I guess the good news about writing this column on Trump’s first 100 days in office is that finding content isn’t a problem. I wish there was less to write about, instead of the everything, everywhere, all at once reality we’ve been living these last few weeks.
I walk around haunted by the image of the Weeble toy of my 1970s youth, its incessant jingle stuck in my head: “Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down.” I feel like one of those egg-shaped, bottom-heavy figurines — knocked almost all the way over with each startling piece of news, only to rebound and then get knocked down all over again.
I started last week talking to a nonprofit leader about all the things he’s managing at this moment. Among his many challenges is the possibility that a significant portion of the organization’s staff could be deported. I listened with sad resignation, rather than the shock and outrage I would have felt just a few months ago.
The next day, a colleague texted to inform me that Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents had entered a settlement house in the Bronx. Fortunately, once local politicians were alerted and were on the scene, the threat apparently dissipated.
Then there was the grantee who called during the frantic few days after the Trump administration announced that all federal grants and loans would be frozen. She wanted to know what we were hearing and who might help if the funds were halted.
Like so many in the nonprofit sector, I received and sent dozens of emails about the announcement. I watched on my social media feeds as people freaked out, organized, called elected officials, filed lawsuits, discussed setting up loan funds to help organizations affected by the freeze — all with hearts in their throats and pits in their stomachs.
And then, less than 48 hours later, the order was rescinded. For the 27 percent of nonprofits that receive federal funding, and the many Americans who depend on those services, this brought some relief. However, the fear about what happens next lingers. The government officials making cuts may be whittling down a big, abstract line-item budget, but the people on the receiving end are in real danger. In many cases, nonprofits worried about their own futures are all that sits between them and disaster.
A Bright Spot
The highlight of my week was a half-day meeting with a group of grantee program leaders. Each year they choose three themes to work on together and meet quarterly to learn with and from each other. When they met last November, just a week after the election, they quickly settled on this year’s themes: Leading in Chaos, Hope as a Discipline, and Staying Grounded.
As we gathered last week, the prescience of those choices became clear. The nonprofit leaders appreciated the time they were given to think and reflect about purpose and strategy. One of them told me that the day-long conversation felt like a “spa day” after the intense few weeks of reacting to each new threat.
Almost two years ago, writing about the colliding crises facing our nation and the world, Neha Mahajan and Felicia Griffin, co-founders of Transformative Leadership for Change, noted that “BIPOC leaders are being asked to simultaneously dismantle the past, survive in the present, and create an alternative future. Our leadership, needed now more than ever, is being tested like never before.”
Those words keep circling my brain as my colleagues and I at the Robert Sterling Clark Foundation consider how best to support grantees who must lead their communities through this time of daily upheaval and fear. I’ve come up with the following list of questions to guide us:
- Are we providing as much money as possible? We need to keep asking ourselves and each other that question, along with whether those funds are being delivered in the most straightforward and user-friendly way possible. For instance, could we slide our grant timing if a nonprofit needs money earlier in the year? In moments when government funding is so precarious, getting those dollars out quickly may be critical.
- Are we considering ways to cut back demands on grantees’ time? Are all those check-ins with them really necessary? Do we need written proposals for re-granting or written reports on existing grants? Could we have conversations instead? Or even better, could we base our decisions on their proven track records and not ask for anything more?
- How can we reassure grantees that we have their backs? Perhaps we should be creating legal defense funds that would be available to them if needed. Perhaps there are ways we can collaborate with other funders to offer more, ask for less, and push back on philanthropic practices that don’t serve the nonprofits we fund.
In the past, I was a bit skeptical when people in my professional circles talked about extending grace. But now I understand. Never in my lifetime has our common work of protecting democracy and fighting for equity been so critical. And never have I felt so unsure about what comes next. We need to be able to try new things, and then let go of them when they don’t work. We need to learn from each other but also question each other.
If our grantees are living through everything, everywhere, all at once, how can we help them make it through to when the credits roll — and we can all breathe again?
