The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh, reflecting on the suffering he endured during the Vietnam War and later as a refugee, offered a metaphor for the surprising good that can come from hardship: “No mud, no lotus.” It remains to be seen what virtue will come from the messy crisis our world and country now find themselves in, and what role philanthropy will ultimately play in bringing that lotus forth from the mud.
If philanthropy wants that contribution to be meaningful, however, then now is the time to start being intentional, focusing not just on this particularly uncertain moment but also on its implications for the already unfolding future. And that requires us to think about this crisis as launching three existential challenges simultaneously, each an overlapping step in society’s recovery.
How do we survive this tragedy?
The first is the stage of reacting: How do we survive this tragedy? This is the level at which philanthropy is most comfortable working in a crisis, and where we typically model the best of human intentions. Something terrible happens, and foundations and philanthropists rally to meet the challenge, offering up ideas, expertise, resources, and connections.
As this crisis unfolded, our foundation immediately moved to lift constraints on the organizations we fund and targeted emergency resources to four priorities: saving lives, meeting basic needs, supporting the most vulnerable, and shoring up organizations essential to our mission. Foundations in our hometown of Pittsburgh and all across the country did versions of the same, partnering freely across ideological lines because only one goal mattered: to help.
This is a beautiful and vital stage of philanthropic response but also its narcotic. We quote Mister Rogers — “Look for the helpers” — and congratulate ourselves for embodying and tapping into our society’s deep reservoir of collective well meaning. Without question, we do good work, as we are now, to peel away layers of uncertainty and pain, but only to solve the challenge of this particular moment. It is the business of mitigation — profoundly important, yet sharply limited.
How do we restore normalcy?
The second is the stage of returning: How do we restore some sense of normalcy? Often, here, too, philanthropy finds its collaborative voice. Differences in philosophy emerge, and philanthropy will often find its good intentions bumping up against hard political and ideological realities. But the goal of helping life pick up where it left off before the tragedy is still basically shared.
Unfortunately, in this case, with lightning speed this second phase has already been politicized. Economic and public-health interests are being presented as mutually exclusive, and vigorous attacks are being waged on the validity of science, data, and the impact of public-health efforts so far.
The stage of returning requires an ability to find common ground because we must agree on what it is we are trying to restore. That is especially true in the context of a pandemic where the tragedy is still unfolding and where “normalcy” is likely to remain a fluid concept for months if not years to come.
There are legitimate questions to be asked about the tradeoffs an advanced society must make in the context of a crisis such as this and how to make them, but currently those decisions risk being exploited more than explored. What is philanthropy’s role in helping to find answers we all can live with?
How do we reimagine what’s next?
The third stage is reimagining: How do we avoid making the same mistakes? How do we become more resilient? This is the phase after disasters in which society asks tough and probing questions about whether it really makes sense to go back to “the way things were.” Should we really rebuild in a flood plain? Should our intelligence agencies be so disconnected? Should we just rebuild infrastructure and systems that benefited some but disadvantaged others, usually along lines of race and poverty?
Our country is generally terrible at this third stage, largely because entrenched interests with a stake in preserving the status quo are so powerful and ideological priorities grow in perceived importance the more we challenge old fundamentals. That we have the capacity to do it, though, is evident in the progress currently being made in reimagining criminal justice in this country. In that case, philanthropy from both the left and the right is helping forge a new path forward.
The “reimagining” stage following this pandemic will be — should be — deep and difficult. Already, searing questions are being asked about our national commitment to public health, how we view the right to health care, the importance of air quality, the wages we pay the frontline workers we call heroes, and why racial and other inequities revealed by this virus are allowed to persist in the first place. These questions and others like them will either be ignored and brushed off, or considered carefully in the context of a changed reality. Philanthropy has a responsibility to make sure the latter happens and to inform the quality of that process.
It is not enough for philanthropy to devote its resources and attention solely to the reaction phase of this pandemic. Yes, it is reassuring to look for and support the helpers, but our job is to look deeper and further, at the context for helping, at what it means to be a caring society. At the same time as this tragedy is still continuing, lines are being drawn for what a return to normalcy will look like and what, if anything, we must change to protect ourselves in the future.
Three existential challenges — react, return, reimagine — are confronting our society not sequentially but all at once. And our country’s success will depend on our collective capacity to deal with facts, share values, and identify common solutions. The lotus in the mud of this horrible moment will be found there, and philanthropy’s job, even amid the crisis, is to foster a society bold and civil enough to look there together.
