Updated 7/22/16, 12:52 PM EDT

In the wake of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling’s deaths, foundations across the country released a new wave of public statements brimming with shock and horror. Many talked about solidarity with black communities. Some were honest enough to say they didn’t quite know what to do.

These words are important. They show philanthropy is made up of real people who pay attention when horrible things happen. But words aren’t enough. These tragedies aren’t about a single event, or a single person. They’re about a system of unjust laws and practices that consistently place black communities in greater danger. A statement by itself is a comment, but it’s not an action.

The next Tamir Rice and Sandra Bland can’t afford for philanthropy to hang its hat with a press release. If you’re a foundation trustee or staff member, a donor or donor advisor now is the time for action; not tomorrow, not next week, not next year. Funders can and should respond urgently by taking the following steps to share resources with black-led organizations working to change the complex policies, practices, biases and culture that allow racial injustice to flourish in the first place.

1) Listen to black-led organizations and black organizers confronting these injustices about what they need, and invite them to play a greater role in your grantmaking process.

The best place to start is in your own backyard. If your funding institution doesn’t already fund black community organizers, use this growing interactive map of black-led organizations addressing racial equity. Many of these folks have been doing vital, underfunded work long before #BlackLivesMatter began trending on Twitter.

Go out of your comfort zone to build relationships if you don’t have them already. Ask them what they need and be ready to respond, even if it’s a change from what you normally fund. A funder’s specialty or geographic focus is not an excuse to abstain from racial justice work, but rather a unique opportunity to make a difference.

Funders should also follow the calls to action already issued by Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity, the Philanthropic Action for Racial Justice and others in consultation with black organizers on the ground. All highlight the need for philanthropy to assess the biases within their own institutions, support black-led advocacy and organizing, use their bully pulpits to call for change and invest in sustainable ways that build the capacity of this work for the long-term, like leadership development, relationship building and flexible forms of grantmaking. These resources aren’t exhaustive, but they’re a great start.

2) Act decisively and inclusively on what you learn by devoting greater resources to black-led organizing currently operating on shoestring budgets.

As with any course of action, the devil is in the details. To ensure you have institutional buy-in, make the case to your trustees about why funding black-led organizing is crucial to your work. Ask program officers to take tests on implicit bias. Simplify your application procedures to create greater access to your programming and resources. Track who’s receiving your grants, and evaluate whether the leadership you support is as intersectional as the black women, LGBTQ folks, youth and formerly incarcerated people who are primarily leading this movement.

If your foundation hasn’t historically supported such work at significant levels, take a hard look in the mirror and ask why. Is it truly about “fit,” or have you unnecessarily defined your interest area in a way that black-led organizations have a hard time meeting? Is it honestly about staff capacity, or have you prioritized different things? Is it really about grantee capacity, or have you not taken the time to meet chronically underinvested black leaders where they are?

Funders before you like Hill-Snowdon, the Foundation for Louisiana, the Headwaters Foundation for Justice and others have already gone down this path. What’s most important is to take action now, rather than waiting until you feel comfortable later.

3) Be a leader in helping other peer funding institutions overcome their misconceptions, fear, or inertia to take similar steps and open up more resources for racial justice.

Funders have power in addition to the financial resources they provide. You can convene conversations in your local community and invite practitioners working on racial injustice to lead, like the Deaconess Foundation has done in St. Louis. You can talk about race explicitly as it relates to your field, like the Washington Regional Area Grantmakers’ “Putting Racism on the Table” series and the Sustainable Agriculture and Food Systems Funders’s latest conference. You can invoke the history of philanthropy in past civil rights struggles.

You can remind folks that saying “black lives matter” isn’t an attack against white people, but rather a chance to make this country greater for all of us.

You can even release a public statement. Just don’t stop there.

Ben Barge is a field associate at the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy (NCRP). Follow @NCRP on Twitter.

CC image by Fibonacci Blue, modified under Creative Commons license.

As is becoming increasingly widely recognized, it’s not safe to be any kind of Black man today in America. Just years ago, “respectability politics” still held sway: the argument that persistent lower life outcomes among young Black men were the result of their failure to internalize middleclass, dominant culture White ideals of manliness, from having a regular job and “acting right” to saying “thank you” and “yes, sir” on cue.

But in the wake of Trayvon Martin, Henry Louis Gates, Thabo Sefolosha and many, many others, it’s become clear that  “doing” middleclass manhood does not and will not inoculate young Black men from the ingrained attitudes and harms of structural racism. What is needed now is to work on two fronts simultaneously.

First, a real national conversation about manhood ideals and the fiction that more respectable masculinities somehow protect young men from oppression. Like so many things involving race, that dialog is long overdue.

Second, although the promise of “respectability politics” stands revealed as empty, it is still worthwhile to interrogate the ways that buying into rigid codes of masculinity are tied to lower life outcomes among young men, including young men of color.

In mining both of these ideas, TrueChild and Frontline Solutions have developed a new report. Titled “Addressing Masculine Norms to Improve Life Outcomes for Young Black Men: Why We Still Can’t Wait,” the report was co-branded and distributed by the Association of Black Foundation Executives (ABFE) at its annual conference in Baltimore, Md., on April 9th, and the focus of a panel presentation.

The panel, “Policy Change and Systems Reform: Bringing a Gender Norms Analysis to Racial & Economic Justice Work,” drew a standing-room only crowd. Presenters included:

  • Carmen Anderson (The Heinz Endowments).
  • Allison Brown (Communities for Just Schools Fund).
  • Micah Gilmore (Frontline Solutions).
  • Jahmal Miller (California Department of Public Health).
  • Maisha E. Simmons (Robert Wood Johnson Foundation).
  • Riki Wilchins (TrueChild).

As Loren Harris noted in the Ford Foundation’s landmark 2007 report, “Why We Can’t Wait: A Case for Philanthropic Action,” “gender roles influence the way [young Black] men understand and engage educational opportunity, labor force participation, and relationships with women and other men … limiting conceptions of opportunity and success and exposing some to stigmatization, abuse and violence.”

That observation still rings true today. As does the argument by next-gen civil rights groups like #BlackLivesMatter and Dream Defenders for the right of young Black men to embody manhood on their own terms, whether or not it conforms to dominant culture, middle class ideals.

Despite this, funders and grantees are seldom challenged to do cutting edge work on gender like they are race and class. Yet all three continue to intersect in many pressing philanthropic concerns.

For instance, young men in low-income communities who buy into rigid codes of manhood are more likely to drop out of school early. If they are Black or Latino, they are also more likely to be expelled under school “push-out policies” designed to treat displays of urban masculinity as “oppositional behavior.” And as leading thinkers like Kimberlé Crenshaw note, similar dynamics of race, class AND gender are at work in the increasing over-policing and pushing out of young Black and Latina women for being too ” boisterous” or “unruly” – i.e., unfeminine.

This is one reason a core of leading foundations are beginning to embrace an “intersectional” approach that reconnects racial, economic AND gender justice to address structural oppressions. Isn’t time for more funders to do likewise?

Riki Wilchins is the executive director of True Child. Follow @truechild and @NCRP on Twitter.

Photo courtesy of Association of Black Foundation Executives.

Editor’s note: NCRP Senior Research and Policy Associate Ryan Schlegel and Field Associate Ben Barge recently visited the Alabama Black Belt as part of a listening tour hosted by Grantmakers for Southern Progress and the Black Belt Community Foundation. This is the second in a series of blog posts from activists, organizers and community leaders they met during their trip. NCRP strives to elevate the voices of grantees and potential grantees in conversations about philanthropy. This blog series will address topics relevant to the work underway for social, economic, racial and environmental justice in the Black Belt from the perspective of the people doing that work. Read Jackson’s first post here.

The Voting and Civil Rights Movement was never just about getting the right to vote. It was about people recognizing the humanity in all of us and our laws reflecting that recognition. However, we failed to finish the work of bridging divides and building the Beloved Community. This is the work of the Selma Center for Nonviolence, Truth and Reconciliation.

I moved back to Selma from Nashville to lead this effort because I realized that all of the wonderful work that public defenders do, that I loved doing, didn’t mean much if we don’t have truth and reconciliation, if we don’t heal the cancer of racism and internalized oppression. In The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander explains that we have recreated a caste system through mass incarceration and that we have to change hearts not just laws. When Bryan Stevenson recently spoke at the Center, he said: “Slavery didn’t end. It just evolved.” In order for slavery and institutionalized racism to really end, we must each share our truths, and we must each listen. There can be no reconciliation and healing without truth.

However, while we are engaged in a longer, deeper healing process of truth and reconciliation, we recognize that people are suffering now. Therefore, we:

  • Help organize and mobilize institutions to show their power in numbers to address violence and other issues plaguing our city while training indigenous, neighborhood leaders in nonviolence and conflict resolution (including using the arts with young people) so they can lead the effort to change what most directly impacts their lives.
  • Advocate in and out of court for those who have less-than-zealous appointed attorneys and assist in counseling, job/financial stabilization and other services needed to achieve self-sufficiency.
  • File lawsuits to eradicate debtor’s prisons and police brutality.
  • Represent children who have been expelled from school while organizing the community to change the policies that require kicking them out for even nonviolent offenses.
  • Facilitate a collaboration started by the American Bar Association Commission on Homelessness & Poverty to address issues related to poverty like the lack of a homeless shelter in Selma and the need for community policing.
  • Are creating a farm-to-table cooperative where indigenous leaders, including those formerly incarcerated can be owners not just employees, a place where people cease to be “the other” while breaking bread together.

In the 1960s, many tried to persuade Bernard Lafayette from coming to Selma, declaring Selma hopeless because “Whites were too mean and Blacks were too scared” for anything to change. However, Lafayette came to work in Selma in 1962 determined to help make lasting changes.

Although many still consider the situation in Selma hopeless, Lafayette is still determined and a spirit of hope has emerged. He recognizes that there is still work to be done. Dr. Lafayette, who was instrumental in creating “Selma 1.0,” has returned to help create “Selma 2.0” as Master Trainer and Chair of the Board of Directors for the Center.

Selma has the social capital to make Selma 2.0 a reality, but we lack the financial resources to break the cycle of poverty and violence. We need funding for the people who are committed to creating Selma 2.0. New nonprofits are often reluctant to ask for flexible multi-year funding. However, foundations must recognize that the people who are a part of our organization have been doing this work for decades and since we’ve come together, change is indeed coming.

Now we realize that this long, tedious work may not be sexy to funders, but it is necessary to bring real and lasting changes to our community. These changes can then be modeled for other communities that frequently send people from around the world to Selma looking for answers.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “The end of violence or the aftermath of violence is bitterness. The aftermath of nonviolence is reconciliation and the creation of a beloved community … the end is reconciliation, the end is redemption.”

The Center is committed to continuing the movement and finishing the unfinished business of bridging divides and building the Beloved Community. We invite you to join the movement! Invest in Selma as Selma has invested in the world!

Ainka Jackson, Esq., is executive director of The Selma Center for Nonviolence, Truth & Reconciliation at the Healing Waters Retreat Center. Follow @SelmaCNTR and @NCRP on Twitter.

Image by toml1959, modified under Creative Commons license.

Editor’s note: NCRP Senior Research and Policy Associate Ryan Schlegel and Field Associate Ben Barge recently visited the Alabama Black Belt as part of a listening tour hosted by Grantmakers for Southern Progress and the Black Belt Community Foundation. This is the first in a series of blog posts from activists, organizers and community leaders they met during their trip. NCRP strives to elevate the voices of grantees and potential grantees in conversations about philanthropy. This blog series will address topics relevant to the work underway for social, economic, racial and environmental justice in the Black Belt from the perspective of the people doing that work.

Many in Alabama recently participated in the Reenactment of the Battle of Selma, where Confederate Lt. Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest was defeated by Union troops on April 2, 1865. During the re-enactment, the Confederates are portrayed winning on the first day, and the next day is portrayed more historically accurate.

Before the battle, Dallas County, where Selma is located, was the fourth wealthiest county in the nation, largely because it had the highest number of enslaved people in Alabama and the fourth highest in the U.S. Dallas County was one of the South’s main manufacturing centers during the American Civil War.

Following the Battle of Selma, much of Selma was destroyed including many private businesses and residences, as well as the army arsenal and factories. Many lives were lost, more people were taken prisoner and even more saw their jobs disappear. Selma’s economy has never recovered and neither have the broken relationships that were intentionally created so the rich could stay rich and those in poverty, black and white, would believe that we are each other’s enemies; that all of this loss was for and because of black people.

In the 1960s, many battles were won and laws changed. However, we never got around to building the relationships needed to change hearts and minds. Because more white people were killed in the Selma area for supporting the movement than blacks, a clear messaged was sent about the consequences of supporting and associating with black people.

Thus, in 2016, when an African American woman attempted to pass out leaflets explaining a different perspective, a different “truth” than those who were re-enacting the Battle of Selma, wishes of death and injury were expressed about her on social media. “Maybe a stray confederate bullet will find its way.” “Someone needs to put crosshairs on it!!”

After the same mayor who was in power during Bloody Sunday, the day of unmitigated violence against marchers on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in 1965, was unseated in 2000 by black man, many leaders felt and expressed that the new mayor could not run the city. Some systematically attempted to make him fail by making Selma fail and even incorporated an adjacent town, Valley Grande, which takes needed tax dollars and resources from Selma.

When a group of black people protested for months in 1990 to ensure that their children weren’t tracked in inadequate and unequal classrooms and subjected to in-school segregation, almost all of the white children were pulled out of public schools for private or county schools. As one young white man said to me, “Now, no one is learning.”

It is seen in the united effort by some to keep industry from coming to Selma without losing the few businesses that are already here. Or their expressed effort to keep wages to no more than $8 per hour. Yet, because many black and white people view each other as enemies, we have not joined together for the benefit of all.

Therefore, in 2014, Dallas County was the poorest in the state and one of the poorest in the country. Selma remains engulfed with racial and class divisions that hinder the city’s progress. Selma, like most of the South, has never confronted years of racial violence and prejudice that keep the city from a healing path forward.

In 2015, Dallas County was named the most dangerous place to live in Alabama. This year on the day we commemorated Bloody Sunday there were two murders in Selma and have been five more since then.

It is not surprising that Dallas County was named the poorest and most dangerous county in Alabama in consecutive years. As violence increases, the economy suffers, and as the economy suffers, violence increases. We are in desperate need of help to stop this vicious, bloody cycle.

Although the poverty rate in Dallas County is nearly double the state rate, Dallas County receives less than 1 percent of grants in Alabama. However, I know from experience that we receive many more political leaders and foundations who come to Selma and learn our rich history and then leave us just as they found us: with great need and great opportunity. It is time for political leaders and foundations to do more than learn and leave. They must invest in Selma as Selma has invested in the world, enabling Selma to once again change the world.

The Battle of Selma may have ended but Selma is still battling. Selma is in need of truth and reconciliation. Selma is in need of you.

Ainka Jackson, Esq., is executive director of The Selma Center for Nonviolence, Truth & Reconciliation at the Healing Waters Retreat Center. Follow @SelmaCNTR and @NCRP on Twitter.

In an upcoming blog post, she’ll discuss the Center’s current work in Selma and how foundations can support it.

Image by damian entwistle, modified under Creative Commons license.

With more and more evidence of the effectiveness and impact of social justice philanthropy – which works toward solving society’s problems at their source – new language is emerging to describe systems change strategies. The phrase “social justice” can hold clear ideological connotations, and with growing political divides, funders with broad audiences may seek more “neutral” language.

Yet given the complexity of systems and power, coupled with the polarized environment of race relations in the United States, I think it is necessary for us to address white privilege and the history of oppression of people of color. Recent events and social movements, political candidates and longstanding injustices show that philanthropy and the organizations that serve the sector can no longer shy away from the topic of racism and other -isms.

That is why NCRP believes that strategic philanthropy is social justice philanthropy. Our research has consistently demonstrated the effectiveness of social justice philanthropy in advancing equity. Through our annual Impact Awards, we have highlighted the work of the Hill-Snowdon Foundation and others as exemplars for social justice philanthropy, with a clear commitment to grantmaking for racial equity and grassroots movement building. Citing the North Star Fund and Resource Generation as inspiration, Hill-Snowdon developed its Making Black Lives Matter Initiative to begin building long-term institutional and political power for Black social change and racial justice.

What caused me to reflect on the differences in how funders respond to current movements and public debates surrounding race was a new resource guide by Grantmakers for Effective Organizations (GEO), which encompasses the elements of social justice philanthropy but names it “Systems Grantmaking.” GEO introduces “systems grantmaking” not as a new approach, but as an existing way to “influence the bigger picture in all its complexity.”

In reading the guide, I was reminded of my colleague Andy Carroll, who has written extensively about “changemaking foundations” and “catalytic funders” among Exponent Philanthropy’s members, which he characterizes by many of the hallmarks of social justice philanthropy: risk-taking, community engagement, policy advocacy, convening and bold leadership beyond the distribution of grants. Indeed, in a blog post for NCRP he wrote, “Social justice funding is changemaking, and changemaking is a form of philanthropic leadership.”

Both examples are indicative of the burgeoning conversations about philanthropy for change on a systematic or structural level; but how does such an approach differ from social justice philanthropy?

I’ll call it like it is: race.

Sector infrastructure groups have wide membership and may steer clear of activities they deem divisive, but by avoiding these difficult conversations they risk applying their leadership in ways that reinforce the problem. If philanthropy trains its champions to be public leaders but not responsive to issues of race, we can make the issue worse.

I realize that in certain cases, using explicit racial equity language may not be the most effective approach. People from communities that have experienced violent racial tension can be triggered by language associated with past trauma, making it more inflammatory than constructive. For example, in Words Matter: Language and Social Justice Funding in the US South, Grantmakers for Southern Progress found that many Southern funders use more muted, nuanced language to garner trust and avoid negative connotations.

That said, there are a number of affinity groups that have chosen to address race explicitly – going beyond coded language such as “inequality” or “lack of diversity.” For example, the Washington Regional Association of Grantmakers (WRAG) is hosting Putting Racism on the Table, a learning series that I have attended on behalf of the Diverse City Fund. WRAG’s president, Tamara Copeland, recently shared why Nonprofits Need to Talk About Race, Not Just Diversity in The Chronicle of Philanthropy.

I would like to challenge all sectoral organizations that care about racial inequity to stretch beyond any conscious or unconscious fear they may have of disturbing their white peers’ discomfort and talk more explicitly about structural racism. If they don’t, the risk is that some foundations may try to embrace systemic change approaches while lacking tools or motivation to undertake the hard work of addressing racial inequity, white privilege and implicit bias.

To build on the frameworks produced by GEO and Exponent Philanthropy, grantmakers can look to the Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity, Grant Craft and Funders for Justice for valuable resources on how to combat institutional and structural racism. In 2014, The Foundation Review dedicated a volume to racial equity, and last year NCRP held a popular webinar on how foundations can best support the movement for racial equity. Organizations such as the Interaction Institute for Social Change (IISC), VISIONS, Race Forward and the People’s Institute for Survival and Beyond also offer strong trainings.

As a white person on my own learning journey, I encourage white leaders to promote racial justice by following these five steps offered by NCRP’s executive director, Aaron Dorfman, and to learn about the organizing and educational work being done by Showing Up for Racial Justice (SURJ) across the country.

We cannot afford to skirt the issue of race because of fear or discomfort. From slavery and the plantation economy, to Birmingham and Selma in the 1960s, to Ferguson and Charleston today, people of color are dying because of the color of their skin. So philanthropy, let’s talk about race.

Caitlin Duffy is the project associate for Philamplify at the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy (NCRP). Follow @NCRP and @DuffyInDC on Twitter and join the #Philamplify conversation.

Image by Marc Wathleu, modified under Creative Commons license.

Editor’s Note: Last month, the Movement for Black Lives National Convening in Cleveland brought together over 1,000 grassroots leaders fighting to end racial injustice in our nation. We called for foundation support of this convening, and support for the movement remains critical. To this end, we’re reposting NCRP Executive Director Aaron Dorfman’s five steps that white foundation leaders can take to promote racial justice.

This piece first appeared in The Chronicle of Philanthropy on March 13, 2015.

Since last summer, a movement has been brewing in response to the police killings of Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and many others. People across the country have taken to the streets, demanding changes in policies that contribute to government-sanctioned violence against African-Americans and Latinos.

People of color are leading this movement, as they should be, but they shouldn’t be expected to move this agenda forward by themselves. White people working in philanthropy are an important source of funding for nonprofits helping to organize on-the-ground efforts across the country, but it is essential that they take an active role, too. The future of our nation depends on our building a society that ensures everyone has an opportunity to thrive, regardless of race. Philanthropy has an important role to play in the coming months and years to help the movement bring about lasting progress.

Here are five simple steps that white leaders can take to promote racial justice:

Become educated about the issues. The burden of teaching you more about the realities of racial inequity does not lie with friends and colleagues who are not white. A plethora of research and information exists to help deepen understanding of the issues of race, including resources from Race Forward and the Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity.

If you’re not voraciously and regularly reading pieces written by people who aren’t white, you’re missing out. African-American columnists like Charles Blow of The New York Times and commentators like Ta-Nehisi Coates of The Atlantic are two of my favorites.

Another way to educate yourself is to attend conference sessions and webinars designed by and focused on people of color. Too often, the annual dinner and lecture sponsored by the Association of Black Foundation Executives has perhaps only one or two white people in the room. The lecture is always fantastic, and it’s outrageous that so few white people attend. Incidentally, conference sessions about women or LGBTQ issues similarly have few, if any, straight white men in the room. This has to change. Go, listen, and learn.

Link racial justice to your foundation’s mission. No matter what issues your foundation is working to address, it’s likely that there is a connection to racial justice. It’s essential that you understand that connection and make it explicit. Engage board members in that discussion. Don’t put the burden of initiating this conversation on the people of color on your staff or board.

Hire and promote Blacks, Hispanics, and other people of color for staff and trustee positions.

The latest data suggest that 16.5 percent of foundation trustees, 7.1 percent of foundation CEOs, and 15.4 percent of other full-time executive staff members at foundations are people of color. There are signs of improvement in these numbers, but the pace of change is glacial, and the record in philanthropy lags behind national trends.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, nonwhites made up 34 percent of the total U.S. labor force in 2012.

There are no good excuses for not actively seeking out talented people of color for top leadership roles. It’s been proven that greater diversity in groups leads to better decisions, especially in response to the kind of complex problems that foundations wrestle with every day. The D5 Coalition has research, a self-assessment tool, and other resources that can be helpful for any foundation that wants to diversify.

Building a diverse team of staff and trustees isn’t sufficient, however.

Foundations must also create inclusive environments to maintain diversity.

The Exit Interview by Association of Black Foundation Executives, shows how black professionals in philanthropy often feel isolated and excluded from growth opportunities. The Denver Foundation’s Inclusiveness Project offers a step-by-step guide for building an organization that is diverse and tolerant of differences.

Take a stand. One of the most important things you can do is put your personal reputation and your institution’s reputational capital on the line while standing strong for policies that promote racial justice.

The hard truth is that powerful white people often listen to other powerful white people. When you stand with grass-roots leaders of color without trying to speak for them or stealing their voice, you help them get heard.

It may not always be easy to speak truth to power in primarily white communities. It might be easier to do nothing. But the white clergy who marched at Selma offer a powerful example of why complacency should not be an option. You probably won’t have to do anything nearly as difficult, so what are you afraid of?

Provide unrestricted long-term support to grassroots organizing groups. Offering flexible aid to organizing groups pushing for racial justice is perhaps the most important thing grant makers can do.

Foundation leaders believe they are more than just the purse that holds the money. But how you give money away and to whom you give it matters immensely. Foundations often want to control the agenda, but movement building starts by letting go and allowing communities and the nonprofits that serve them to determine what’s best.

Role models abound. The Hill-Snowdon Foundation provided critical funding that resulted in minimum-wage increases in two Maryland counties and the District of Columbia. The Woods Fund Chicago and the Ben & Jerry’s Foundation provided funding that resulted in expanded rights for immigrants in Illinois and Vermont. NoVo Foundation grantees helped secure an extension of the Violence Against Women Act. The California Endowment played a role in the passage and adoption of the Affordable Care Act, thereby expanding access to health care for millions.

Those are just a few examples of what is possible when foundations invest for the long term in grass-roots organizing.

This fight for racial justice is not a flash-in-the-pan moment. It’s a movement. Serious systemic change is a possibility. If you’re a white person working in philanthropy and you say you’re in favor of racial equity but then do nothing, you’re a hypocrite. It’s time to decide: What role will you play?

Aaron Dorfman is executive director of the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy (NCRP). Follow @NCRP on Twitter.

This post first appeared in the Nonprofit Quarterly on March 17, 2015.

A recent Washington Post series on black homeownership contained startling national statistics: The net worth of the typical African American family declined by one-third between 2010 and 2013, significantly more than white or Hispanic families in the same period. It also noted that the “top half of African American families” has been left with less than half the wealth they possessed in 2007, compared to the 14 percent decline experienced by white families. Ultimately, the series reported, “the typical African American family was left with about eight cents for every dollar of wealth held by whites.”

In the midst of frequent reports like this one and an increasingly vocal movement for racial justice, it’s an opportune time to reflect on how we define progress toward racial equity and, in light of those various definitions, assess foundation responses to systemic inequities. NCRP’s Philamplify initiative has been a great tool for learning more about philanthropic approaches to equity issues. We are discovering how important it is for funders and their grantees, and researchers and those providing feedback, to have a common understandings of terms like “racial equity.” Lack of a common frame can make it difficult for foundations to assess their effectiveness in this area.

One of our assessment criteria examines the extent to which a foundation’s grantmaking and operational strategies demonstrate its commitment to underserved communities by addressing sources of inequity. We defined inequity as disparate outcomes, impacts, access, treatment, or opportunity for underserved communities based on race, ethnicity, income, gender, sexual orientation, disability, national origin, or other disadvantaged populations.” To measure this criterion, we review a foundation’s mission, goals, strategies, grant guidelines, and recent grants; interviews with staff (if the foundation cooperates), grantees, peers and other knowledgeable stakeholders; and grantee survey questions. We look at strategy as well as impact: Does the foundation say it’s trying to achieve greater equity, and is there tangible evidence that it’s doing so?

Results from the first round of assessments, released in May 2014, demonstrate why we need to seek out multiple sources of information to gain an understanding of a foundation’s approach to equity issues. The contrasts between each foundation’s own language around equity, grantees’ perceptions, and what other stakeholders say are instructive.

Since foundations may not always frame their work using the words “equity” or “justice,” what are other indications that they seek to address these issues? Because the roots of inequity are systemic, and those suffering inequities are populations that are traditionally marginalized (for their race, income, ethnicity, gender, LGBT status, disability, incarceration record, etc.), we look for evidence that a foundation seeks fundamental change that benefits specific marginalized communities. If a foundation is funding direct services for marginalized groups but is not also trying to change systems, can it be said to be advancing equity? I would argue that it is not.

Services may mitigate inequity, but alone they do not address its causes. In their racial justice grantmaking assessment, the Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity (PRE) and Race Forward (formerly Applied Research Center) asserts: “Racial justice work specifically targets institutional and structural racism through a continuum of activities that can include research, education, organizing, advocacy and movement building.” Conversely, if a foundation seeks systemic reforms without targeting specific populations to benefit from those reforms, is it advancing equity? Not necessarily, because reforming systems without attending to which populations are experiencing disparate outcomes and why may not solve the inequity.

To help us understand intent and strategy, we reviewed materials from the first five foundations we “Philamplified.” Some foundations were very explicit about equity or showed a commitment to systems change benefiting specific disenfranchised communities. As Table A shows, Lumina Foundation for Education and The California Endowment (TCE) each used explicit equity language in framing the problems of unequal higher education and health outcomes, respectively. They each identified specific populations intended to benefit from closing the equity gap, and both were explicit about using strategies that would change the policies, structures and systems perpetuating these inequities. The William Penn Foundation (WPF) also addressed equity issues, specifically in K-12 education, and identified public funding formulas as one systemic solution. WPF did not go as far as the other two in specifying race as a dimension of inequity, preferring to keep the focus on income (although the public school population in Philadelphia is over half African American and 85 percent non-white). And it did not explicitly address equity in its other program areas, watershed protection and arts and culture.

Table A: Review of 2013-14 Foundation Materials (Mission Statement, Strategic Plan, Grant Guidelines, etc.)

Foundation

References to (In)Equity

References to Systems Change

References to Specific Underserved or Marginalized Populations

Daniels Fund

N/A

K-12 Education Reform: seeks to fund “Significant reforms that challenge barriers to quality.”

Programs areas serve: Youth and Adults with Substance Use, People with Disabilities, Homeless & Disadvantaged.

Lumina Foundation for Education

Strategic Plan: “equity imperative” to close gaps in higher education attainment by race/ethnicity.

Closing gap “will require significant shifts in the priorities and structure of higher education.” Strategy is to “promote action by and through many individuals, organizations, institutions, and governments”

Targeted populations include African Americans, Latinos, Immigrants, Veterans.

Robert W. Woodruff Foundation

N/A

N/A

Targeted populations for Human Services are: Vulnerable Populations, including the Elderly and Disabled

The California Endowment

“People in our communities are needlessly suffering because, as a society, we deny them access to essential resources, sending them the message that they don’t matter; they don’t belong. The odds stacked against these populations are the legacy of our nation’s systematic devaluation and discrimination against certain people based on race, immigration status, gender, sexual orientation, disability status, and so on. And just because discrimination for most of these populations is now illegal, we cannot deny that the legacy, and sometimes even the practices, persists.”

Building Healthy Communities strategy: “is about changing rules at the local and state levels so that everyone is valued and has access to the resources and opportunities essential for health…”

“Where we live, our race, and our income each play a big part in how well and how long we live.”

“This is why race and income come together in place, and this is why TCE’s Building Healthy Communities strategy includes a deep investment in place.”

William Penn Foundation

Closing the Achievement Gap: priority given to grantees with a “clear commitment to equitable access” to education. Funding for “Targeted, state-level advocacy to secure adequate and equitable funding for Philadelphia schools.”

Watershed Protection: “Advance policies and practices that accelerate or expand public and private watershed protection.”

Closing the Achievement Gap & Arts Education each target “low-income children and students” for benefit.

Great Public Spaces objective: “Increase access to green space in an underserved community.”

In contrast, the Daniels Fund and Robert W. Woodruff Foundation had no references to equity in their materials, although each funds services for specific underserved populations. Neither used language related to systems change, with the one exception of Daniels’ program to reform public education. Both foundations rooted their mission in the intent of their original donors, successful businessmen who wanted to invest in key institutions and help the people in need in their home communities, yet didn’t seek to alter systems or power structures.

We asked grantees of each foundation how well the foundation’s strategies had already helped underserved communities advance equity, and also how likely their strategies would advance equity going forward. As these two charts show, the foundation with the most explicit equity goals, Lumina Foundation, didn’t score as highly as Daniels and William Penn. (Note that these questions were added after we had already concluded the William Penn assessment. Also, while we did not survey TCE grantees, who had already participated in a CEP Grantee Perception Report, most interviewees thought the foundation was making progress toward equity goals.) On the whole, however, grantees of all three foundations found them to be making progress toward equity goals, the main difference being whether they deemed them “very” or “somewhat” effective in this regard.

The fact that Woodruff and Daniels garnered more “strongly effective” responses despite the lack of an explicit equity lens to their grantmaking seems contradictory. This is especially true given that less than 10 percent of Daniels Fund grantees reported engaging in community organizing or policy advocacy, activities that seek to change systems. A quarter of Woodruff grantees engaged in at least one of these activities. In contrast, 47 percent of Lumina grantees engaged in policy advocacy.

As observed in PRE’s racial justice grantmaking assessments, even foundations with a desire to promote equity may not have a shared definition and analysis internally and with their grantees. PRE found that many of the grantees of the two foundations it assessed “tended to equate outreach to communities of color or diversity concerns with racial justice.” It’s possible that Daniels and Woodruff grantees viewed their own services to marginalized populations as advancing equity, since our survey did not spell out that NCRP sees “systemic change” as central to that goal. Or perhaps they saw Daniels and Woodruff exercising leadership on equity issues in ways that were not reflected in either their grant guidelines or their grant descriptions. Conversely, Lumina set a very ambitious and public equity goal—to achieve 60 percent college attainment by 2025. As a result, its grantees may have had a common understanding of equity, and they were more involved in trying to change systems. Perhaps, therefore, they held Lumina (or themselves) to a higher standard of success.

Interviews with each foundation’s leaders, selected grantees, peers, and other stakeholders were important to dig deeper and tease out complexities and contradictions in the quantitative data. For example, some Woodruff grantees, such as the Georgia Justice Project featured in Philamplify’s Woodruff video, were in fact engaged in systemic change to address inequity. These grantees typically viewed themselves as exceptions to the rule and often were not aware that Woodruff funded other groups like them. The lack of information from the foundation about its strategies, and its reluctance to assert public leadership on most issues (Robert W. Woodruff was dubbed “Mr. Anonymous”) left grantees, other funders and potential applicants in the dark as to its intentions.

Hence, while lack of an explicit focus on equity may not adversely affect the overall perception of effectiveness and impact, being overt allows prospective applicants, grantees, peers and other potential partners to understand what the foundation is trying to accomplish and how. And it enables the funder to measure its progress against specific objectives. Gita Gulati-Partee, author of the TCE report, also pointed out additional benefits:

  • Having a more explicit theory of change around equity, i.e. systemic change that benefits specific marginalized populations, enables a funder to identify and invest in grantees that are each addressing different pieces of the puzzle, which is necessary to true systems change.
  • It helps those grantees know about each other and potentially collaborate more effectively with others using different strategies toward shared goals.
  • It allows the foundation to view itself as part of an ecosystem and be in more strategic relationship with other funders who intersect with their theory of change rather than going it alone, which by definition cannot achieve equity.
  • It helps the funder use its leadership voice to influence the broader discourse, which also is needed to advance equity because it builds more allies for the cause and helps more people engage in understanding the problem and crafting possible solutions.

The California Endowment pursues all of these strategies and has experienced success at the policy level on issues ranging from health insurance access to school discipline. For the three foundations that did not have clear equity goals (or even systems change goals to benefit marginalized communities), NCRP urged them to do so. Philamplify recommended that Woodruff provide more grants and leadership to advance equity in Georgia; that the Daniels Fund support more advocacy and organizing to change systems for the populations Bill Daniels cared about, such as people with disabilities; and that the William Penn Foundation bring a stronger equity dimension to its environmental and arts portfolios.

Fast-forward to today, and some of the foundations we critiqued have decided that having more explicit goals makes sense. The Woodruff Foundation’s revamped website now makes clear that its strategies address systems change in health access and quality and in public education, although it doesn’t use equity language. And the William Penn Foundation recently announced $8.6 million in new watershed protection grants, indicating that the goal was public water access, “particularly in underserved neighborhoods that have been cut off from waterways for generations.”

What do you think? Should a foundation that serves a sizable non-white or marginalized population, whether because of its geographic locus or its issue focus, have explicit equity goals? Why or why not?

Lisa Ranghelli is director of foundation assessment at the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy (NCRP). Follow @NCRP and join the #Philamplify conversation on Twitter.

The Chronicle of Philanthropy on March 13, 2015.

Since last summer, a movement has been brewing in response to the police killings of Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and many others. People across the country have taken to the streets, demanding changes in policies that contribute to government-sanctioned violence against African- Americans and Latinos.

People of color are leading this movement, as they should be, but they shouldn’t be expected to move this agenda forward by themselves. White people working in philanthropy are an important source of funding for nonprofits helping to organize on-the-ground efforts across the country, but it is essential that they take an active role, too. The future of our nation depends on our building a society that ensures everyone has an opportunity to thrive, regardless of race. Philanthropy has an important role to play in the coming months and years to help the movement bring about lasting progress.

Here are five simple steps that white leaders can take to promote racial justice:

Become educated about the issues. The burden of teaching you more about the realities of racial inequity does not lie with friends and colleagues who are not white. A plethora of research and information exists to help deepen understanding of the issues of race, including resources from Race Forward and the Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity.

If you’re not voraciously and regularly reading pieces written by people who aren’t white, you’re missing out. African-American columnists like Charles Blow of The New York Times and commentators like Ta-Nehisi Coates of The Atlantic are two of my favorites.

Another way to educate yourself is to attend conference sessions and webinars designed by and focused on people of color. Too often, the annual dinner and lecture sponsored by the Association of Black Foundation Executives has perhaps only one or two white people in the room. The lecture is always fantastic, and it’s outrageous that so few white people attend. Incidentally, conference sessions about women or LGBTQ issues similarly have few, if any, straight white men in the room. This has to change. Go, listen, and learn.

Link racial justice to your foundation’s mission. No matter what issues your foundation is working to address, it’s likely that there is a connection to racial justice. It’s essential that you understand that connection and make it explicit. Engage board members in that discussion. Don’t put the burden of initiating this conversation on the people of color on your staff or board.

Hire and promote blacks, Hispanics, and other people of color for staff and trustee positions.

The latest data suggest that 16.5 percent of foundation trustees, 7.1 percent of foundation CEOs, and 15.4 percent of other full-time executive staff members at foundations are people of color. There are signs of improvement in these numbers, but the pace of change is glacial, and the record in philanthropy lags behind national trends.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, nonwhites made up 34 percent of the total U.S. labor force in 2012.

There are no good excuses for not actively seeking out talented people of color for top leadership roles. It’s been proven that greater diversity in groups leads to better decisions, especially in response to the kind of complex problems that foundations wrestle with every day. The D5 Coalition has research, a self-assessment tool, and other resources that can be helpful for any foundation that wants to diversify.

Building a diverse team of staff and trustees isn’t sufficient, however.

Foundations must also create inclusive environments to maintain diversity.

The Exit Interview by Association of Black Foundation Executives, shows how black professionals in philanthropy often feel isolated and excluded from growth opportunities. The Denver Foundation’s Inclusiveness Project offers a step-by-step guide for building an organization that is diverse and tolerant of differences.

Take a stand. One of the most important things you can do is put your personal reputation and your institution’s reputational capital on the line while standing strong for policies that promote racial justice.

The hard truth is that powerful white people often listen to other powerful white people. When you stand with grass-roots leaders of color without trying to speak for them or stealing their voice, you help them get heard.

It may not always be easy to speak truth to power in primarily white communities. It might be easier to do nothing. But the white clergy who marched at Selma offer a powerful example of why complacency should not be an option. You probably won’t have to do anything nearly as difficult, so what are you afraid of?

Provide unrestricted long-term support to grass-roots organizing groups. Offering flexible aid to organizing groups pushing for racial justice is perhaps the most important thing grant makers can do.

Foundation leaders believe they are more than just the purse that holds the money. But how you give money away and to whom you give it matters immensely. Foundations often want to control the agenda, but movement building starts by letting go and allowing communities and the nonprofits that serve them to determine what’s best.

Role models abound. The Hill-Snowdon Foundation provided critical funding that resulted in minimum-wage increases in two Maryland counties and the District of Columbia. The Woods Fund Chicago and the Ben & Jerry’s Foundation provided funding that resulted in expanded rights for immigrants in Illinois and Vermont. NoVo Foundation grantees helped secure an extension of the Violence Against Women Act. The California Endowment played a role in the passage and adoption of the Affordable Care Act, thereby expanding access to health care for millions.

Those are just a few examples of what is possible when foundations invest for the long term in grass-roots organizing.

This fight for racial justice is not a flash-in-the-pan moment. It’s a movement. Serious systemic change is a possibility. If you’re a white person working in philanthropy and you say you’re in favor of racial equity but then do nothing, you’re a hypocrite. It’s time to decide: What role will you play?

Aaron Dorfman is executive director of the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy (NCRP). Follow @NCRP on Twitter.