When I am anxious or uncertain, I like to start a new project. Taking action makes me feel better — in the short run. During this season of fear and unrest, I have tried many different things: I have taken online yoga and Pilates classes. I started and then quit jogging. I made no-knead bread. I joined Noom and then quit Noom. I wrote postcards to potential voters in Texas, joined a climate-justice group at my synagogue, organized alumni of my high school to donate to the Movement for Black Lives, made calls for local politicians. I threw everything out of my closet that did not spark joy and then went on an online shopping spree.
Each of these projects relieved my anxiety or boredom, until it didn’t. The magical thinking that drew me to these strategies invariably faded, and I found myself searching for the next cool thing. I don’t think there is a great cost to my using a million projects to quell my personal sense of urgency — although they lack coherency and direction. They don’t hurt anyone. And they accrue some modest financial benefit to small social-justice organizations, yoga teachers, and yeast sellers.
Meeting the Moment
As a program officer at a foundation, channeling that same sense of urgency into myriad random projects without careful or consistent direction can be more harmful. Watching the world from a place of fear and uncertainty, I try to make my work relevant to some solutions. I have been a part of many conversations and webinars about “how to meet the moment.” I have contemplated how to help my grantees with new technology, management and administrative help, and evaluation efforts. I have considered taking new program directions, joining other grant makers to pool funds, and awarding funds to be re-granted by intermediary organizations that are more knowledgeable about groups that deserve support.
Grant Making in the Coronavirus Era
A series of dispatches on grant making in the coronavirus era by Lisa Pilar Cowan, vice president of the Robert Sterling Clark Foundation.
But unlike my harmless personal projects, if I start and stop these different programs or resource offerings for grantees, I could do real damage. When I feel frustrated and scared that we have not made progress on huge, seemingly intractable problems since last month — I can be swayed by the last article I read or the most recent brilliant idea shared by a smart colleague, and I am tempted to stop something that has stalled and start something new. My drive for the next new thing can come at a cost.
The Center for Disaster Philanthropy offers a few basic and wise approaches for effective disaster philanthropy that can be applied to how to best respond to the new disaster of Covid-19 and to the centuries-old disaster of systemic racism:
“A contribution immediately after a disaster strikes certainly helps first responder organizations and we encourage your support. However, our experience shows that donations drop significantly within days after a disaster, even though most of the efforts to recover take many months or years. . . . Fund local. Fund long term. Fund medium- to long-term recovery. Learn from others. Stay close to your organizational mission.”
How we should respond in times of disaster holds true for how we should fund all the time — stay with the work after the media attention or grant-making fad goes away. And give ongoing and flexible funding.
Give More — and Stay Out of the Way
What the world needs from us in moments like this is obvious and boring: We need to give a lot of money and then get out of the way until and unless we are asked for help. Even in my short years as part of the philanthropic world, I have seen and heard multiple research-project findings, PowerPoint presentations, consultant reports, and — most importantly — nonprofit organizations asking for multiyear, flexible funding.
Supplying this kind of funding is not glamorous and does not demand that we be the smartest people in the room. It does not demand that grant makers have the answers. It does demand that we approach our work from a position of solidarity, not charity.
It is hard for me to sit with that feeling of helplessness. It is hard for me to accept that no matter how many loaves of bread I bake, I cannot ensure that my kids will be safe and happy. That no matter how many postcards I write, I cannot ensure the outcome of the elections. That no matter how good I am at my job, the solutions are not all about me.
But the words of my brilliant colleague Lateefah Simon, president of the Akonadi Foundation,
have offered me comfort and guidance as I contemplate my work as a grant maker: “The heartbeat of change is beating. How cool is it that we all get to be of service of this moment?”
This is the seventh article in a series on grant making during a time of upheaval.
