In Defense of Events

Well, I decided I'd keep writing for a bit (and I'm going to help my daughter's class put together a proposal for their legacy gift to their school).  Thanks for continuing to follow along!  Here's what I've been thinking of this week:

Fundraising events often get a bad rap.  If you simply compare revenue to expenses (including staff & volunteer time), too many events can look high risk, little reward.  They can also become the convenient excuse to avoid meeting donors one-on-one.  It's too easy to get so caught up in what the centerpieces will look like, that you can lose sight of the mission. 

I agree that events can be tricky.  You have to know why you are doing them, what you really want out of them, and you have to be grounded in what it will take to pull them off successfully.  They certainly aren't a panacea and you can't let them detract from your efforts to get to know your donors and their stories individually.

All that said, I love a good event. 

I love the energy.  There's nothing quite like a room abuzz with people who share the same hopes, dreams, and values for a mission.  A good event can inspire your staff, your board, and your donors to really feel that progress is possible and that you are, in fact, building a movement.

I love the chance to express an organization's personality.  If you are a serious organization, then host a serious event.  If you are a creative organization, hold a creative one. A good event shows and differentiates the culture of your organization in a way that's hard to do in direct mail or even one-on-one conversations.

I love the idea of philanthropy as a collective action.  On many levels choosing to give and to whom is a deeply personal, individual act.  I think it is important for the future of philanthropy for us to also see it as a group effort.  There's something magical and meaningful about people meeting each other at events that are for causes bigger than their own entertainment.

I love the idea that philanthropy can be the centerpiece of our civic life. I find it inspiring to think that at least in my little rural community, our social calendar is most often filled with fun events that support charitable causes.  Years ago, Harvard Professor Robert D. Putnam wrote a seminal article (now book) called Bowling Alone, in which he laments the passing of the community bowling league (and other "civic" commitments like the Elks Lodge, etc.) as a harbinger of an isolating new culture that could doom our social capital and democracy.  I'm feeling more hopeful, however, than I was when I read that article in grad school.  If well-executed charitable events can replace the bowling league as the "thing" we, as a society, choose as a core place for making connections, I actually think we're on to something even better.

In an era of conference calls and Facebook, texting donations and online giving, I stand as a strong supporter of the well-planned, thoughtful, old-fashioned, gather people together event.   I think we need events because we all crave community.  Savvy nonprofits that really will change the world have to start by building a sense of community around their mission.  Match the craving with your mission, throw in some fun, and you've got yourself the makings of a movement.

What do you think makes a good event?  Do you love them or loathe them? 

Eight Weeks

Eight weeks. Two months. About the length of time a male (yes, male) emu sits on his nest of eggs.

This blog has been my incubator of ideas on philanthropy and I committed at the outset to eight weeks of quiet reflection. This is week #8.

This post will not be the birth announcement of the brilliant, revolutionary, new project I have nurtured into fully being over the past eight weeks. That's ok. That was never the point. I'm not an emu after all.

I started this blog because I was craving thinking space. I turned 40 this year—and though I haven't yet felt a need to own a red convertible, I have felt myself ruminating on the impact I want to have in the next 40 years. I also had the great fortune to host a college intern this past summer and she got me thinking about why I am so passionate about my work and philanthropy. Toss in attending some amazing, thought-provoking conferences and voila a blog is born.

I've purposely approached each week as simply a chance to think. I've challenged myself not to look too far beyond the eight weeks, to not set up expectations of what this leads to, but rather to just be on the journey. (That, in and of itself, has been a real test and success of this little project for a goal-oriented, Type A-er like me).

But, here I am at week 8. And, I'm not sure what's next for philanthropos tropos.

I am certain about several things:

• I've benefited from the thinking space. Just having a little room to step back and see the really big picture is making me a better day-to-day fundraiser. I wish every Development professional could find a way to build into their usual work life some deep thinking space. Understanding your own feelings about giving is paramount to a long and successful career.

• Expressing your deep, philosophical thoughts in writing is hard. Doing it concisely is even harder. I think I've become a better writer in the last eight weeks-- a good reminder that we get better at what we do.

• I value most of all the conversations I've had with many of you. Whether in person or via email, you have responded with your own answers, questions, or thoughts. You’ve made me think harder and deeper. I like that. Thank you.

• I will never understand how to get my posts to single space or make my photos bigger on Blogspot. It's clear that I'll leave the artistry and graphic design realms to others in my family.

• As a society, we are still at the early stages of really understanding philanthropy – what truly motivates it, how to grow it, and how to ensure it has real impacts. When we figure all that out, we will change the world.

• I love fundraising. I love making the match between donor and mission. I love saying thank you and meaning it. I love doing something that makes a difference.

For all of these reasons, this has been a really great eight weeks. The question I'm pondering is whether I should post something next week.

You all are my crew – my carefully selected, trusted group of colleagues, experts, friends, and family. I'm hoping you'll help me. Is it time to stop pondering and ruminating and find a way to get more involved – join a board, volunteer with AFP, start a fundraising support group in the Methow, test one of my ideas in a local classroom, etc.? Or, if I still think I have topics to grapple with, should I keep posting and writing, even if no one follows? I'd really value your honest thoughts, so if you don't want to publicly post here, please send me an email (sarahbrooks72@gmail.com) or call me.

Thanks for reading along each week and may the fire and optimism, hope and blind faith of philanthropos tropos stay ignited in you!

Lead with the Thank You

Sometime last fall, my husband and I made our annual donation to our college alma mater.  To be honest, I felt ambivalent about it.  No doubt, we have a strong affection for our college.  It is where we met, where we learned to really think and analyze, where we literally grew up.  

But, with a limited philanthropic budget, I wondered if our relatively minor gift would actually make a difference at an institution with a budget in the millions of dollars.  Could our dollars stretch further locally, with an organization for whom they would represent a major gift? 

I wrote the check, like I have each year for many years now.  If I'm brutally (and embarrassingly) honest about it, I did so for two reasons:  1) (the good reason) because I do have a real fondness for a place that touched my life immensely and I take some personal pleasure in acknowledging that with my donation, even if it is just a drop in a very big bucket; and 2) (and here's the embarrassing reason) because I secretly like seeing our name in the Annual Report with the little number superscripted next to it showing our years of consecutive giving.  Actually, I like thinking that other people will see our name in the Annual Report with the little number superscripted next to it. 

So, the check went in the mail and I vowed to re-think this gift next year.  A few days later, we received an email from the Development Office.  In addition to the standard, but nice, thank you language in the email, I found a link to a video. The next two minutes knocked my socks off and removed all sense of ambivalence.  It was the best thank you ever—and the best way to ensure I'll give again next year unequivocally.

I thought about including a link to the video here, but I realized it probably wouldn’t have a similar impact on you if you hadn't attended my college.  Because, that was what is so perfect about it – it completely captured the quirks, the sense of place, and the values that are 100% what I associate with my college.  Those few minutes reinforced my "good" reasons for wanting to give.  It made me smile.  It helped me see it was still a place where people like me can grow up.  It made me feel like even my small gift was worth thanking.

Quick sidenote:  I am not suggesting that all good thank you's need to be videos. What grabbed me was the clever, witty, thoughtful approach to saying thank you that so fit my sense of the nonprofit.  That match is what was effective, not the format.

I have no memory whatsoever of what the college said in their solicitation letter to me and very few memories of all the communications pieces sent throughout the year.  But, as a donor, I will never forget this thank you.  Wearing my Development professional hat, I realize this is brilliant—and right.  Our giving strategies should be rooted in honest, genuine gratitude.

During my very first few weeks working in fundraising as a graduate student, a Board Member told me that we should never plan an event or direct mail effort until we could envision how we would thank people.  I now understand the full impact of what she was suggesting.

This year, as I plan my fundraising strategies, I'm going to lead with the thank you's.  I'm not just going to remember to say thank you and recognize all of our donors.  I'm going to start there – to think first about how we show the impact donors have in ways that uniquely "fit" our organization and what they value about us. Once I can envision the thanking, I suspect the rest will become clear.

I'd love to hear examples of your favorite thank you's.  When have you felt not only that your gift has made a difference, but also that in the process of saying thank you, the organization reinforces what you love most about them? Do you agree that thanking is a good place to start?

My First Time

My first time was pretty terrible.  I felt pressured, confused, and coerced.  There was no emotion, just a desire to get it over with.  After, I never talked about it, never felt good about it.  It definitely didn't turn into a long-lasting relationship.  It's amazing I ever did it again.

Giving, that is. 

My first, real philanthropic memory isn't the picture perfect story that naturally leads to a lifelong career in fundraising—and yet, as I think about it, it did ignite my passion for inspiring a different kind of philanthropy today. 

It was 1994 and I had just graduated from college.  I was starting my first "real" job, turning my Economics major into a very handsome paycheck at a large private consulting firm in a vibrant city. I was forging my own path right into big business – away from the academic/teaching traditions of my family.

After a few days of orientation, locating my shared desk in a maze of cubicles, memorizing my voicemail passcode, and trying to find comfort in wearing a pair of nylons and a middle-aged skirt suit everyday, I remember one of my senior mentors handing me a stack of paperwork.  "It's time for our annual 'Combined' Fund Drive," he told me.  "Our office always leads the firm." 

Young and eager, I was interested to learn more about a Fund Drive.  My family was undoubtedly philanthropic, but it wasn't a topic we discussed regularly at the dinner table.  We didn't go to auctions and galas, and I admit I only vaguely knew what a "combined" fund was (it is an effort to "pool" funds raised and then distribute them to nonprofits within a community). 

About 90 seconds into his "pitch," the conversation took a turn.

He made it clear that I would need to participate in this campaign – it was expected.  Everyone in the office did it.  Our Partners cared about raising the most within the firm and therefore we all joined in.  I remember being told that it would be "painless," that the accounting department would just take a bit out of each of my paychecks and "I'd never even know." 

Somewhere within I knew this wasn't how giving should feel.  But, by Friday, I caved.  I did it like everyone else. I filled out my form, added my dollars to the thermometer charting our office's "win" over the Dallas branch, and wham, bam, thank you ma'am, I was a donor. 

Years later, after I had left that culture for the relative safety and familiarity of graduate school, I found myself re-claiming my first time giving.  Armed with a much smaller bank account, I experienced the joy of writing my own check directly to a nonprofit I had discovered that spoke to my soul.  No pressure, no one saying I had to because someone else was expecting me to.  My donation was infinitely smaller than whatever amount I had actually given through my "you'll never notice it" payroll deduction, but I felt it -- a sense of pride and empowerment at adding my individual voice to a cause I cared about. I had found the real power of giving.

Today I recognize that part of my drive to start a movement for philanthropos tropos is rooted in a desire to ensure that others have better first times.  In an era of high pressure telemarketing, too many gifts that go un-thanked, and a far too common feeling that giving is just something you do instead of an expression of what you value, I fear too many of us have dissatisfying first times -- and that's why we've been stuck at a national giving rate of about 1-2% of GDP for so long.  I was philanthropically lucky – I ultimately found a way of giving that was everything it should be.  What if we could ensure everyone had a great first time giving?  I can't help but think that could be the start of a real giving revolution.

What's your first time story? How has it affected your feelings about philanthropy? (Maybe this is my first book idea!)  Do you agree that if we could provide more good first times, we could ultimately inspire more giving?