And the parents said, “That’s wonderful! Will the program be around next year?” And we said, “We are not sure; most grants, including from XYZ Foundation, are only for one year.” A shadow fell over their faces, bleak as the winter skies.
    9. How has COVID affected your organization and programs? For the hundredth time: Donations have decreased, everyone is working from home, program hours have been cut, community members are in crisis everywhere, team morale has been down, and we’re not sure if these follow-along-at-home wine and cheese tasting kits we’re sending donors will work. On the other hand, there’s been a surplus in the office snacks budget line item, and the internecine wars over giant pads of sticky paper have ended, so that’s something.
    10. Is there anything else you would like to share with the Foundation? The amount you gave us is not big enough to warrant this unique grant report we just spent several hours writing. We can save ourselves and the Foundation a lot of time if you and other funders just accept the annual report we write, which has a lot of information. If COVID taught us anything, it’s that we don’t have a lot of time to waste with these ridiculous shenanigans cloaked as “best practices.”

  • Capacity Building’s Necessary Existential Crisis

    Hi everyone, in observance of Indigenous Peoples’ Day, here is a great list by Cultural Survival of events happening all over the country, including important conversations on doing land acknowledgements right, supporting Indigenous folks who are LGBTQIA, decolonizing the classroom, and more. Check out this Activist’s Guide for Supporting Indigenous Peoples’ Day from IllumiNative. Here are five more ideas.

    Meanwhile, we should all remember that less than one half of one percent of total philanthropic funding in the US goes to Native communities, according to Native Americans in Philanthropy. Foundations, you can do better. The rest of us who are non-Native, donate to Native/Indigenous organizations, pay rent for the land we’re on (such as through here if you’re on Duwamish land), and support local Native/Indigenous artists and businesses, such as Eighth Generation. And let’s not allow this day to be the only time we learn about, make reparations toward, and support Native communities.

    ***

    Last week I was asked to present at the Alliance for Nonprofit Management’s conference about the future of capacity building, and what capacity builders can learn from Star Trek. The team at RVC, meanwhile, wrote a really important article on Transformational Capacity Building, exploring the ways that traditional capacity building tactics have often actually been harmful to organizations led by and serving Black, Indigenous, POC, and other marginalized communities, and presenting a new framework. And here’s the article I wrote on the Mycelium Model of Capacity Building, where I lay out what mushrooms can teach us about capacity building.

    It is really exciting to see that we are starting to look at this area with a more critical lens and evolve it to work better for the organizations and movements led by communities most affected by systemic injustice. Given the events of this year, including the pandemic, the protests against racism, and our last-ditch effort to prevent the US from sliding deeper into fascism, our sector really needs to further reexamine our perspectives on capacity building.

    Many of us think of capacity building as the boring but important stuff we need to get our missions done: people, office and program space, technology, infrastructure, professional development, and so on. There are amazing capacity builders, including state associations, back-office providers, philanthropic networks, consulting firms, etc., and their work has been vital for thousands of organizations.

    However, as fundraising, philanthropy, evaluation, and other areas in our field undergo an existential crisis, so too must capacity building. What we are doing may have worked in the past, but it may be irrelevant or even harmful to do the same things now. Most capacity building philosophies and practices have been very white, one-size fits all, and lacks a racial justice analysis, among other problems that RVC’s Transformational Capacity Building model points out. As we work to address these issues, here are some other ones I am starting to see:

    Capacity building often furthers incrementalism: So many capacity building strategies and activities home in on easily-measurable, short-term goals such as developing a strategic plan, increasing board effectiveness, strengthening fundraising systems. Not that these are not important goals (they sometimes are), but it often seems that we’ve lost sight of bigger, more audacious goals. Our strategic plans are often safe and boring. We talk about how to make boards slightly more tolerable instead of questioning the entire problematic default board structure. Our fundraising is still grounded in white saviorism and poverty tourism. Capacity building often gives the illusion of progress while actually preventing more meaningful progress from happening.

    Capacity building often prevents the true actualization of many missions: So much of capacity building is to help nonprofits develop skills and experience in bookkeeping, HR policies, grantwriting, etc. What is missing has been this analysis of should they even be developing capacity in these areas, or is it just a distraction? Imagine you have a plumbing school. Some folks sign up to learn how to fix broken sinks and toilets. Over several months, they make lots of progress. You’re proud because you see all the plumbing skills they’re learning. Then one day, you realize that these folks are actually doctors. They feel like they’re learning, and you feel really good, but the reality is that while they’re learning plumbing, they’re prevented from practicing medicine. How many organizations and leaders are learning bookkeeping when they really should be focused on mobilizing their communities, for example?

    Capacity building often legitimizes inequitable systems: You may be thinking, “But that’s ridiculous. Why would a group of doctors suddenly decide to learn plumbing?” Well, what if they’ve been told they need to learn plumbing or else funding for their clinics would be cut? That would be a really terrible thing, right? Forcing doctors to be plumbers? So much of capacity building is not organizations being intrinsically motivated to learn various skills, but because they have to in order to function within inequitable systems. Grantwriting, for example. Grant applications are a horrible way to distribute funding, one that mostly rewards white-led organizations that can speak the white-dominant grant language and understand unwritten white-dominant rules. By building people’s capacity to navigate grants, we legitimize grant proposals as a valid philanthropic tool. What other inequitable philosophies and practices are we legitimizing through capacity building?

    Capacity building often reinforces neutrality and white moderation: As I’ve mentioned multiple times, we as a sector needs to focus on the levers of power if we hope to effectively address injustice. This includes getting more women of color elected into office, ending voter suppression, changing the tax code so rich people pay their fair share of taxes, decreasing the influence of money on politics, and shaping the public narrative to align with truth and science. Unfortunately, our field has a fear and disdain of engaging in what we perceive to be “political.” Capacity building has for the most part reinforced this sort of neutral, moderate stance through avoiding engaging with systems change work and anything that may seem too polarizing.

    With everything going on—the threat to democracy, the increase in racism and misogyny, the undoing of hard-won progressive victories—capacity building, and capacity builders, cannot continue to operate as it has always done. If we’re in the Nonprofit Hunger Games, then capacity builders are often like the characters Effie Trinket or Haymitch Abernathy, good folks who train and support the tributes so they can increase their skills and chance of survival in the battles to the death. What our communities need now are not more survival skills, but to figure out how to work together to bring the games crashing down.

    I know that’s a lot to take in (I mentioned mushrooms, Star Trek, and Hunger Games all in one post). Please feel free to disagree with anything. I hope this post will start some conversations among capacity builders. As I mentioned, our sector is going through a necessary existential reckoning. No longer can we assume that everything we do is net positive. We have to examine how we may be complicit in furthering the injustice we’re trying to end. This applies to capacity building. This is a painful but necessary process, but I think capacity building practices will come out on the other side more effective and more aligned with our sector’s prime directive of realizing a better, more just world.

  • “There Can Only Be One” Syndrome and how people of color can also uphold white supremacy and injustice

    After the kids went to sleep one day, my partner and I put up “Ugly Delicious,” a show where celebrity chef David Chang explores different types of food and talks to various chefs and restaurant owners. In one episode, he explores Viet-Cajun, the combination of Vietnamese and Cajun. It was great, until he interviewed a Vietnamese shrimp fisherman whose family came over decades ago, who worked hard, overcame racism (including the KKK attacking shrimping boats), and became successful. When Chef Chang asked his opinion on more recent immigrants and whether he could empathize with them, the dude said something along the lines of “Well, we worked hard, but a lot of immigrants these days just want handouts.”

    When we think of white supremacy and who upholds it, we think of white folks. White people clearly benefit most from systems designed to uphold whiteness as the default and concentrate power in the hands of white people. So much of our work in nonprofit and philanthropy is to de-center this whiteness. I’ve been encouraged to see white colleagues engaging with the uncomfortable and necessary conversations around systemic racism and taking actions aligned with racial equity.

    However, the inescapable pervasiveness of white supremacy means that we POCs are not immune to perpetuating it, consciously or unconsciously. Just look at any social media conversation about race, Black Lives Matter, injustice, systemic change, etc. There will always be several people of color who serve as a layer of defense for awful views. It’s been sad and disappointing to encounter POCs who insist on being “color-blind,” who believe they succeeded because of hard work while others in similar situations are lazy. In POC communities, there is still a lot of anti-Blackness. I have friends who have gotten into fights with Asian relatives who condone state-sanctioned murders of Black people (we need to get into these fights, even with our closest family members!).

    People of color upholding white supremacy is confusing. I was talking with a colleague, Rashad Morris, on this topic when he mentioned “Highlander Syndrome,” a term he heard from another Black colleague a decade ago. It comes from the Highlander movies and TV shows, about immortals who constantly try to kill one another, because at the end “there can only be one.” (This should not be confused with the unofficial name of a medical condition that prevents people from aging. And update: We are now, at least temporarily, calling it the Only Be One (OBO) Syndrome, to not affect the work of the amazing Highlander Research and Education Center).

    In the context of what we’re talking about today, this is when a member of a marginalized community, once having achieved some level of privilege, becomes a gatekeeper to prevent other marginalized people from achieving the same privilege. As exhausting as it is for most of us to be the only person of color at an organization, event, committee, or whatever, for some it confers a degree of power, privilege, and even safety that they want to protect.

    “Whenever I think of [this],” says Rashad, “I also think about the house slave versus the field slave, like the character of Stephen in Django Unchained (played by Samuel L. Jackson). He’s conditioned to see himself as different, special. And fights hard to maintain that status. How often have we as POC, especially Black folks, heard the phrase ‘I don’t mean you, you’re different;’ ‘I don’t think of you as Black.’”

    This desired proximity to whiteness and white acceptance, and the temptation to protect it once you have it, is a survival mechanism. Over centuries many of us have internalized it, and it is now entrenched as a significant barrier to our work of addressing injustice. White supremacy relies on all of us being divided to maintain itself. When we prioritize our own proximity to whiteness above what is equitable and just, we become a cog in the machine of oppression. We often become unwitting tools. We see this in politics with POCs who have abhorrent views being given platforms to spout their xenophobia and prejudice. This is an incredibly effective tactic, because how can you argue with a person of color when they support “all lives matter” or insist that asylum seekers are criminals? I mean, they’re a person of color, so obviously they have some authority on the subject, right?

    In our sector, I’ve seen so many instances over the years of POCs who prevent progress, who uphold white moderation. A board member of color who blocks a public statement of support for Black lives. An ED of color who prevents implementation of equitable hiring practices such as disclosing salary ranges and not requiring formal education. A fundraiser of color who prioritizes the comfort of white donors. A foundation program officer of color who insists on using the same ineffective grant strategies for allocation of funds instead of allowing targeted funding to go specifically to Black, Indigenous, and other marginalized communities.

    Sometimes POCs are weaponized to maintain status quo. For instance, a neighborhood group that’s against low-income housing will have POCs testify at public hearings in order to conceal its racism. On social media and elsewhere, POCs get tagged in to defend archaic or inequitable philosophies and practices all the time. Few things are more damaging to the work of addressing systemic injustice than people of color defending systemic injustice.

    Of course, I know communities of color are not monolithic. The assumption or expectation that we should all think similar thoughts about racism or anything is in itself racist. We deserve the right and opportunities, just like everyone else, to have unpopular, controversial, or just different viewpoints. At the same time, those of us doing this work, the work of creating a just and inclusive world, must understand these complex dynamics so that we can control for them.

    Also, this is not just something that affects people of color. As Rashad says, “I can imagine, and have heard of similar situations playing out among gay male athletes, for example, or female executives in male-dominant environments. To continue being associated with dominant culture, they deploy oppressive and undercutting tactics against the people who have traits most like themselves.”

    All of us are susceptible to it. I am sure that if there were another vegan Vietnamese blogger who also has stress acne and writes about nonprofit stuff, my hackles would be raised. But jokes aside, because all of us are affected, it’s important for all of us to take measures:

    POCs and others from marginalized communities: We need to constantly be vigilant of how white supremacy and patriarchy divide us. The desire for proximity to whiteness and patriarchy—and with it the access to resources, power, and privilege—is often not conscious. The same goes for gatekeeping, undermining, or sabotaging of others who also face systemic oppression. We may be causing harm without realizing it, without intending to. We must be cognizant of how we may be used as tools to further inequity and injustice. Let’s be aware of how we have benefited from others who came before us who may have helped us get to where we are. And when we have achieved some level of success, let’s use our privilege and access to open doors for and lift up others. Our communities’ chance to survive and thrive depends on us all being mutually supportive of, and building solidarity with, one another.

    White colleagues and others from dominant communities: I know you’ve been told to trust people of marginalized backgrounds when we tell you about our lived-experience, and generally you should. But you still need to do some critical thinking so that you don’t get affected by what I’m calling the “Equity Halo Effect,” where an opinion is automatically valid simply because it’s given by a person of marginalized backgrounds. Do your homework and reflection. Ensure that those who claim to represent certain communities are actually a part of those communities. Be thoughtful when you pull in colleagues from marginalized backgrounds to bolster your views and arguments; if your arguments do not stand on their own when delivered by you, then you probably need to do some more work. (Also, don’t feel uncomfortable about sharing this blog post. Share it!)