Today, I start my second stint as a columnist for the Chronicle of Philanthropy after a break of almost 30 years.
When I wrote for this publication in the 1990s, I did so from the perspective of a former and somewhat disillusioned foundation executive. My 12 years at the Joyce Foundation, including six as president, were wonderful in many respects, but the foundation world had lost its glitter for me.
I was looking for a more hands-on experience with civic issues, and I found it as a consultant to several environmental groups and as an education adviser to then Chicago Mayor Richard M. Daley. The latter experience was especially rich because of the many challenges then facing the city’s public-school system and the struggles among stakeholders to shape solutions.
During that same period, I also developed a fascination for European politics and policy debates. Unlike most of my peers, who had traveled to Europe during college, I hadn’t visited until my mid-30s. But I was quickly hooked, participating in exchange programs and then as a consultant to groups operating in post-1989 Eastern Europe.
In 1995, I became president of the German Marshall Fund, where I spent nearly 19 years promoting democracy in the Balkans and Caucasus regions and working on policy initiatives aimed at bringing Americans and Europeans closer together on the big issues facing the transatlantic community.
Now, after many years of raising money, advising small and large institutions, and serving on the boards of multiple domestic and international nonprofits, I am ready to take a second stab at analyzing this complex sector and the ways in which it has evolved.
During the past decade, I have worked with organizations as varied as the Hudson Institute, where I was a senior fellow, and the Sarasota Institute for Lifetime Learning, or SILL, a nonprofit where I am a board member. On the surface, such groups have little in common. Volunteers are the driving force behind organizations such as SILL, and the impact of its work is visible on a daily basis. By contrast, groups such as Hudson are powered by a professional staff, and the effects of its work, including influencing national public-policy debates, are critical but less immediately tangible.
What these groups do share, however, is the need to get the attention of increasingly big donors who often talk about listening to grantees but don’t always have the skills or interest needed to accomplish that task.
This disconnect between grant seekers and donors can be traced in part to the enormous changes in the philanthropic world since I entered the field in 1980. The size and number of foundations has grown dramatically during that period, as has the power and influence of big philanthropy and the very wealthy on America’s cultural, educational, and public-policy institutions.
Philanthropy’s expanding footprint has spurred ongoing debates about how the nonprofit world is managed and regulated — a discussion I hope to contribute to in this column.
Consider, for example, the increasing role of donor-advised funds. When I started out in this business, DAFs were a tiny part of the community foundation world but have become a major vehicle for storing and using philanthropic resources.
At the same time, the philanthropic industrial complex has exploded. In past decades, wealthy local donors often gave away millions with little advice from others. Now, hardly anyone of means would dare make grants without a well-paid staff or team of consultants.
I have a special interest in how these developments and others have stretched, bent, and twisted the intent and purpose of the regulatory framework governing the charitable sector since the Tax Reform Act of 1969. I’m particularly concerned about the intersection between politics and philanthropy, an area that has intrigued me since my early days as a program officer. Today, entities operating as 501(c)(4)'s have been put to new uses by conventional 501(c)(3) organizations interested in becoming more engaged and aggressive in politics and policymaking.
Certainly, foundations should be able to support efforts such as voter access, but too much charitable money is being used for election-adjacent projects that go far beyond voter registration and education. Just because both political camps have figured out how to use tax-deductible money for narrow partisan interests doesn’t make the situation fair or right.
Finding clear solutions for reviving the boundary between politics and philanthropy isn’t easy. But as this column evolves, I hope to consider what those solutions might look like — and, with any luck, come up with some answers.
