How to become a Pokémon master … at organizational capacity building!

By Nina Yarbrough, Business Development Manager & Consultant

You know how in “Jurassic Park,” Jeff Goldblum was like, this ain’t gonna end well? He was one of the few characters who tried to articulate that resurrecting apex predators that see humans as tasty walking lunchables may not be the brightest of ideas. But then overconfident white people did it anyway and death and dismemberment ensued.

And then do you remember how Goldblum — beautiful, dark haired zaddy Jeff Goldblum — became an integral part of the cleanup and ultimate containment of the very, very bad science experiment?

I mean, why wouldn’t you listen to this king?

Photo of Jeff Goldblum from Jurassic Park lounging with his shirt open

Have you felt like Jeff Goldbloom recently?

We live in a world where Donald Trump got elected as President of the United States! That still blows my mind, by the way, and many of us, like Jeff Goldblum, were like, “This isn’t gonna end well.”

Then, to absolutely no one’s surprise, IT DIDN’T END WELL! The pandemic happened, on top of a ridiculous resurgence in bonkers right-wing white supremacy, and thanks to the Trump administration’s negligent ineptitude, more Americans lost their lives than who were killed in World War II.

If I had to describe 2020 with a picture:

Animated gif of a blue smiling dumpster on fire

That all said, we did make it through 2020 (for the most part). If you are reading this now, then it is a testament to your survival, perseverance, and your willingness to keep moving forward. With so many intensely dramatic events (hopefully) behind us — though I put nothing past the universe at this point — it makes you wonder…

Image of drawn person shrugging with text So What Now?

“What comes next?”

That’s the million-dollar question on everyone’s mind right now. As artists, leaders, fundraisers, creatives; as parents, siblings, people living in the shadow of fresh grief and loss, how in the hell are we going to forge a path forward? Where are we even moving towards?

“And how are we going to get there?”

As a fundraising professional, between you and me, how am I supposed to translate “Like I’m supposed to know? You tell me!” into grant-speak? What syntax do I use so that my organization’s funding request isn’t immediately deleted by whichever program officer is lucky enough to read my hilarious cries for help?

With variations of these questions already being posed by funders, nonprofits are trying to come up with reasonable answers (and have been since the pandemic started). The state of the economy is, at best precarious, and with regards to the general mental state of the country, it’s anyone’s guess as to what the future actually holds. In order to meet the unknown challenges of whatever is on the horizon, investment in sound strategies for meeting mission objectives and doing so with sustainably and racial justice at the center, will be critical for the health and well being of organizations and the people that run them.

How do we do this? By improving organizations’ overall capacity.

As an approach to organizational sustainability capacity building, while not particularly new to many of us, when properly leveraged, can make a huge difference in the wellbeing of companies and the people they serve. However our problem-solving and innovation manifests itself, I theorize that redefining what capacity building means and learning to properly utilize it, will result in stronger, more resilient organizations that are liberated and equitable.

Right now, when we think about capacity building frameworks, they usually refer to investments in programmatic expansion (a little bit more money to do way more work), building out strategic frameworks (hiring consultants to tell you stuff you already know), or investing in new systems (upgrading new software and adding more work with little to no compensation for staff already at the breaking point).

Okay, so this example is a bit exaggerated but oftentimes capacity building seeks to grow and expand, and what I am proposing is that we look at capacity building through the lens of transformation. It takes a process from being very transactional to being more relational. Capacity building as an expression of symbiosis and metamorphosis makes room for the much needed growing pains that accompany any type of organizational shift; no matter how small. While you cannot rush your garden to grow, if given the right nutrients, watered accordingly, and offered enough sunlight, with time you’ll have something dazzling.

How do we learn about change on this level? Well, I’m glad you asked. Let me tell you a little bit about some adorable little creatures that are great teachers in the art of transformation.

Part 1: Let Pokémon teach you what true transformation means

Animated gif of Pokemon characters Pikachu and Eevee high fiving

When we talk about capacity building or increasing the capacity of institutions, departments, or individuals, we need to be very clear on what we’re actually discussing. In part, it’s about knowing what our given capacity is and also knowing when to make new additions or infrastructure changes that cause the least amount of suffering. Harm often happens when we begin asking people and systems to do more with less.

My small shop fundraising peeps will recognize this one: Ever been asked to increase the number of grants your company applies for, while also maintaining a growing portfolio of individual donors, while simultaneously stewarding your board of directors to make their end-of-year gifts?

Or how about this one:

You actually end the fiscal year on a high note. Your stewardship and cultivation work paid off and that lovely couple — let’s call them the Smiths — they actually increased their giving. Going from a $2,000 annual fund gift to $5,000! In your follow-up call, Mrs. Smith tells you that they just retired and sold their small chain of coffee shops and have decided they could increase their giving and plan to list your organization in their estate. You have been very good at our job.

OMG, you rock star!

When your Board gets wind of this, they are ecstatic. They also ask for an increase in the number of planned gifts you bring in next year. However, when you eagerly put together a proposal for hiring a planned giving officer, you are somewhat stunned when the request is denied.

Does that ring any bells?

You can make it work for a while, but everyone and everything has their breaking point. Knowing where that breaking point is — understanding what it takes to initiate a transformation and then figuring out what we do after that metamorphosis has occurred — will be important to how we recover from the pandemic.

To start, let’s get on the same page about what is meant when we use the term capacity. The dictionary definition states that it’s a noun that can mean:

1. The maximum amount that something can contain.
Similar words: volume, size, extent, range, scope, etc.

2. The amount that something can produce.
Similar words: ability, power, potential, competency, etc.

3. A specified role or position.
Similar words: position, post, job, office, role, function, etc.

That means that when we discuss capacity, we are talking about the container of a thing rather than the thing itself. Putting another way, capacity is not our mission but the people, systems, capital, and other infrastructure needed to deliver on the mission.

At one level, capacity-building is about maximizing the space of the container, knowing what you can do to really use the current container to its fullest. In our nonprofit world, that may look like hiring a part-time planned giving officer, or deeply supporting programmatic initiatives, reassessing organizational processes, and ensuring there is adequate space and technology to execute given mission objectives.

That said, organizations can make all those investments and still need to make room for a bigger shift. This is where Charmander comes to the rescue!

If capacity, as its definition indicates, is about the container, the finiteness of a given thing — its shape, size, volume, or role — then when we have conversations about increasing organizational capacity (chang the container), we need to also talk about what is required to level up the existing container.

To start to understand this process of transformation, let us turn to one of our greatest teachers: Pokémon.

If you are old enough that you missed the phenomenon that was Pokémon, I can only express a deep sadness for your childhood. Here are the basics:

  • Pokémon is short for Pocket Monster.
  • The people who take care of and battle alongside Pokemon are called Trainers.
  • Most Pokémon are associated with an element (air, earth, fire, water).
  • Your ultimate goal as a Trainer is to become a Pokémon Master.

One of the ways you become a Pokémon Master is to win as many battles as possible and have as many strong Pokémon as you can.

How do you get strong Pokémon? You evolve them of course!

The transition a Pokémon takes from one form to another can either happen naturally or it can be aided by an external force called a Thunderstone.

So what the hell does this have to do with nonprofit capacity building?

If capacity is a nonprofit’s finite container and increasing the container is necessary, I would offer that to do this in a holistic way, in a way that centers sustainability and abundance, that honors the metamorphosis that is required, we must acknowledge, accept, and even nurture that change — the same way Pokémon Trainers understand that if their current Pokémon are to get stronger, they must train them to the fullest extent in their current form while also working to initiate their evolution.

Here’s the big question for nonprofits: What’s it going to take for you to level up? Do you need a Thunderstone — an external trigger (think funding, upgrading your CRM, new staff) or will leveling up actually happen as a result of internal shifts (i.e., doing away with old processes, promoting junior staff, reshaping the budget so you can bring on new team members, allowing time to work its magic)?

Ask yourself, what would a Pokémon Master do?

(BTW, I have both a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree. I just feel the need to let you know, just in case you currently have doubts about the validity of my theory.)

In the world of Pokémon, it is an accepted norm that evolution and literal change in shape, form, and ability is needed in order to meet new demands. Why, then, is it so difficult for us to see this same need in nonprofit organizations? Yes, you can unearth your limits and reach the edges of your current capacity, but if after that, there is still more to be done, then you have to make a change — completely transform and shed the old way of being so that you can make room for the new ways that will be part of your flourishing.

Part 2: How to level up

Remember how Trainers will work with their Pokémon so that they can get stronger? The wisdom in that is that when we become the best at our current level, we are better positioned, when and if it’s needed, to take the next big leap and evolve so that we can be literally stronger.

When this happens and the evolution is smooth, life is great! But other times, it doesn’t work out so well. What then? Let’s take a look and see what a Pokemon Trainer might do.

Scenario 1: Your Pokémon is pretty awesome as-is, so you feel comfortable sticking with the status quo and reluctant to make any changes.

Animated gif of Pokemon characters Pikachu and Togepi sleeping and snoring

I mean have you seen what Pikachu can do with that tail? As a Trainer you don’t see the need to do much outside of regular battles and are happy to accept any wins, no matter the cost. Your record is spotty, but your worldview is such that, if you just compete in more battles then eventually the math will be in your favor, and you’re bound to win something. Sure, it will be at the expense of poor, exhausted Pikachus, who you are charged with taking care of — but doing anything else feels like so much effort!

You are barely using your container and honestly, you’re okay with bare minimum because it works.

Scenario 2: You understand that your Pokémon need you as much as you need them, so you focus on training them and taking care of them so that they are ready all the time.

Animated gif of Pokemon characters Charizard and Pikachu shooting fire and lightning at eachother

And together, you learn what you’re both capable of and you actually do pretty darn good from battle to battle. You have a collection of strong awesome Pokémon that you push to their very limits each and every time.

However, no matter how hard you strive for the ultimate title of Pokémon Master — it’s always out of reach. You’re still a badass who keeps working hard, but you wonder if there’s a different way …

So, of these two, which scenario resonates more with you, young Trainer?

For many nonprofits, scenario 1 probably sounds very familiar.

How often are we told to ‘win more’ without anything changing? Everyone knows there’s a different way, a way that will yield more battle victories, but for whatever reason, the gods of organizational red tape never seem to heed your prayers.

Scenario 2 is leagues above the first option. In that setup, you are the master of knowing your team’s strengths and capitalizing on them. You understand what it is you are working with and how to get the most out of your given resources.

The shape of your container is fully known and you use it well.

But what about the third option?

Scenario 3: You train, you rest, you use those Thunderstones for the Pokémon that make sense, you continue to refine the conditions for the ones that need more time, and you evolve!

Animated gif of Pokemon character Charmander evolving into Charmeleon

Scenario 3 looks very similar to scenario 2. The only [major] difference is that you actually trigger an evolution and move to the next level. This option is what it actually means to increase capacity in a way that causes the least amount of harm to the people and systems inside the company.

While many of us would readily see the first scenario as untenable and possibly amoral, nonprofits stay stuck there for years. While we often can see the missed opportunities in the daily operations from underutilization of current capacity, we also feel limited in our ability to make change.

The second scenario is a much better place to be —

— but doesn’t the third option sound even better?

So why oh why do our organizations settle for second best? Why don’t we make room for change?

Evolution is hard work, and by George is it taxing!

Animated gif of Star Wars character Kylo Ren saying I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have  the strength to do it.

I can offer a few reasons. The biggest one of which is that maximizing what you already have, pushing to the very limits of what you are capable of and able to do is actually a good business practice.

It’s called capacity utilization, and it’s something that for-profit entities and entrepreneurs understand quite thoroughly. Proper capacity utilization requires a deep understanding of your current organizational capacity. After all, even if you could evolve that adorable little Squirtle to a Wartortle, what the hell is the point if you never bothered to improve its water gun attack?

We have to know what our limits are before we can test (or add to) them.

I wager that many nonprofits are either unaware of what their true capacity is or are misusing it. It’s evidenced in the way junior or entry level staff members are underutilized. It shows up in the preservation of convoluted processes. My favorite indicator for underutilization within a nonprofit comes in the form of an age old phrase: “That’s the way we’ve always done it.”

But what happens when an organization actually has maximized their potential and understands what their capacity is? The burden to do more is still there. What then?

That’s when we have to actually take on the responsibility of evolution. Not just making it happen but supporting the staff, investing in the required systems, and committing to the time needed to maintain this change.

Metaphors and memes aside, what frightens me more about coming back from a pandemic is not the act of rebuilding. We all are going to have to come to terms with the fact that our world has changed. There is no going back, and as I have said before, I don’t want to go back to the way things were.

No, what scares me is the possibility that, in our effort to move towards the new horizon of life after the pandemic, we will become like the Pokémon Trainer in the first scenario. We will demand more of our people and systems with complete disregard to the very real need for transformation — and not just transforming but also maintaining whatever we evolve into for the longevity of the communities we serve. Infusing nonprofits with cash or throwing more people at a problem make no sense if we are not fully invested in understanding the state of things as they are.

Here are a few questions to consider when thinking about how to understand what it will take to maximize current capacity while, hopefully, moving towards needed additions that will expand, improve, or otherwise increase your future capacity:

  1. Why are we making an alteration to our current capacity? How will this change serve us?
  2. Are we fully aware of the current dimensions of our existing capacity?
    1. Shape
    2. Scope
    3. Volume
    4. Density
  3. What are the areas that comprise our existing capacity? What is missing?
    1. Human
    2. Technological
    3. Financial
    4. Social
    5. Physical/Structural
    6. Moral
  4. If we were to make additions, how does the long-term support of that addition show up in the budget?
  5. How will this alteration or increase in our capacity interact with our values?
  6. Have we filtered this addition through our internal framework for antiracist practices?
  7. Have we gotten an intergenerational and/or intersectional perspective during the decision-making process?
  8. If we don’t make this change, what effects would it have on the people and systems today? What effects will it have in five, ten, fifteen years?

There are plenty of questions you can pose to help you think through how you might change your existing organization (or individual) capacity. Those are just a few to help get you started. Whatever change is made, please do so mindfully and with those most impacted by the shifts held at the center. You may not land on the perfect solution, but you’ll be closer than where you started.

Nina Yarbrough

Nina Yarbrough

Nina Yarbrough (she/her) has a background in theatre performance, spoken word, and playwriting. She has had a multi-faceted career, which has spanned 14 years both in the arts and the broader nonprofit sector. An Ohio transplant, Nina moved to Seattle in 2014 and obtained her MFA in Arts Leadership from Seattle University two years later. She began her work in fundraising as a member of Seattle Opera’s capital campaign team and currently works for The Central District Forum for Arts & Ideas as the Business Development Manager. A theatre kid at heart, Nina is an avid crafter, owning more books than she’ll ever have time to actually read, and trolls her roommate at least three times a day. This year, she hopes to publish her first collection of poetry, and you can learn more about her artwork by visiting her very cool website, ninayarbrough.com(Photo cred: Jonathan Vanderweit)

Take a lesson from Legos: Donor-centric fundraising doesn’t have to be in opposition to community-centric fundraising

By Nate Levin-Aspenson, writer and grants manager

When I was a kid, my mom (shoutout to my mom), found this catalog in the back of a Lego instruction booklet that let us call the Lego company and order little packages of specific Lego pieces.

This was a game-changer in our house.

Because whenever we got that big blue Lego bucket out, we were always on the hunt for those little fiddly pieces that were so hard to find. Joints. Hinges. Those little toggles that make the Lego people look like they’re using a joystick. All of them worth their weight in gold if you wanted to build a cool robot or a spaceship with a working hatch (which, as it happens, I often did).

One particularly fortunate Christmas, I was gifted with the set of all sets to delight the detail-obsessed child: Darth Maul’s Sith Infiltrator from “Star Wars: Episode I — The Phantom Menace.”

This thing had it all — adjustable wings? Check. Hatches? Check. A little scooter that pops out for him to ride around on? Oh yeah, that’s a check.

But enchanted as I was by the clever detailing on this Lego recreation of Mr. Maul’s personal chariot, it wasn’t long before I looked at those adjustable wings with greedy eyes.

After all, every collection of parts shares the same destiny.

I. Horse manure and other problems

Not to switch gears here, but did you know there was a time when London was on track to be completely buried in horse manure? New York City, too. In 1894, one article estimated that within 50 years, the city would be buried under nine feet of dung. It was such a huge problem that it compelled all of the foremost urban planners in the world to come together for the very first global urban planning conference in 1898.

People thought it could be the end of living in cities.

Which all seems a little bit silly now because, well, it wasn’t. All of those roads were repurposed for cars and motor vehicles, and by 1914, that crisis had been relegated to the history shelf.

Of course, cars come with their own problems. Here in the U.S., our transportation systems are overwhelmingly built around cars. Our highways and interstates produce gridlock, collisions, and deaths on a daily basis. In 2016, 37,461people were killed in motor vehicle crashes, an average of 102 deaths per day.

And then there’s the small matter of car and truck emissions making up one-fifth of U.S. carbon emissions, hastening climate change and the demise of the human race.

But hey, at least we aren’t buried in manure.

II. Our friend, the wheel

Whatever — this isn’t an essay about cars. It’s an essay about Legos nonprofits! This should be obvious by now.

We work in a sector that is defined by its structures. The structure of board governance. The structure of tax-exemptions. Heck, the only reason our job exists is because the structure of liberal (definition 2.b.) capitalism assumes a large class of people who do not have everything they need.

The evaluation of each piece gets more complex as the structures they are a part of grow in complexity.

Those structures are made up of pieces — the volunteerism of the board, the indirect public support of tax designations, the individual needs left unmet by government and business and community. Each piece has a relationship to the other pieces that, interconnected, make up the structure. Each piece has effects that they produce independently and effects they produce within the structure.

Crucially, the two are not always the same.

Take our good friend, the wheel. Along with its best friend and partner, the axle, they’re probably the most important simple machine in the world. (Don’t try me, pulley stans.)

On their own, the wheel and axle are incredible force amplifiers. They’ve probably saved an incalculable amount of energy over the course of human history. Hand-carts? Carriages? Little red wagons that children can use to pull slightly smaller children?

Great stuff. We love it.

Well, then let’s add an internal combustion engine to the mix. With that, our wheel and axle can take us much further much faster. Pretty cool so far. Even though the whole affair is very loud and the exhaust smells bad and it’s more dangerous — it’s probably a net gain so far. Right?

Now, it’s 100 years later. Inflation and traffic congestion have killed the electric streetcar. Now we’re grappling with all of the economic and environmental consequences of a world that runs on cars.

The evaluation of each piece gets more complex as the structures they are a part of grow in complexity.

Is the wheel bad? Probably not.

Are cars bad? Sort of? They have a lot of utility, but also a lot of drawbacks.

Are transport systems based on small motorized vehicles bad? Well.

III. My favorite track is ‘Soliciting Detailed Feedback’ — it slaps

So what happens when we apply this lens to nonprofits and fundraising?

Take the board structure (please!)

The individual units that make up a board are a relationship between an organization and a community member who cares about the mission who helps guide and govern the organization.

Sounds fine so far.

But what happens when we bundle 6-20 of those relationships into a group and ask them to do all of the high-level decision-making and governance, with little to no preparation or experience, for an organization?

What happens when those relationships are tangled up in white supremacy and its culture?

The simple machine — a stakeholder offering guidance and expertise — starts to produce problems as part of a more complex system. We’ve all seen boards made up of people, who all showed up for the right reasons to do the right thing, still struggle and fail, all the while creating additional work for staff members. And those are the good ones.

Our current model of board governance is inefficient, ineffective, and calcifies organizational power in the hands of mostly white, mostly wealthy people.

At the same time, there are elements worth salvaging. Organizations will probably always need stakeholder guidance in the same way vehicles will probably continue to need wheels.

Similarly, there are simple machines within fundraising and donor-centered practices that work pretty dang well.

Centering relationships between organizations and donors is still a heck of a lot better than centering transactions between organizations and donors. Joy is still a stronger and more enjoyable motivator than guilt or obligation.

And that’s before we get to club bangers like the tested appeal letter.

But how can we get any of those good elements out when they are currently trapped inside huge, complicated, and harmful structures?

How, indeed.

IV. In which I finally put feudalism in its place

It may be tempting to steer the current structures as they now exist towards better ends. I spent most of my life believing in the process of improving systems incrementally, so I understand the impulse. The problem, again, is that white supremacy is baked into these systems.

I grew up in the United States in a state called North Carolina, which out of all the Carolinas is certainly the best one. I didn’t find out until much later (on this cool website) that I grew up on the land of the Shakori and Lumbee peoples.

The United States is, among other things, a liberal democracy, part of a movement of liberal democracies that broke from the power of European monarchies during the century when it was very fashionable to do so. This era marked the end of feudalism, which was a pretty good development, all told.

Hot take: Feudalism was bad.

And hey, there is some good stuff in this liberal democracy. The idea that all people are created equal was very radical (among Europeans) at the time, and the concept of inalienable rights that could not be infringed upon by the state was a marked improvement over the previous concept where they absolutely could be.

A government that derives its power from the consent of the governed? Very chill.

Unfortunately, the signing founders were kidding about basically all of the values they claimed to hold — unless you, like them, held a very specific and alarmingly racist definition of what a ‘person’ is.

The United States was born as a slaveholding republic built on stolen native land, and it has never known a day since when people were not kidnapped and held in slavery within its borders.

I bring this up not because I’m a huge bringdown and killjoy (although I am), but because it is relevant to the topic at hand.

Here in the U.S., as in many parts of the world, white supremacy is built into the culture and structures around us so deeply that we literally cannot see it unless we know how to look. That includes the structures of nonprofits and fundraising.

It may be tempting to steer the current structures as they now exist towards better ends. I spent most of my life believing in the process of improving systems incrementally, so I understand the impulse. The problem, again, is that white supremacy is baked into these systems.

I’ve personally tried to use whiteness as a tool to undermine whiteness before and, trust me, it doesn’t work.

I remember with grim clarity the moment when I caught myself enjoying the act of wielding my privilege for just causes. In that moment of clarity, I could feel the immense machinery of white supremacy moving around me, and I had let myself be a simple machine within it. I let my guard down, and it swallowed me up again. As it is always waiting to do.

A lever cannot move itself. Some parts simply have to be torn out.

No easy task, considering this part is connected to all the other ones.

In conclusion: the big blue bucket

The harm that these pieces incur as part of larger structures has to be addressed. We owe it to our communities, and to our donors, to take the bad pieces out and put the good pieces back together.

It is a tragedy of every movement that the next struggle will begin before the work of the current struggle is finished.

Donor-centered fundraising (among other things) may feel unfinished, like it only needs more time in order to fully realize its vision. After all, most organizations have failed to fully implement it. We don’t live in the world of donor-centrism the way we live in the world of liberal democracy and cars. But we don’t want to get too caught up shoveling manure off the sidewalk that a climate crisis of our own sneaks up on us.

Even the community-centric fundraising movement will not be in the vanguard forever. We will always discover new ways to do our work better, and the future will demand even more radical change from our sector and the people within it.

But will that mean that racial equity and social justice will not continue to be important? Does that mean commitment to economic justice or fostering a sense of belonging will be discarded?

Of course not.

Just like the advances of the community-centric model do not mean leaving behind the utility of testing, mutual respect and partnership with donors, the joy of giving, or other advances made by donor-centric fundraising.

There are good pieces in there. Cool hinges and joints. The wheel is in there! (With its best friend, the axle)

But there is a highway system in there as well.

The harm that these pieces incur as part of larger structures has to be addressed. We owe it to our communities, and to our donors, to take the bad pieces out and put the good pieces back together.

Which I think will be a lot of fun.

The best part of every Lego set, even one as meticulously designed as Darth Maul’s Sith Infiltrator from “Star Wars Episode I — The Phantom Menace,” was taking them apart.

Eventually, every piece went back into the big blue bucket.

We would upend that bucket onto the floor and my eyes would widen as I hunted for the joints and hinges among the multicolored bricks, already thinking of ways to combine the best ideas from the instructions with all the new ideas racing through my head.

Y’all, I don’t know if the pieces of all these broken systems can be rebuilt into something good.

But the only way to find out is to take them apart — and try again.

Nate Levin-Aspenson

Nate Levin-Aspenson

Nate Levin-Aspenson (he/him) is a writer and fundraiser based in Rhode Island. Born and raised in Durham, NC, he has since left the South, aking the good word of White Lily flour with him.  He currently serves as the Lead Grants and Foundations Relations Manager at Newport Mental HealthHe needs to renew his membership with the Association of Fundraising Professionals, Rhode Island Chapter, but has the tab open and is definitely going to do it next week. You can get in touch with him by email and you can often find him staring into the void on Twitter.

“Institutionalized,” a spoken word performance

By Carlos García León, Queer, non-binary, Mexican-Statesian, and fundraiser

“Institutionalized”

The art that I love
Erases me.

The art that I love
Does not love me back
But it certainly loves:

My money/My youth
The color of my skin/My queerness

It does not love my identity;
The ties to the communities that will
Not feed its fire belly
Called, its expenses.

None of which are
For me.

The art believes itself to be
On a higher
level.

That it is generous for existing
Benevolent for allowing me to be a part of it.

It certainly does not like it when
I want the color of my skin

On stage/On staff/On audiences.

It will fake smile seeing me, give me a helping hand
Telling me that they “can’t wait for me to come back
As they make the art form harder for me to access.

They speak of community engagement/outreach/education
Make a lobby for people like me
Make events set just for people like me.

They also made a VIP lounge in that lobby.
Tell us that those seats/that space are only bought
By contributing at a level that is too fucking high.

The art that I love
Are theatres/museums/orchestras/ballets/operas
Whatever floats your boat.
They know they are sinking right now,

Without us they are diminishing.
Their regulars dying of old age
Their potentials not interested in the
Same Mozart/Puccini/Stravinsky/other dead white guy
That has been played for centuries.

When then do hire one of us, they say
We’ve fixed it. This diverse problem
We’ve done it
And then, this miraculous thing happens…
Nothing.

Just a lot of weight on one brown person
To represent more than he can handle –
Oh that’s right they hired a man –
More than he knows, more than he can represent.

I want the art that I love
To listen to me
To have people like me on stage
To hire people like me.

This doesn’t need to be poetical or political but,
I want the art that I love
To love me
To love people beyond me
More than my money
More than my youth
More than my queerness
More than the color of my skin
To. Love. Me.
The way I used to love them.

 

Artist statement

This piece was written as a response to feeling that, most of my life in the arts, I’ve been made to feel that arts organizations and their products were not made for me and that it was an honor, a luxury, to even experience them. As a queer Mexican-Statesian who earned a Bachelor of Music, a Master of Arts in Arts Administration, and who now works in fundraising for an opera company, it seemed that no matter what art form I consumed or participated in, there was always this weird dichotomy that they wanted me because of the fact that I was queer, and/or brown, and/or young — but then they never made the effort to continue that relationship beyond that first visit or even because of that.

I titled this piece “Institutionalized” because that feeling of being wanted (which really was so they could feel good about themselves) was so ingrained throughout my education and experiences that when organizations finally began talking and somewhat taking seriously the discussion of diversity and inclusion (and not really equity and justice yet), it felt off-putting and disingenuous.

This is on top of the continuing problem of representation that they keep wanting and asking for more of but never truly doing much to grow it in many parts of an organization.

In essence, this piece is a retaliation to the many ways arts organizations keep not putting the money and true effort behind their solidarity and DEI statements.

Carlos García León

Carlos García León

Carlos “El Principito” García León (he/they) is a queer, non-binary, Latine, Mexican-Statesian spoken word artist, and also currently the Individual Giving Manager for Cincinnati Opera. Carlos’s written work has been published nationally through Poetry Spoken Here and in multiple publications of the LA Zine, Young Ignorantes. Their work, both in the arts and through writing, is driven by a fight for cultural equity, decolonizing the arts, and social justice. Outside of working and writing, Carlos likes to stream TV and movies, read a good book, learn German, take naps under their weighted blanket, drink milkshakes, and look for the next poncho to add to their collection. They can be reached via email or on Instagram, Twitter, and other social media platforms @cgarcia_leon.

The Ethical Rainmaker: Spilling the Tea on UK Fundraising with Fixing Fundraising’s Andy & Tom

By Michelle Shireen Muri, Freedom Conspiracy Principal and CCF co-chair

Episode Summary

The UK has had a foundational influence in building the problematic philanthropic and nonprofit sectors (Third Sector) in the US and other countries, which is why we are so happy to go straight to the source! Host Michelle Muri talks with Andy King and Tom DeFraine of UK podcast Fixing Fundraising! From topics like Captain Tom and the injustice of fundraising for government programs that should be funded by taxation, Brexit, the political nature of any nonprofit, dog whistles, the role of patronage in the UK, Prince Andrew’s fall from patronage, Prince Williams, a brief word about drones and fireworks, to the terrible practices the UK is adopting from the US…we promise you’ll chuckle or even laugh out loud! Yes, even in a pandemic.

Find episode notes and the podcast transcript here.

About the Ethical Rainmaker podcast

In the United States alone, philanthropy is a $427 million dollar industry, of which 68% comes from individual donors. Yet the practices, theories, and foundation of modern philanthropy and fundraising often ignore the ways in which the industry perpetuates harm.

The Ethical Rainmaker, hosted by Michelle Shireen Muri, is a podcast that hosts authentic conversations grappling with the questions that we don’t often ask in the nonprofit world. Join us as we explore some of the practices that undermine our missions and navigate the way forward with today’s resisters, reimaginers, and the re-creators of the third sector. It’s time to think differently.

Michelle Shireen Muri

Michelle Shireen Muri

Michelle Shireen Muri (she/her) is the co-chair for Community-Centric Fundraising and the host of the new podcast, The Ethical Rainmaker. She is the founder of Freedom Conspiracy, a small collective of fundraising consultants focused on bringing values-aligned practices to clients in the nonprofit and philanthropy spaces. She can be reached at @freedomconspiracy on Instagram.

6 steps to making metrics an ally of your diversity plan

By Christine Bariahtaris, consulting prospect researcher and writer

Hey, you’re still here! Usually, I say “metrics” and the room clears out. We’re already off to a great start.

It’s a ton of work. But it’s work spread over years that will have a massive return on investment, if you take it seriously. There is no downside whatsoever to sincerely trying to change in a way that invites and welcomes more people to your mission.

After my previous article was published in December, about common pitfalls to avoid when implementing a diversity plan, I started to get questions about metrics. Specifically: How do we design metrics that are actually meaningful to diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) plans? The answer is too long and complicated for the comments section, so here we are.

Let’s admit that we’re all a little intimidated. Generally, we’re not a field full of statisticians. The good news is that we don’t need to be. Full disclosure: I was an English major and then I went to library school. If you had told me a decade ago that I would describe statistical modeling as “fun,” I would have laughed in your face. But the beauty of the nonprofit sector is that we’re great at learning on the job and our colleagues are naturally generous at sharing their skills. Everything I know about data evaluation I learned from other nonprofit professionals through webinars, crash courses, and forums. We’re also a sector that is experienced at adapting practices from other industries. If you need help, it’s out there.

So as you read the rest of this (you’re going to, right?), know that you and your staff have the ability to solve these challenges — and that you’ll absolutely need to if you want to make a serious change at your organization.

A few things to know

In an ideal world, you’d do some research and pull up examples of good measurements done by other nonprofit organizations to see what fits for your own. But I have some bad news: To know if data is meaningful, you’d have to collect it over a few years. We’ve been so abysmally slow at actually implementing DEI plans that no one is far enough along in the work to share meaningful results. So we’re going to have to look elsewhere and adapt.

The greatest amount of guidance comes from the corporate sphere, specifically from industries like tech that have had very public issues regarding diversity and inclusion. Most corporate DEI plans are focused on the internal workforce. While there is far less guidance on what could be called “customer DEI” in marketing and communications strategies, which is the primary concern of this article — the information is still out there.

My suggestions are based on general practices I found in my research that were recommended by multiple sources such as independent consultants, major corporations, and academic institutions, as well as my personal experience in fundraising.

Here’s your extremely-doable to-do list:

1. Understand your community

Sounds obvious, I know. Understanding our communities is the bedrock of nonprofit work. But how well do you really know the broad demographics of your region of impact?

Ideally, the workforce and donor pool for a nonprofit should reflect the reality of the community it serves and solicits for funding by race, gender, age, and economic ability (for starters). It’s the same principle as saying U.S. board rooms should be 50% women to reflect the actual gender make-up of the country. Demographic data is a Google-search away. You need to know the lay of the land to be able to set any realistic goals.

2. Review your data practices

Collecting good metrics requires consistent data management, so have an honest review of how your organization is currently performing. What information are you currently collecting? Are you recording it consistently? If not, where is the chain of information disconnecting? Do you need to expand or reduce your data collection?

And most importantly: Who owns this process? DEI work as a whole needs to reach every team in an organization, but the buck has to stop somewhere with data collection. Consistency is key. Empower a staff member (such as a VP of operations or a database manager) to be able to hold others accountable to your data policies. And be diligent about it! There is no truer adage in my career than “garbage in, garbage out,”

3. Commit to transparency

Set public goals from the outset. Public goals are a huge motivator in every industry because accountability is unavoidable. It is very telling when an organization talks about committing to diversity and inclusion and then refuses to disclose the goals they are working towards.

For an example of what not to do, look towards the tech industry, which has only broadly begun setting public DEI goals in the wake of the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests, despite having been under public scrutiny to diversify since at least 2014. In those six years, there was little to no significant change at any major tech company.

And ‘public’ does not equal ‘unrealistic.’ Don’t focus on how impressive your goals will sound in a press release. Setting and consistently meeting more modest goals is far more meaningful than talking big and then failing to deliver on a few radical promises.

4. Invest in qualitative metrics

I know the idea of ‘metrics’ immediately conjures the image of endless numbers, but qualitative measures will be vital to tailoring your DEI work to your specific organization. Diversity and inclusion work is highly subjective. Every organization will have individual, unique needs.

Nonprofits need to take a page out of the marketing playbook and directly solicit feedback from donors. A well-designed survey can be a powerful source of information on how your DEI plan is going. Qualitative data is, admittedly, trickier to collect and parse than straight numbers. It’s difficult to give general guidance on what to ask for, since it will depend on your organization’s needs. It’s worth consulting an experienced survey designer if you can, but there is also plenty of guidance online. And there’s no need to reinvent the wheel — existing survey apps will serve perfectly well for data collection.

This is likely the most valuable type of information you can collect. We often say that we’re in the business of feelings, so respect those feelings as guidance.

5. Look at ‘how many,’ not ‘how much’

In terms of quantitative metrics, I can recommend two to focus on at the start: acquisition and retention of non-white donors. Acquisition will show whether you’re garnering positive attention, and retention will show if your efforts are convincing over time.

Ignore giving levels in the early phases of your plan. The truth is, quantitative metrics can often be a trap. It’s the dirty secret of data analysis — the fact that you can twist data to say whatever you want it to say. Fundraising holds too many negative economic stereotypes about non-white communities — that’s why we’re here. Resist the urge to segment by giving level for the first year or two, and just focus on whether you’ve adjusted your messaging and image in a way that’s demonstrating positive community attention.

Oh, and please, please do not use quotas. First and foremost, they’re gross and tokenizing. Additionally, quota goals are usually either lazy or unattainable, both of which kill momentum. We can be better than quotas.

6. Beware of vanity metrics

Let’s be honest with ourselves: Fundraisers are obsessed with what my sixth-grade English teacher called “warm fuzzies,” that emotional high that happens when you give and receive positivity.

You’re not going to have many wins in the early stages of tracking DEI metrics. You just won’t. You will need to get comfortable with the fact that you are likely going to get a ton of data that reflects poorly on your organization. You have to commit to addressing it, not hiding it.

Resist the urge to adjust or pad your metrics to soften the blow after the results are in. This happens so often that there’s a name for this practice: vanity metrics.

For example: Engineering is a field that has been under pressure to be more gender-inclusive in its hiring practices for technical roles. Most of these firms are slow to change. To save face publicly, some engineering firms have reported administrative assistants, who are usually women, as part of their engineering staff. They may technically be part of the department, but these firms know that the metrics are meant to reflect staff hired to work as engineers because that is where the inclusion problem lies.

I feel like people often believe metrics are totally objective, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your organization — and every other organization — always ends up picking and choosing what is deemed important enough to measure and how it is reported. It’s up to us to keep our egos in check and act with integrity — because at the end of the day, vanity metrics is just a fancy term for lying.

 

 

If this all sounds like a lot of work, it’s because, well … it is. It’s a ton of work.

But it’s work spread over years that will have a massive return on investment, if you take it seriously. There is no downside whatsoever to sincerely trying to change in a way that invites and welcomes more people to your mission. I love working in the nonprofit sector because it’s full of smart and empathetic people — and that also doesn’t exempt us from providing proof of our actions. No one should take our word that we’re trying to change just because our missions are well-intentioned. Other industries are being held accountable — we should do ourselves the service of following suit.

You can do this. Trust me.

Christine Bariahtaris

Christine Bariahtaris

Christine Bariahtaris (she/her) is a consulting prospect researcher and writer in West Hartford, Connecticut. She has a special interest in helping small nonprofits access research resources and develop good data practices. In her free time, she is an avid gamer and knitter. She writes about her amateur genealogy work and family history at www.heartscrapsblog.com. Pictures of her very cute dog (and sometimes food) can be found on Instagram at @cbariahtaris. She’s still learning to Twitter at @CEBariWrites.