After a rough year in the nonprofit job market, I’m finally starting to see full-time research positions popping up regularly. That’s exciting, because I do miss working for an organization. In the ‘before times,’ I would have felt like I knew exactly the right approach to applying and interviewing. But in the before times, I didn’t know that I have an attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). And now that I do know, I’m thinking about our working world very differently.
Have you ever wondered what it is that makes art so powerful?
There’s a strange alchemy that takes place whenever the impact of a singer’s vibrato or the drama of a poet’s syntax is made on the listener. One obvious part of this relationship is the artist’s talent. The other part is equally important, but often overlooked: the listener themselves.
You don’t have to hold a C-level title to be a leader. You already are one — especially if you are chasing ridiculously long to-do lists, especially if your day is littered with activities ranging from people management to overseeing operations to technology wrangling to sitting in on check-ins and other meetings — especially when you’re doing all of this so that your project or program stays on course.
But why is shifting your mindset — to acknowledge and embrace yourself as a leader — so hard to do?
I’ve been working in the nonprofit sector for over ten years. I’ve been a volunteer, an intern, and a staff member.
And recently, I quit.
I’ve quit before, but this time I really think I’m done. I burned out, again, and some truths I’d been running from caught up with me.
Encouraging equal opportunity to the salary negotiation process doesn’t ensure equal outcomes — it only further legitimizes a system that only continues to perpetuate sexism, racism, ableism, and many other -isms. The only way to ensure pay equity is to change the system.
So how can organizations and the sector as a whole enact actual, palpable changes in their structures and systems to advance pay equity? I have some suggestions.
How do you feel about the power of just two vaccine shots, taking you back to normal? (Though I understand ‘normal’ can mean different things to different people.) Do you think we should use those two doses as a reason to forever leave the pandemic chapter to the history books — something we have wanted to do ever since all this started?
I’m not asking you these questions because I’m an anti-vaxxer (in fact, I am due for the second dose soon.). I am raising these questions because I believe that, as an Indian immigrant in North America, I have the power and privilege to observe two worlds — India and North America. And these two worlds are on two opposite sides of a spectrum, one made up of a catalogue of pandemic-related events from the last 16 months in history. While North America is ready to plan the post-pandemic world, India is preparing to survive a third wave of COVID.
I believe that the future of philanthropy relies on taking a community-centric approach. This means placing the community the nonprofit is serving at the center. It also means acknowledging philanthropy’s dark past and looking towards the future with a social and racial justice lens. It is the only way we can begin to collectively heal and bring equity to our communities. A key principle of community-centric philanthropy is valuing everything people can bring to the table besides money. This can take place in the form of time, items, talent or connections. Latinx people deserve a place in philanthropy because our community values are rooted in giving, especially the kind of giving that isn’t monetary.
I am one of those fundraisers who “fell into fundraising” instead of seeking out this job in a more traditional way.
I was the first person to attend college in my family. I went to college at an elite institution in New York City with the goal of supporting myself through college without any family or external financial support (aside from need-based financial aid and scholarships). I worked six jobs to support myself through college, including a job as an administrative assistant (functionally a receptionist) at a Jewish student center on campus.
I don’t have to tell you that our current system of grant funding is broken. Instead, let me share how two grantseeking experiences coming from different sides of inequity led me to where I am today — leading a software startup and building tools that make grantseeking more efficient and equitable for everyone.
What does it look like when we stop waiting for those in power to ‘save’ us, and start working collectively to keep each other safe?
As of December 2020, Americans for the Arts reported that 60% of white creative workers and 69% of Black, Indigenous, Arab, Asian, Hispanic, Latinx, Middle Eastern, and Pacific Islander creative workers in the United States had become unemployed. The numbers are even higher in New York where I live. The total revenue loss for creative workers in 2020 was an estimated $77.2 billion, with an average of $15,140 per person — and 55% of creative workers do not have any savings.
Cute commitments wrapped in bows ain’t cutting it. The thing that we, as Black people traumatized by shallow promises of systemic change, feared happened.
It turned out that the bold statements over the past year from organizations promising to become antiracist and promising to address white supremacy were just fleeting campaign slogans aimed at not looking like the bad guy.
At least, this has been true with my experience in the philanthropic space.