The director of a statewide philanthropic network in the South recently lamented the organization’s slow progress in fostering racial equity. “We’ve spent huge amounts of time and money, but after a year and a half we can’t see real practical progress. To be honest, that’s disappointing, and we don’t know what to do.”
Such sentiments are not uncommon. Following George Floyd’s murder in May 2020, and the subsequent racial-justice uprisings, philanthropic organizations across the United States pledged to do a better job of addressing racial inequity. Many quickly adopted the language of the Black Lives Matter movement. In interviews I conducted with 49 philanthropic leaders, staff, and board members, all expressed a commitment to “fighting systemic racism” and “dismantling white supremacy.” They embraced the view that a shift in power and a redistribution of wealth are necessary in a nation “built on racism and slavery.”
But while foundation leaders have become adept in the language of racial inequity, many say they are frustrated by the slow pace of progress and the endless talk with no real change. They expressed feelings I’ve come to define as racial-equity fatigue.
This was inevitable. Changing engrained systems and creating lasting improvements takes time no matter how committed an organization is to such efforts. But the particular challenges of addressing racial inequity can make progress seem especially illusive.
So, what’s next? My research and a resulting report published by the Harvard University Antiracism Policy Journal uncovered the obstacles facing grant makers in their racial-equity work and the sometimes surprising suggestions for overcoming them. Here are five that stood out:
Don’t assume racial-equity work needs to be led by a person of color. For most foundations, creating more diversity within their own leadership and staff is a first step toward achieving racial equity. But such efforts can backfire, and even perpetuate racial inequity, when a person of color is put in charge of racial-equity work without receiving the necessary institutional support or expertise to succeed — and then blamed for a lack of progress.
The Black director of a network of family foundations put it this way: “I feel it is hard for me to be heard when it comes to this work. ... I feel resistance, but I don’t really know where to precisely locate it.”
Grant makers need to honestly assess the specific circumstances at their organizations before deciding who is likely to have the most success engaging all stakeholders in racial-equity work. For instance, when older, white, heterosexual male trustees are holding up progress, a queer Black woman may not be the best messenger to reach them — regardless of her skills and experience.
“It took a white guy to do this work,” admitted the president and CEO of a Southern foundation. “It took me time to build the necessary relationships and trust. I listened a lot. I discovered and understood my board members. And I know I could do all of this because I am one of them.”
Recognize that resistance to change reflects deep concerns about letting go of power. Following the nation’s 2020 racial reckoning, philanthropic leaders were told it was time to relinquish some of their power to those whose lived experiences reflected the organization’s larger equity goals. This was considered the right thing to do from an ethical perspective. However, little concern was given to the sense of loss those in power might experience as a result. One executive director of a large foundation told me that she never wondered “why some of my board members resisted. I just felt that ... [their resistance] was wrong.”
People do not resist change; they resist loss. If their priorities, values, and fears aren’t acknowledged, and their sense of loss isn’t addressed, continuing resistance to change is the likely result.
Effectively confronting the loss felt by decision makers might require stepping back from a Black Lives Matter narrative that makes it difficult to get interested in the concerns of white people in power— for example, how a loss of power may, for some, represent a loss of values and traditions passed on to future generations and perhaps a loss of social status. Listening to and acknowledging these concerns is a key step. If change is the goal, ignoring the feelings of those who can block or help bring about that change makes little sense.
Get to know the origins of your funds. Most foundation staff and leadership have a superficial knowledge of their organization’s origin story — typically the one developed and passed down by those whose wealth created the fund. “I feel it would be a little indiscreet, like breaking a taboo, or [showing] a lack of respect, to ask too many questions about the origins of the funds,” said the executive director of a family foundation in the Northeast with assets stemming from manufacturing.
While this is a common concern, creating a truly equitable path forward is not possible without first digging deep into the foundation’s past and acknowledging and grappling with the racist or sexist practices of its founders.
A team composed of community members, trustees, staff, and, when relevant, family members should conduct research in the organization’s archives, interview experts, and develop a speaker series focused on the racial history of the industry that built the foundation’s wealth. The accumulation of such knowledge should be part of any diversity, equity, inclusion, and antiracist efforts.
Understand what shifting power to diverse communities really means. Most of the foundation leaders I spoke with said listening to and spending time with people in the communities they seek to help is a critical component to shifting power dynamics in philanthropy. But many struggled to let go of their long-held models for making decisions and evaluating grantee work.
Some also expressed concern that consulting community members could itself perpetuate extractive philanthropic practices if those individuals are not compensated adequately for their time and knowledge. “We have to be careful in the way we include communities in our decision-making process,” the board member of a health-focused foundation warned. “We don’t want to make the same mistakes as before.”
To effectively listen to and share power with community members, grant makers should hire them as paid staff, and include them in recruitment efforts and on teams that develop strategies and conduct racial-equity assessments. Additionally, foundations should consider establishing capacity building and leadership programs targeted at people of color and youth leaders to ensure their voices are consistently heard.
Establish metrics for measuring racial-equity progress. In a field where metrics exist for almost everything, it’s striking how little data is available on how foundations are doing on racial equity. “The fact that very few foundations have collected data on race reflects how deeply racism is embedded in philanthropy,” said a vice president of a large network of national foundations.
Others I spoke with, however, expressed concern that a reliance on metrics reinforces a “racist system, rooted in white supremacy,” as one California foundation executive put it.
But not using metrics for evaluating racial equity, when they are used for all other processes, creates an exception that stands in the way of progress. To build metrics without perpetuating racism, grant makers should work with members of the communities they serve to develop and design a system for collecting data. Such efforts should ultimately guide the development of a racial-equity index for philanthropy that can be used by the whole field to promote policy changes and effective practices.
Yes, progress can be frustratingly slow, and hard work is needed to change policies and procedures built on deeply embedded racist structures. But this is no time to succumb to racial-equity fatigue. Instead, foundation leaders need to recognize the many ways they can overcome challenges — and achieve lasting racial equity in their organizations.
