This article comes from C&CPF’s newsletter Good Work, where every other month Director Erik Takeshita shares thoughts, ideas, and observations about how to support the grassroots efforts that make communities thrive.
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When I worked for the Mayor’s Office in Minneapolis, people sometimes approached me on the playground to complain about potholes. There was no running away from these conversations, even if I wanted to.
As a member of the community you’re in service to, you face the consequences of your decisions on a daily basis—occasionally you let down someone you’ll later run into at the grocery store.
In philanthropy, that’s not always the case. As funders, we can, and sometimes do, create distance and boundaries between ourselves and the organizations we may be in a position to support. It makes total sense, when funds are limited and resources scarce, we have to say ‘no’ quite often; boundaries allow us to do that without ‘making things too personal.’
Boundaries can range from strict application processes and rigid reporting requirements to more literal distancing. At gatherings where there is a blended attendance of funders and practitioners, I’ve seen funders sometimes sit on the margins of the room. We opt to observe rather than actively engage in discussions and activities, in an effort to “not center philanthropy.”
Unfortunately, as in physics, a system is affected simply by the act of observing it. When funders sit on the margins, we call attention to ourselves in an entirely different way: Whether we mean to or not, we become an audience. Practitioners may “perform” to impress or win our approval. While the intent may be to de-center philanthropy, the impact can be just the opposite.
What might it look like to break down this fourth wall between practitioners as actors and funders as audience? What happens if funders embrace our role as participants and acknowledge that our actions—from seating choices to funding decisions—have consequences?
When funders sit on the margins, we call attention to ourselves in an entirely different way: Whether we mean to or not, we become an audience.
Erik Takeshita
Recognizing our role as active participants requires a different kind of relationship and accountability. Rather than focusing on practitioners’ accountability to funders, it requires funders and practitioners be jointly accountable to the communities we serve, and jointly responsible for outcomes positive and negative.
Creating this kind of proximity allows practitioners to shift their focus from funders and back to their communities. Those most impacted by systemic harms can determine the most effective solutions for their communities, rather than conforming their work to the standards set out by supporters.
Breaking down the fourth wall can look like saying ‘yes, and’ as well as ‘no, but.’ An exchange of money doesn’t have to be the beginning and end of the relationship. As funders, we can ask ourselves, if financial support isn’t possible, what is? Can we share resources or other ideas to help advance the work? Can we use our networks to make connections? If we can’t directly support an organization’s work, can we direct them to partners that might be able to? Can we be a vocal advocate of the work the organization is doing? Is it possible to dive deeper instead of pulling back?
And when we are prepared to support an organization financially—how can we design relationships that aren’t simply give-and-take?
As Inatai Foundation President & CEO Nichole June Maher writes: “Believing communities is free, but it asks something of us. It asks us to give up the comfort of thinking we already know best, the convenience of staying in the same rooms with the same people, and the illusion that our decisions are neutral. It requires us to stop pretending that money is the only thing standing between us and the future that communities deserve.”
Trust is developed through proximity and vulnerability over time. Vulnerability means showing up as our whole selves as people—not just as distant benefactors. It means being willing to learn and change, and being honest about parameters and constraints.
If you want examples of proximity in action, look no further than grassroots practitioners in your own community. For example, I have long admired the role Jerry Hebron, executive director of the Northend Christian Community Development Corporation, plays in her community in Detroit. For years, Jerry has helped spearhead the organization’s work with Oakland Avenue Farms. By consistently showing up, being respectful, and remaining open, Jerry has made connections with people from all walks of life.
Grassroots practitioners have no choice but to be proximate; that’s what makes them effective.
When I worked in the Mayor’s Office, I didn’t know how to respond to people who were upset, and that sometimes frustrated me. Now I see that proximity, while sometimes uncomfortable, matters.
People wanted to be heard. My job was, sometimes, to listen.
This essay was written in collaboration with Elizabeth Lepro, of Outside.
