We live with abundance. Philanthropy scarcity is fake news.

We live with abundance. Philanthropy scarcity is fake news.

Aug 4, 2025 | Essays, The Hub

By Abigail Oduol, a CCF Global Council Member

The narrative about philanthropy being about charity needs to change. People need to become aware that we are investing in our own futures and in our own collective prosperity.

Someone asked me the other day if working in philanthropy was hard. They said they pitied me because, at the nonprofit she worked at, they were competing with other worthy organizations for grant funds. And only one lucky winner got the grant and others had to look elsewhere. 

I paused for a moment. That was both what she experienced and a false narrative because there is no scarcity in philanthropy. Not the way we think there is. 

Yes, things are hard right now. Yes, federal money was cut. Yes, programs are being cut. But money is still in circulation. And it is abundant. 

A nonprofit at its core is more than a tax designation. It’s more than sacrificing salaries for a cause. It’s an organization that has a vision of a glorious future and specific ideas on how to get there. It’s an organization that reminds us of who we are at our best when we’re not focused on profits. 

We’ve imagined a future where children aren’t spending their childhoods in emergency rooms battling asthma attacks. Where all people are housed regardless of what’s in their bank accounts. Where people’s location in a racial, ethnic, religious, or gendered caste system no longer have any correlative relationship with the success of their business, health outcomes, and the length of their lives.

We’ve seen the future and have ideas on how to realize it—not unlike other private industries like tech, but with a different set of values and priorities. 

In the past 15 years, tech has done less to create tangible products in favor of creating potential futures and raising money from these visions through venture capital. Many of these visions have failed spectacularly already. And many of these visions don’t truly include people outside of tech, except as funders of said vision. 

Remember when we were obsessed with the metaverse and how we were all going to live and work in it? Or how robots were going to replace all of us as workers by the 2010s?  Or when celebs were going on shows shilling ape coin and telling us that crypto was going to completely upend the financial system as we know it? 

Trillions of dollars. Yes, trillions with a “T” went into the failed metaverse project. And not for lack of trying. 

So again, money scarcity isn’t really the issue. Good ideas aren’t the issue either, because lots of bad ideas get funded.

Though these past and current claims are a part of the technology subsector’s hype cycle, they tell a metanarrative (pun intended) of who we are as humans. We crave something bigger. We want something to believe in outside of ourselves, a unifying narrative. We want to be a part of creating the future. And that’s where many of us put our money.

So again, there is money. Lots of it. 

The narrative about philanthropy being about charity needs to change. People need to become aware that we are investing in our own futures and in our own collective prosperity. We are investing in the issues the market refuses to acknowledge and the government (for whatever reason) does not comprehensively address. And of course, we are investing in harm reduction in creation of short- and longer-term solutions to issues that the market itself has created in the generation of wealth. 

The market world has generated trillions of dollars and has sacrificed human beings, animals, and our planet in order to do it. They owe us more investment than the paltry millions that come our way. We don’t need Band-Aid money. We need major reconstructive surgery money.

So investment in our work—or in anything—is not just about money, or capacity as I was told in high school. Investment is about trust and belief. Investment is about relationships and risk. Even if it doesn’t work out, belief changes the conversation and moves you closer to your goal. Investment is but a belief in someone’s idea of the future that creates shared prosperity. A belief in their story. 

The question then becomes, what is the story that we tell about ourselves and our future?

So for those of you in places hostile to CCF rhetoric—or hostile to anything sounding vaguely like systematically marginalized people enjoying abundant lives—consider telling leadership in those places this: You, any supporters, and the entire community are investors in our vision for the future. And succeeding at our missions is going to pay the kind of dividends that ripple through generations. We all benefit from philanthropy, and it’s time we start acting like it.

Abigail Oduol

Abigail Oduol

Abigail Oduol’s (she/hers) surname is not Irish or Pennsylvania Dutch. It’s Kenyan. Abigail serves on the CCF Global Council and is a member of too many committees. She invests time thinking about how popular culture informs fundraising and how people connect to each other. Follow Abigail on LinkedIn.

There has never been a more powerful moment to reimagine our entire industry. First, we need to face the facts.

There has never been a more powerful moment to reimagine our entire industry. First, we need to face the facts.

Jul 28, 2025 | Essays, The Hub

By Kristen Corning Bedford, creating lots of little on-ramps in many small spaces

What will shake enough people from the dream that any of this is working for anyone, so that we gain the momentum to build the frameworks that can take us into a different future?

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” —R. Buckminster Fuller 

We have entered a monumental moment of collective disillusionment. 

While many of us have been working from this place for generations, mending the edges of fraying systems within our core communities and wondering how to connect the dots to create true systemic change, there is now a captive audience who are being explicitly exposed to the rot behind the rhetoric. 

Individual donors are reeling from a sense of powerlessness that leads to incapacitation, foundations are inundated with requests to make up the difference in lost government contracts, and nonprofits are trying to stay out of the crosshairs so they can continue to serve their missions. 

There has never been a more powerful moment to reimagine our entire industry. 

These days my colleagues and I are asking each other, what are the new pathways of funding that will evolve from this moment? How do we foster resource shifting and community to community connections that are sustained within local jurisdictions but not siloed from each other? What kinds of stakeholder investments are necessary to move these ideas from the edges to the center? 

And at the core of my questioning is a much bigger question: What will shake enough people from the dream that any of this is working for anyone, so that we gain the momentum to build the frameworks that can take us into a different future? 

Becoming a problem for some brought me into more meaningful relationship with others.

I think back to the time when I served as the first PTA Equity Chair at my son’s public grade school. Months into the COVID lockdown, I learned that our school had amassed a reserve fund of half a million dollars with no clear path for spending it, and I was curious to understand, if a global pandemic wasn’t a trigger to use our “rainy day funds,” while others in our community were being critically impacted, what was? 

I thought highlighting the discrepancy between our words and actions, especially when the schism between day-to-day realities was laid so starkly bare in our neighborhood, would be an antidote to inaction. But naming a problem in the system exposed something deeper to examine, an inquiry into the heart of a hoarding society that maintains a firm distinction between the haves and have nots. And, as Sara Ahmed highlights in Living a Feminist Life, “[t]o give the problem a name can be experienced as magnifying the problem, … [w]hen we give problems their names, we can become a problem for those who do not want to talk about a problem even though they know there is a problem.”

But becoming a problem for some brought me into more meaningful relationship with others. 

In response to this new financial awareness, several parents created a pooled PTA fund in our neighborhood to address the inequitable distribution of wealth in our public schools, overlaying current school data over previously red-lined neighborhoods. 

With a PowerPoint presentation in hand, we began meeting with parent teacher leadership teams to illuminate how past racist systems were sustaining current and unexamined harm in our public-school PTA funding. 

After one of these meetings — which had become heated with the questioning of smug parents — I reflected on the pattern of this script and the familiar stickiness of an anxiety that I am also steeped in. 

The weed of supremacy culture is tenacious and seeing a tendril of it unfurling itself from another mom’s mouth, made me soften toward her. I realized that these parents are also hosts of this thing, more than the sum of their parts, and when I explored my own feelings of righteousness and defensiveness in reaction to their opposition, the thought go the light, Carol Anne! popped into my head – a reference to the moment in the movie Poltergeist when the psychic protagonist, Tangina, urges the mother to call to her daughter and tell her to move away from what feels like a place of safety but is actually an evil force whispering lies to keep her close. 

I texted this movie moment to another parent as we discussed how these PTA meetings were going, and I used a meme of Tangina with pursed red lips issuing forth a matter-of-fact instruction to Carol Anne’s family: “Now let’s go get your daughter.” While the mother is terrified that she’s putting her daughter in harm’s way because the instructions run contrary to everything she’s known, and the daughter is oblivious to the danger, assuming she’s safe all along, it’s the guide who remains strong and certain because she’s gone through this before. 

As soon as I hit send, I was flooded by a warmth of connection, which was quickly followed by a chill of recognition: oh shit …we are all daughters of this thing, and we are each other’s sisters. Which means that the health and wellbeing of each of these fearful, angry women is tied to the health and wellbeing of my entire community, and I don’t get to turn away from them because I don’t like the origin of our sisterhood. 

Risking my comfort opened the door for the community to collectively envision a different future

Softening the veil between micro/macro, center/margin, or us/them, unravels and exposes the lie behind the façade: ego death on a community wide scale. This is risky work, but “[i]n the long run,” says theoretical physicist David Bohm “it is far more dangerous to adhere to illusion than to face what the actual fact is.” 

The backlash to facing facts in our increasingly polarized and social media distorted bubbles is real. The fear of being othered – losing our status, our jobs, our identity, our friends and family – is hardwired into being human, and this then becomes the great manipulator, making us easily malleable to the workings of the system. But being malleable and soft is also the solution. We are flexible and tender, and this malleability becomes radical as we create lots of little on-ramps in many small spaces. 

The individual and the system operate in a tightly woven relationship, which is often maintained in purposefully invisible ways to provide cultural and societal protection. You can’t truly see what you haven’t experienced, as Alfred Korzybski profoundly expressed when he said, “The map is not the territory.” When I stopped relying on the map to engage with the landscape, I was inundated with tactile information about the territory, and I could ask simple and more evocative questions. 

Asking our neighborhood PTA, “why are we hoarding so much money when there are people who need it right now,” broke the illusion that any of this is okay, which then engaged new voices to gather in a collectively held mechanism of dismantling and rebuilding. This became a community wide inquiry into how to change deeply ingrained injustices when we’re also complicit in sustaining them, and it forced people to confront hard-held truths about who they are, what they deserve, and what communities they belong to. 

The pattern in the script is the key to the solution: systems change when enough people upholding the systems change. 

A core of camaraderie and connection and care can be found in the light, but to gain the momentum necessary in this moment of horror movie proportion, we need a collectively held vision of a different future. 

How do we make this future irresistible to those who are seduced by the whisperings of what has always felt safe and right? How do we model strength and certainty in the face of grave danger and fear? How do we sustain coordinated collaboration across sectors and demographics to build new models? 

We already have the skills and resources necessary for this global imagination movement – what we need now is mass mobilization of people who have been taught to fear the light.

Kristen Corning Bedford

Kristen Corning Bedford

Kristen Corning Bedford (she/her) is a visionary catalyst, whole systems designer, and feminist philanthropist who has spent 30 years creating innovative pathways for changemaking and belonging. She is the author of A Generous Heart, Changing the World Through Feminist Philanthropy, which guides individuals on a journey to examine their intent, passion, and resources to create joyful change in the world. You can connect with Kristen through her website or on LinkedIn. 

Recently, Kristen was joined in conversation with Radical Flexibility Fund Founder and CEO, Riva Kantowitz, to discuss new pathways of resource shifting and the joys and challenges that come with envisioning a new future of local and global funding mechanisms. You can watch a replay here. 

Finding our way together: Joining the CCF Movement through the roles of the Social Change Ecosystem

Finding our way together: Joining the CCF Movement through the roles of the Social Change Ecosystem

Jul 21, 2025 | Essays, The Hub

By Rachel D’Souza, with gratitude to and permission from Deepa Iyer

This essay is part of a series. Read the first essay, introducing the Social Change Ecosystem Map here.

But what if those of us in the CCF movement identified and owned our roles on the Social Change Ecosystem Map? What if we worked together — wherever we are with whatever resources we have to give — and trusted others in our movement community to take up space? The possibilities of change make me feel absolutely euphoric.

Between the CCF Family Reunion and our inaugural Rooted + Rising Summit, there is no doubt that the Community-Centric Fundraising (CCF) movement is brimming with curious and committed members from across the globe seeking to reimagine and redesign our civil society’s systems and practices to yield more equitable outcomes. 

Five years into the official movement (although CCF principles and methods have been practiced in our cultures of origin for millennia), many fundraisers continue asking, “But how do we do this?” 

Our previous experiences and learning have not prepared us to sustainably engage in the community-centric change we seek. 

Our sector is wrought with power dynamics, inequities, and inefficiencies. Our efforts are siloed and oriented around a singular mission. We contort ourselves to fit into narrow funding guidelines and truly never take up the space we need. 

Despite our shared values, we are still figuring out how to translate the principles of CCF into sustained and collaborative action.

I’m a big believer of the “get in where you fit in” approach: Pick a place and just start. I know that’s often easier said than done.  

But what if those of us in the CCF movement identified and owned our roles on the Social Change Ecosystem Map? What if we worked together — wherever we are with whatever resources we have to give — and trusted others in our movement community to take up space?

The possibilities of change make me feel absolutely euphoric. 

Remember: 

The 10 Principles of Community-Centric Fundraising are ever-evolving core principles that have been developed from conversations with so many fundraisers of color. They are how we aspire to transform fundraising and philanthropy, so that they are co-grounded in racial and economic justice. We envision these principles adapting and evolving over time. CCF is not a one-size-fits-all model, and may look very different in practice depending on so many variables and nuances. Consider these 10 Principles a starting point.

From my personal and professional experience using the Social Change Ecosystem Map to navigate my contribution to the CCF Movement, here are some ideas to get your creativity flowing as we find our way forward together. 

CCF Principle Potential Social Ecosystem Role Potential Aligned Actions
Fundraising must be grounded in race, equity, and social justice Visionaries, Disrupters, Healers

Reimagine or revise your organization’s core values to align with community asset-based framing

Offer regular trainings that equip community members and supporters with knowledge and skills
Individual organizational missions are not as important as the collective community Weavers, Builders, Storytellers

Co-create your development strategy and/or fundraising campaigns with community input. 

Share decision-making authority and recognize community contributions publicly
Nonprofits are generous with and mutually supportive of one another. Builders, Caregivers, Experimenters

Develop donor communications that reflect genuine relationships and shared goals, not just solicitations for financial support 

Align annual fundraising efforts with coalition campaigns and joint initiatives
All who engage in strengthening the community are equally valued, whether volunteer, staff, donor, or board member. Guides, Frontline Responders, Weavers 

Create opportunities for community members to lead fundraising initiatives.

Engage community members as partners, not just donors. This can happen through listening sessions, story-sharing events, and participatory planning activities.  
Time is valued equally to money Frontline Responders, Healers, Experimenters 

Test participatory fundraising models, such as community-led giving circles or peer-to-peer campaigns.

Establish feedback loops with community members and partners. Use learnings to refine fundraising approaches, ensuring they remain community-driven and effective.
We treat donors as partners, and this means that we are transparent, assume the best intentions, and occasionally have difficult conversations. Storytellers, Guides, Disrupters

Understand your “zone of possible agreement” in solicitations and where you might have to decline a misaligned contribution.

Role play scenarios in which you have to practice saying “no,” holding a line or offering alternative perspectives and information.
We foster a sense of belonging, not othering. Weavers, Caregivers, Frontline Responders 

Share outcomes and stories that highlight community-led change.

Use data to inform strategies, respecting privacy and community ownership of information.

Regularly acknowledge and thank community supporters authentically, recognizing these contributions as part of a reciprocal relationship.
We promote the understanding that everyone (donors, staff, funders, board members, volunteers) personally benefits from engaging in the work of social justice — it’s not just charity and compassion. Caregivers, Guides, Builders

Create personalized thank-yous and opportunities for all supporters to visualize their role in the movement.

Pilot opportunities for donor recognition not based solely on gift size.
We see the work of social justice as holistic and transformative, not transactional. Disrupters, Visionaries, Storytellers

Redirect and frame your fundraising as a part of broader social change efforts, not just resource collection.  

Consider connecting donors and community members to larger campaigns and/or policy campaigns that promote systemic change.
We recognize that healing and liberation requires a commitment to economic justice. Experimenters, Healers, Visionaries

Revise your compensation structure to align with equitable pay principles. 

Pilot an organizing or advocacy effort that aligns with your organization’s vision. 

 

In this time of scarcity, violence, uncertainty, and silencing, the way forward is with and through community. Community is survival. Together, we are powerful. And, as individuals, we have to be generous with our gifts and with creating space and permission for others to be generous as well. When our collective community empowers each other, it allows us to let go of what we aren’t good at and what ultimately doesn’t serve our joy or what we care about. 

This resource is a living document — a testament to what we could and should try, and a place to share what we’ve learned. I welcome your additions and reflections to create an extensive roadmap for our movement work and hope that it may serve others in all the change still to come.

Rachel D'Souza

Rachel D'Souza

Rachel D’Souza (she/her) is the Founder+Principal of Gladiator Consulting in St. Louis, Missouri. Through Gladiator, Rachel has combined her knowledge of organizational culture and fund development with her deep personal commitment to centering community, seeking justice and creating belonging for those who have been disenfranchised or targeted by institutions, systems, and policy.

Born to parents who immigrated to the U.S. from India, Rachel has always been passionate about bridging differences and celebrating what’s possible when we collaborate from a mindset of abundance, learning, and risk-taking. Rachel loves cooking, snuggling her kids, and Instagram.

It’s time allies step up by stepping back

It’s time allies step up by stepping back

Jul 14, 2025 | Essays, The Hub

By Frank Velásquez Jr., Founder of 4 Da Hood and the Creator of Ascending Leaders in Color

It was as if the two People of Color (PoC) sitting with him didn’t even exist – mind you, two PoC with extensive expertise in CCF. But, in this moment, the student suddenly felt, with no reservation, empowered to teach on a subject – a subject he himself has said that he is still learning. This is white privilege in its truest form. 

Story time.

I recently had lunch with three friends of mine. For context, we are all nonprofit fundraisers and conference presenters. We met at a restaurant during a break from a major fundraising conference for some reconnection. 

To really get a picture, it’s important to know the seating arrangement. I was sitting across from my Latina friend who has been practicing community-centric fundraising (CCF) principles for a long time. To my right was my white, female friend, who has also been practicing CCF for a while. Across from her and to my left was the fourth person in our group, a white male friend who is still on his journey from donor-centric fundraising. 

At some point we began talking about community-centric fundraising and donor-centric fundraising, and my white male friend suddenly got very animated – defensive, really – when my Latina friend called the recent CCF Family Reunion, the “Anti-[insert those three letters] Conference.” I won’t go into all the details of his defensiveness, but I will say that after further explanation from the two Brown people as to why we called the Family Reunion that, he seemed to understand it better. 

To be honest, I don’t quite remember what we said that made him understand it better, but it might have been something along the lines of “fostering a sense of belonging with donors so that they are part of the solution” and “not perpetuate the white savior complex.” 

Whatever was said, there was a definite ‘aha’ moment in his eyes! Something clicked for him. 

However, what he said next was both shocking and not surprising. 

He looked directly at my white female friend – remember she was seated directly in front of him – and said, only to her, “You and I should create a session on how to build a community-centric fundraising plan!”

Sigh. 😒

It was as if the two People of Color (PoC) sitting with him didn’t even exist – mind you, two PoC with extensive expertise in CCF. But, in this moment, the student suddenly felt, with no reservation, empowered to teach on a subject – a subject he himself has said that he is still learning. 

This is white privilege in its truest form. 

More on this later.

According to Dictionary.com, the definition of a student is “any person who studies, investigates, or examines thoughtfully.” Their definition of a teacher is, “a person who instructs, especially as a profession.” Wikipedia further defines a teacher as “a person who helps students to acquire knowledge, competence, or virtue.”

So how might you feel if you were sitting at that lunch table listening to a student tell the other student at the table that they should present a session on community-centric fundraising, simultaneously discounting the expertise of the two teachers at that same table? And what if you had already witnessed a different student present on a topic you know they have very little knowledge of? How might you feel if you found out that student had not only been asked to present on the topic, but was paid as well? And finally, how might you feel if there were several teachers – subject matter experts on the topic – in that audience watching as the student stumbled, stammered, and struggled throughout their presentation? 

Yeah, I felt the same way. And yes, both of these situations actually happened. Let me start with the latter and then I will come back to the former.

In 2022, a nationally-recognized donor-centered fundraising professional gave a day-one conference plenary on community-centric fundraising (CCF). In the previous five years, I had watched this seasoned speaker present on fundraising topics in a clean and clearly knowledgeable manner. However, this was not the case for this session, and I’m confident I know why. 

They stumbled, stammered, and struggled throughout their presentation. Even though they had embraced the CCF movement – which quite honestly has not been the case with many nonprofit fundraising consultants – it was still painfully obvious that they were still in student mode. They appeared visibly uncomfortable, had little knowledge of the movement itself and the heart behind it, and as a result, the plenary fell flat and left little, if any, impact with the audience. 

What made things worse was there were several CCF experts, teachers really, in the audience that could have been asked – should have been asked – to give the plenary on this particular topic. 

Which raises several questions. Why weren’t any of them asked? Did they not have the “credentials” this speaker had? Or did they, but were not asked for other reasons? 

These are learning opportunities. So how do we ensure that it moves from learning opportunities to growth? I have a solution.

Although it is factual that this speaker did have the credentials as a donor-centric fundraiser, they absolutely did not as a community-centric fundraiser. Did the conference organizers know this? Did they even know the difference? If they had, would it have even mattered? Or was it most important that this “expert” be given the opportunity based on their decades of fundraising experience? Was the speaker a draw that the actual subject matter experts – in the eyes of the organizers – weren’t? 

These are learning opportunities. So how do we ensure that it moves from learning opportunities to growth? I have a solution.

First, let’s be clear: No one owns community-centric fundraising, like no one owns donor-centric fundraising. As stated on CCF’s website, CCF is “deliberately forming a movement, not an organization.” That being said, it is still one thing to embrace the principles of CCF and incorporate them into one’s work, and it’s an entirely different thing to get on stage and teach about CCF while still learning about CCF and its principles. This is especially troubling when the person is white, where, even as an ally, they still carry privilege and power. 

And to confirm, the person – the student – in my second story is white. And the CCF practitioners in the audience – the teachers – were all People of Color. Even though the white speaker likely considers themselves an ally, did they ever once consider turning down the plenary opportunity, knowing full well they were still in learning mode? 

Important to note as well: All of the conference organizers were white, too. Did the lack of color in the conference planning stages contribute to who they deemed worthy to handle such a topic, never considering where and how the movement was started and by whom?

I don’t know if any of this was done with intent, but even if it wasn’t, the impact had already been felt, specifically by the People of Color in the conference ballroom. 

So, how can allies work on their limited awareness so situations like this don’t occur? And more importantly, how can allies – who carry that power and privilege in dominant spaces – step back to let PoC step up?

I suggest trying this five-step practice:

  1. Lead with Curiosity: Begin connections with curiosity-building questions like “What has shaped your perspective?” This shifts interactions from defending positions to sharing experiences, which opens up the possibilities for having courageous conversations.
  2. Establish Circle Agreements: Create agreements like “listen from heart, speak from the heart, say just enough” that folks then add to. Implement them immediately, then…
  3. Have the Courageous Conversation: The first two steps helped create the container to have the courageous conversation. Have it, and make sure you…
  4. Honor Circle Agreements: It’s not enough to establish agreements; they must be honored to create space for reflection rather than reaction and demonstrate how agreements transform conversations, so that you can then…
  5. Step Back so PoC Step Up: It’s not enough to say you get it, but still don’t give PoC opportunities to step up. Commit to changing a practice that is in your control and step back.

And now back to the opening story:

After my friend suggested he and the other white person at the table together create a session on community-centered fundraising, I leaned into my authenticity and said, “There are literally two Brown people sitting right here!” 

His reaction was priceless, as he too stumbled, stammered, and struggled with what to say next.

On our walk back to the conference, he and I talked. He opened up as to why he gets defensive – I told him to be curious instead. He apologized for being boisterous – I told him to listen from the heart. Then he listened while I spoke from my heart – I told him: 

PoC have never been given space to speak unfiltered as you did during lunch; we are expected to be quiet so as not to make white folks uncomfortable. PoC are tired of this power dynamic and many no longer accept these terms, especially considering the attack on DEI programs, policies, and protections.

And as more and more PoC step up in the face of retaliation, it is their courage that feeds mine.

And maybe this courage will help me to write an article asking my fundraising allies – who were once nonprofit donor-centric fundraising teachers and are now students of community-centric fundraising – to step back from speaking on the topic. 

For now. 

And I respectfully ask that you make space for those of us who’ve experienced harm in donor-centric spaces and who’ve lived these community-centric principles before they were even called community-centric principles. Give them, give us, space to step up.

And perhaps, that is the first step towards genuine allyship.

Perhaps this essay is my first step in stepping up for those who look like me so that they can shine in the spaces they occupy, and not just exist in them.

Frank Velásquez Jr.

Frank Velásquez Jr.

Meet Frank Velásquez Jr. (he/his/el)

Storyteller Extraordinaire, Social Justice Warrior, and Community Connector! With a heart as big as his vision, Frank dances on the frontlines of change in relentless pursuit of racial and gender equity. Whether he’s dropping knowledge on the conference stage or storytelling behind the scenes, Frank’s passion for social justice is as infectious as his smile. And he creatively connects our stories, preserving the unique flavor of each one like a delicious bowl of gumbo.

As Founder of 4 Da Hood and the mastermind behind the Ascending Leaders in Color (ALC) leadership program, he’s forging paths for peeps of color to lead with more authenticity, courage, and joy! Because for Frank, advancing equity isn’t just a job — it’s a movement towards building generational wealth for communities of color to thrive!

Follow 4 Da Hood by subscribing HERE! 

He is also actively looking for sponsors for their Ascending Leaders in Color leadership program. For more information, contact 4 Da Hood at info@4dahood.com!

Where do we go from here? Introducing the Social Change Ecosystem as a framework for Community-Centric Fundraising

Where do we go from here? Introducing the Social Change Ecosystem as a framework for Community-Centric Fundraising

Jul 7, 2025 | Essays, The Hub

By Rachel D’Souza, with gratitude to and permission from Deepa Iyer

If we know that we cannot — and should not — be everything to everyone, how will we get our communities what they need while preserving our energy for the long fight ahead? Now is the time to radically reimagine what could be when we embrace our role in the Social Change Ecosystem.

A “Next” Normal

The day after the 2024 elections in the U.S., my kids and I processed our initial feelings while on a walk through my neighborhood. 

I can’t believe he won.
Can we be deported?
Do you think we should buy a gun?
Mom, are you scared?

As I did my best to comfort them, I realized how much had changed since the 2016 election. Back then, they were just five and one, barely aware of anything outside our family and their school community. But at thirteen and nine, they fully understood that this election would affect them and people they love.  They were afraid — and even though I put on a brave face in front of them, so was I. 

Still am.

What are we going to do? I asked myself. 

Well. I knew I couldn’t show up the same ways I had 2016-2020 — it almost broke me. I knew I couldn’t spread myself too thin. 

Indeed, the most painful (re)learning of that time was that we can’t do it all and when we try, we don’t do it well. Overextending ourselves, however well-intended and passionately driven, doesn’t serve our families or ourselves — and it certainly does not serve the movement. 

So in those grim weeks post November 5th, I decided to focus on a new strategy. I would still seek out and celebrate the short term wins, but prioritize the strategy of mid- and long-term change. I knew I had more to learn and unlearn. I knew I’d make mistakes in pursuit of a more equitable community. And, more than ever, I knew that I’d have to trust and believe that others in my community would fill in the gaps, and that I would do the same for them. 

Following the election, I wrote a Linkedin post about the “polycrisis” — a term describing a complex situation where multiple, interconnected crises converge and amplify each other, resulting in a predicament which is difficult to manage or resolve. Unlike single crises, which may have clear causes and solutions, a polycrisis involves overlapping and interdependent issues. (If there is a more accurate description for the moment in which U.S. civil society finds itself, I don’t know it.)

When in a polycrisis, organizations can’t implement a single, linear solution — at least not on our own. So how can we orient our time, talents, and energy to meet this moment as vulnerably and audaciously as possible while avoiding burnout and apathy? If we know that we cannot — and should not — be everything to everyone, how will we get our communities what they need while preserving our energy for the long fight ahead?

Now is the time to radically reimagine what could be when we embrace our role in the Social Change Ecosystem. 

Introducing The Social Change Ecosystem

The social change ecosystem framework, developed by Deepa Iyer of Building Movement Projects, is a tool to clarify values, identify roles, and support organizations, campaigns, and networks committed to solidarity, justice, and equity. It has two components: shared values (embodied in the yellow circle in the middle); and ten roles that people and organizations often show up in when they are participating in social change efforts

The Social Change Ecosystem graphic that shows the different roles

There is a reason this concept is called an “ecosystem,” and that is because we are more effective and more sustainable in our social change work when we build connections with others.

This framework has become a tool used by numerous people and organizations, particularly during challenging moments, to find ways to engage in social change efforts more effectively, collaboratively, and sustainably.

Iyer has defined the ten roles on the map as: 

  • Weavers: We see the through-lines of connectivity between people, places, organizations, ideas, and movements.
  • Experimenters: We innovate, pioneer, and invent. We take risks and course-correct as needed.
  • Frontline Responders: We address community crises by marshaling and organizing resources, networks, and messages.
  • Visionaries: We imagine and generate our boldest possibilities, hopes, and dreams, and remind others of our direction.
  • Builders: We develop, organize, and implement ideas, practices, people, and resources in service of a collective vision.
  • Caregivers: We nurture and nourish the people around us by creating and sustaining a community of care, joy, and connection.
  • Healers: We recognize and tend to the generational and current traumas caused by oppressive systems, institutions, policies, and practices.
  • Disrupters: We take uncomfortable and risky actions to shake up the status quo to raise awareness and build power.
  • Storytellers: We craft and share our community stories, cultures, experiences, histories, and possibilities through art, music, media, and movement.
  • Guides: We teach, counsel, and advise using our gifts of well-earned discernment and wisdom.

When starting out with this tool, she encourages individuals to reflect on the following prompts:

  • What are my core values and what do they mean?
  • What role(s) am I best suited to play, given my skills, innate strengths, lived experiences,

knowledge, and interests?

  • Where am I stretched too thin because I am playing multiple roles in multiple contexts?
  • How do I connect with an ecosystem, or organize a new one?
  • Who is in my ecosystem, and how can I support them?
  • What do I need from my ecosystem?

One of the most important things to understand about the Social Change Ecosystem Map is that it is a living tool. I have repeatedly turned to this tool over the last few years, using it to check in with myself and redirect my time and commitments as needed. As social currents, challenges, and opportunities have changed in that time, my roles have also shifted and changed as well. 

In this phase of my contributions to the Community-Centric Fundraising Movement, I seek to live into my strengths as a Visionary, Guide, and Weaver.

So where do we go from here?

The conversation that started with my kids during our November evening walk has continued. 

I picked up We Are the Builders!, a picture book by Iyer and illustrated by Romina Galotta, from one of our favorite local bookstores. Both of my children immediately identified themselves as “experimenters.”

Then, the aha moment happened.

As the three of us worked together to name who we know and where they might fit on the map, my daughter exclaimed: “Oh, mom. We’ve got this. Look how powerful we are together!” 

Indeed, when we show up with our best contributions and trust our community will do the same, we open up unlimited possibilities for what change we can build together. 

There is a role for everyone — and together, we’ve got this.

Where would you place yourself on the map?

Rachel D'Souza

Rachel D'Souza

Rachel D’Souza (she/her) is the Founder+Principal of Gladiator Consulting in St. Louis, Missouri. Through Gladiator, Rachel has combined her knowledge of organizational culture and fund development with her deep personal commitment to centering community, seeking justice and creating belonging for those who have been disenfranchised or targeted by institutions, systems, and policy.

Born to parents who immigrated to the U.S. from India, Rachel has always been passionate about bridging differences and celebrating what’s possible when we collaborate from a mindset of abundance, learning, and risk-taking. Rachel loves cooking, snuggling her kids, and Instagram.