As I write this essay, I’m thinking about Shanice*, a Black woman who joined my course at Cal State University East Bay several years ago.
On the last day of class, Shanice handed me a note. The note said, “I didn’t feel encouraged in this class.”
My first reaction was a defensive one. What is she talking about! I thought to myself. I didn’t intentionally treat Shanice differently than any other student.
That note stung. I put it away for a time and held onto my defensiveness.
But eventually, I picked it up again, looked at it, and thought to myself, what is the truth that this note is holding?
After 2020’s wake-up call for everyone to be better at embracing diversity and social equity, has philanthropy finally learned to make this a priority in every area of our work?
“…it’s really hard to promote the history of Black people and not address the inequities being experienced by Black people…it just felt disingenuous to not find a way to bring these things together.” Nneka Allen joins Michelle, to talk about her essay in the newly released book Collecting Courage for which she is co-author and co-editor. In this episode, Nneka shares the deep and meaningful work of saving one of the Underground Railroad sites – the Nazary AME Church (part of the Amherstburg Freedom Museum) learning her ancestors were leaders in that movement, and the failure of a Board of Directors, to center the current-day struggles of their community. We talk about aligning ourselves with the demands of love, forgiveness, the power of storytelling, and attachment styles! 
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. 
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 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. 
Hey, you’re still here! Usually, I say “metrics” and the room clears out. We’re already off to a great start.
Despite the never-ending deadlines and the new and glorious challenges of adult life, Gen Z are some of the most political and active members of our society. The police brutality that resulted in the death of George Floyd sparked mass protests across the world for the Black Lives Matter movement with Gen Z at the forefront. Similarly, around a month ago, university students across the UK took to the streets demanding for improved student well-being. 
I used to wear the title of ‘working professional’ with pride.
As a development director who loathes capitalism, I often feel very conflicted about my job. When I was young, I had big visions of making a positive impact on the communities I loved, and they certainly didn’t include asking those who hoard wealth to give back (what is often) an insignificant amount to marginalized communities in exchange for a tax deduction and a sense of superiority and white saviorism. 
In the throes of the holiday season last December, the careful balance between read and unread emails in my inbox was starting to take a turn. As I conducted my daily reckoning of my inbox, one message jumped out at me, demanding my immediate attention. It didn’t have a subject.