Editor’s Note: The author’s name and organization have been withheld at their request to avoid harming future funding opportunities. The author’s story was confirmed through the Chronicle’s normal fact-checking process.
November 8, 2022, started out like any other day. I sat down at my computer and began scanning the hundreds of emails I routinely received as leader of a small but mighty nonprofit that had served our community for two decades.
But one email quickly stood out. It was from a staffer at the Bridgespan Group letting us know that the philanthropic research and consulting firm was in the early phases of exploring organizations for an anonymous donor. Would we be interested in talking to Bridgespan about our work?
The email made no mention of MacKenzie Scott, and to this day I can’t be 100 percent sure that Bridgespan was acting on her behalf or someone else’s. But a quick internet search confirmed that this was the modus operandi of the Scott team at that time.
More on Scott
I had dreamed about getting an email like this since word of Scott’s first donations began circulating. I imagined excitedly telling our team and board. Having led the nonprofit for nearly 10 years, I knew how critical a gift of that magnitude would be.
Viewed as an anchor organization in our area of expertise, we provided research widely used by other groups. We also helped strengthen our field by openly sharing our work and best practices with other nonprofits, including budget templates, monitoring and evaluation manuals, and guidance on fundraising and governance practices. With our strong staff and leadership, we occupied a vital niche and did it well.
We were also at a point in our organizational development where we were asking ourselves what we wanted to be when we grew up if money were no object. A few years before we had mapped out an answer to that question and had a clear vision of how a large infusion of funds would improve our effectiveness and sustainability.
A Promising Conversation
When the time came for my conversation with two members of the Bridgespan team, I was thoroughly prepared and thought it went well. They seemed to understand our work and its impact. They asked great questions, and I felt confident I answered them effectively. I provided myriad documents and shared impact numbers and testimonies, financial information, and lists of people and partners involved in our work. The result, I believed, was a clear-eyed peek at who we were and what we did.
As a philanthropist myself, albeit on a far smaller scale, I need to make hard choices about where to invest my limited funds. I ask myself, what issues do I care about, which organizations are working on these issues, which have proven results or potential for such results? Which of those in turn are well run, well regarded, and in it for the long haul? When I turn these questions on the nonprofit I ran, this line of questioning always leads me to one answer: I would absolutely invest in us every time.
And yet, the anonymous donor didn’t. I was told that if the donor was interested in following up, that I would hear back within five months. If I didn’t hear anything, I should assume we were “on hold,” with the potential for a revisit in the future.
There was no way to reach out to the donor, and from Bridgespan’s perspective, once it passed its analysis on to the donor, the group’s work was done. And so I waited. Five months went by, and nothing. I hoped that maybe they were just delayed. I had heard from some others who ultimately received Scott funds that they, too, didn’t hear anything for months.
It was agonizing. And still we waited.
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When six and then seven months had passed, I started to wrack my brain, wondering what on earth went wrong. What had I said? Did I fail to adequately represent the organization I loved so dearly?
It kept me up at night. It still does.
A few months later, I found out that two of our partner organizations, with whom we work closely, had been awarded funds. These two were the latest in our particular field to receive gifts from MacKenzie Scott. Several others had in previous years. Almost all were partners who had used and depended on our work to strengthen their own. Now we were being left behind.
Haves and Have-Nots
The groups that got Scott money now have a leg up. Despite being lauded for our professionalism, governance, and work, we have become underdogs. Solidly middle class, we can just about support our annual budget needs but have no funds to get ahead.
In the coming years, the gap between those who have Scott funds and those who don’t will likely widen. The nonprofits buoyed by Scott’s giving will be able to invest, build their capacity, and undertake new projects. We will not.
So what happened? I will never know. There is no follow-up mechanism, no further communication. Once “on hold,” you are essentially ghosted. Not knowing will haunt me forever.
I no longer work at the nonprofit, exhausted after so many years at the helm and contending with constant financial constraints. And yet I still think about the difference a gift of that size would have made — not just for the organization but also for everyone we serve. I’m also frustrated that there will never be closure.
Scott’s funding is undoubtedly transformational for nonprofits that receive it, allowing them to more effectively meet the needs of those they serve while investing in the future of the organization. Every nonprofit leader I know dreams about getting a MacKenzie Scott grant. For many of us, it is the holy grail.
When Scott’s gifts are announced, we hear only the heartwarming tales of those that won funding. But what about the rest of us who are stuck in an endless loop of what-ifs and whys? I wish the process had been more transparent. I wish we had a clearer idea of what they were looking for, what we were judged on, and how we could have done better. And I wish there was a mechanism for continued dialogue, rather than what felt like a closed door and a dream ended.
I still think about the hope and possibility I felt when I opened that email from Bridgespan — and the angst, frustration, and sadness for what could have been that soon followed. I know I am not alone.