© 2024 Jeff Shuck.
Change
In particular, I’m wishing you a few moments of reflection and realization that your role is critical and unique; that it is never too late to influence our shared future, because that future always lies in front of us; and that despite our indulgence for cynicism and self-defeat, a better world is solidly within our grasp.
May today be the bud of at least one of those blossoms for you.
This video stands alone, although at the risk of undermining its power I’ll add a brief introduction. I had the opportunity a few weeks ago to meet the incredible team at Invisible Children. I was moved and inspired by their passion, the tactical nature of their ask, their undeniable progress towards their goal, the single-mindedness of their mission, and the spirit of the entire operation.
I’m so proud to share this video and to count myself as a supporter of Kony 2012. Very, very worth watching.
If what you’re doing isn’t making a difference, try something else.
When nothing makes sense, perhaps the best thing to do is to stop, listen to your soul, and then strike off confidently in the direction of your firm belief.
Allison Fine, one of a dozen or so excellent nonprofit experts I follow regularly, posted an article yesterday asking why it is that giving has been essentially flat for 40 years at 2% of GDP. The occasion of her post was the publication by Blackbaud of a whitepaper entitled Growing Philanthropy. It is a meaty report, with 32 recommendations for nonprofits about how to increase overall giving. There is a lot of substance there, and yet I fear its size will inspire more people put it on their “I should read this” pile than actually read it.
It is also rather academic, and as such while I think it adds to the dialogue I’m not sure it describes the whole solution, or even identifies the entire problem. The problem cannot just be solved with best practices and organizational efficiency. We need passionate calls to action to the many who are not yet involved, and passionate encouragement for further engagement to those that already are.
Taking a step back for a moment, the concept that giving is consistent as a percentage of GDP is a Big Idea in capital letters. Once you get your head around it, you realize you have found one of the core dynamics shaping the entire nonprofit system. It is surprising not only for its 40-year consistency, but more notably for the fact that most nonprofit leaders seem to be completely unaware of it. I am constantly struck but how few nonprofit executives, development professionals, and marketers will acknowledge that giving is pegged to GDP. The few who do know seem to think (or hope) that their own organizations exist outside of this reality.
Giving USA has been tracking this for years and years. About five years ago – prior to banking explosions but well into early signs of recession – I wrote several position papers on this topic for our clients at Event 360. If giving is constant as a percentage of GDP, it stands to reason that dollar giving will go up in times of growth – and unfortunately, will decline in times of recession. That is exactly what happened, of course; but even organizations which saw the recession coming were unprepared for the drop in giving.
The more pressing question, as Allison points out, is not “does the dynamic exist” but “why does it exist, and how can we change it?” My own experience with very large peer-to-peer programs has probably colored my view – but I will say that we consistently find it is easier to get people who are already giving to give more than it is to get people who haven’t done anything to make the first gift. My sense is that this same truism operates at a system-wide level in the whole nonprofit space.
More to the point, after twenty years in the space I’m not sure that we’ve gotten any better at getting the large numbers of people who do not donate a thing to get involved. And before I go further: My last sentence references another Big Idea that those of us who live and breathe charity tend to forget. We are surrounded by giving and so we forget that large numbers of people do not give at all. A Harris Interactive poll conducted late last year found that only 12% of people admit to not giving at all. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad! But ominously, the same poll found that only about a quarter of people felt “some responsibility to improve the world they live in.” Wow. (Further, we tend to forget that of individuals who do give, over a third of that giving come from and goes to religious organizations – the only organizations I’ve run across which have integrated a recurring, weekly, in-person, experiential ask into their mission. They ask in the pews, every Sunday.)
In any case, my point is that I think we’ve gotten a lot better at activating those who are charitable, but not any better at inspiring new charitableness. When one-quarter is literally carrying the weight of the world, we’ve got a big challenge on our hands. Improving effectiveness with social media, making better investment decisions, providing better training, and sharing workable solutions are all important. But this is a problem of the heart as much as the head. We need to make giving more accessible and less tedious, and as amazing as it may sound, we need to do more to not only emphasize this cause or that but to convey the obligation, transcendence, and joy of giving itself.
It is fairly presumptuous of me to assume I have anything to add to the vast number of poignant 9/11 commentaries you’ve probably seen this weekend. But I do think I have something to add about my favorite topic, which is why the the world needs you and the work you do.
As I’ve listened, watched, and read a variety of 9/11 tributes today, I’ve been struck by how each person’s experience of that day is so similar and yet so particular. We each experienced the grief, and fear, and confusion. But we each experienced it in our own way. The person who sat on the phone trying to reach a loved one. The person who drove crosstown to help. The person who enlisted. The person who watched dusted figures walk by. The person who gave out free food and water. The same streak of light through fifty million prisms.
My memories, like yours, are likely special only to me. My uniqueness involves the impending birth of my son Matthew. He had his dad’s love of drama even then, already ten days overdue. Waiting to make an entrance. That morning found me at home in Los Angeles getting ready to take Jeanie to the hospital. She was to be induced. As we woke to pack the bags for the hospital, we turned on the television and our lives changed in the same way yours did. In the ways everyone’s did.
The morning was a flurry of phone calls. Calls with family, and friends, and of course, the family and friends I worked with — many of whom I still work with ten years later. Did Murph stay overnight or did he go direct? Did anyone know what freaking flight he was on? Was Conigs downtown? Can anyone reach her? Was the team from Canada accounted for?
When Jeanie and I finally made it to the hospital, we looked at our O.B. and said simply, “We are not inducing today. We will not have our son born today.”
And yet, the most troubling and redemptive characteristic of life is its imminence. It won’t wait. Life is always just about to be. And so on the 12th we were back at the hospital, unable to exert any more influence on Matthew’s timing. We sat and watched CNN and wondered, at least a bit, what kind of parents we were to be if we were selfish enough to bring a child into a world like this.
And you know the rest, or at least your part of it. It is not historical self-indulgence to assert that the last ten years have been fundamentally different than those that came before. We have seen, in a real way, a decade of division. Towers split in half. Families torn apart. A world brought briefly together, and then too, a world splintered.
We became used to separating things. Our shoes and belts at the airport. Our loved ones sent to other places. Our inward thoughts from our spoken opinions. It became a decade of divisions in geopolitics, and then domestic politics, and then in business and economics too, as the math we learned years earlier seemed to stop working. The reds and the blues; the right and the left. More disturbingly, the haves and the have-nots. The us and the them.
There are many groups of people, many talented and dedicated groups of people, working to overcome these divisions. And despite my penchant for cynicism, I have immense respect and gratitude for the women and men of the military, the political community, and the government. I think by and large they are doing their best to solve the vast array of problems that a decade of division has laid at the doorstep.
Yet these people can only do so much. There is only so much that can be accomplished when the prime directive is to stop the loss. “Minimize the damage” can only take us so far. At some point, the momentum has to be reversed.
That’s where you come in. You may not recognize it, but you are in the business of multiplication.
In event fundraising, the multiplication works in a mathematical way I can prove: One participant brings 50 or 60 donors. It is in datasets; I can see how it works.
But the multiplication is more powerful than that. I have seen it in the way one walker brings five family members to cheer her on. In the way laughter spreads across a camp. In the way a small email encouragement is passed on to dozens of friends. In the way one shoe raised ripples across a crowd 1,500 times.
Whatever your profession — teacher, attorney, firefighter, bus driver, pilot, consultant — I will bet that when you reflect on the myriad of interactions you have each moment of your day, you will find there is multiplication at the core of what you do. Every single day of every single week.
The most profound reason my last decade has been different than the ten years before it has nothing to do with 9/11 at all — nothing to do with terrorism, or anti-terrorism, or financial collapse, or political discontent. It has to do with a wonderful boy named Matthew. When I look back on how my life has changed, I can say that he changed it more than any of that, in a huge, positive, profound way; that he multiplied my love and care and hope and optimism fifty thousand times more than anything that happened to divide it. Love is the ultimate force multiplier.
We are indeed still at war, and mainly we are at war with ourselves. Are we strong enough to look forward and create a better world? To take the risks and make the commitment to a more powerful future, a future that is the right future to create even though we may not be here to enjoy all of it? To sacrifice ourselves for a cleaner earth, a more tolerant community, a more equitable country, and a more peaceful world?
Answering the questions to create this world will require an abundance of character, and mainly it will take hope, love, and hard work. When I really open my eyes to look at the people around me, I see all three evidenced in dramatic quantities — and it makes me proud of the “what” you do, and excited for the decade of multiplication we together will help to create.
Watching you, I am ready for the next decade. It is onwards and upwards from here.
And finally: Happy birthday to the fourth of my force multipliers, Danny, who turns three this very day.
Yesterday I traveled home from a fairly long trip to Washington, DC for the 2011 NTEN Nonprofit Technology Conference. The conference itself was three days, but we added on several days of team meetings and so when it was all said and done, it made for a six-day trip. That’s a long time to be gone in any person’s book, or at least, a long time to be gone for a trip that doesn’t involve a beach.
In any case, the conference was fantastic, but by Saturday night the Event 360 folks and I were feeling a bit punchy and spent the better part of the evening shuffling around Dupont Circle. There are far worse places to spend a Saturday evening, particularly an evening involving a Supermoon, and we had a lot of fun stopping in various places around the neighborhood and trying to decide if the moon was larger after all.
One highlight was the fabulous Kramerbooks & Afterwords Cafe & Grill, which I’d heard about but never set foot in. It took all of ten minutes for me to be juggling a pile of six books — I’m not so much a reader as a book acquirer; I seem to have far more books than time to read, and since my recent disavowal of the Kindle (a post for another time), I’m piling up pages quickly. Luckily one of my Event 360 Voices of Reason talked me down to three books, one of which was Zeiton by Dave Eggers.
For years I’ve had a copy of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which has been recommended to me by so many people that a while ago I began actively resisting suggestions to read it. Not that I don’t trust all the recommendations; I suppose I just have enough of an anti-establishment streak that the more I hear the less I want to go along. (Or am I just stubborn?) Plus, I understand the theme involves the death of parents, and I’ve had enough of that for the last several years, thank you very much.
In any case, I know of Eggers and the book looked interesting. A true story, it involves two of my many hot buttons: Hurricaine Katrina and civil liberties, or the lack thereof; and more broadly, the reason you might want to adopt a healthy anti-establishment streak yourself. So yesterday afternoon, tired from the week and with thoughts of nonprofits, technology, and making a difference mulling around my head, I boarded my plane home and turned to page one.
I cannot recommend this book highly enough. Harrowing, haunting, and ultimately hopeful, the book in simple but heroic, subtle but compelling turns tells a vast story on a small canvas, like a faded postcard from a distant trip you might frame and hang in your guest bedroom, a tiny reminder of a much larger experience you can’t fully explain. You will find yourself wondering how and why this could happen here, in America, only a few years ago, and then — if there’s any hope for us — find yourself angry and troubled that you haven’t heard more about it.
The absurdity of bureaucracy, the mechanized degradation of personality, and the progressive devaluation of individuality are all important themes in the story. But unlike me, Eggers is a powerful writer, and doesn’t need to specifically call out those themes at all. They tap themselves on the head and step forward for you.
It is a story of vast consequence told with almost no pretense. It will leave you with many questions, and yet also with a reminder of the power we each carry within us. Worth reading.
Yesterday, I had the profound honor of addressing my graduating class at the commencement ceremony for the Kellogg Executive Masters Program. It was an incredible — and incredibly humbling — experience. Here, apart from a few side comments, is what I said.
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Dean Jain, Assistant Dean Cisek-Jones, distinguished faculty and staff, honored guests, graduates of EMP 74, and of course, classmates of EMP 73:
Thank you.
There are so many people in this room who have impressed and awed me over the past two years. I am honored and humbled to speak to you today on behalf of EMP 73.
I had a reputation – probably merited – as being one of the most talkative people in our class. Whatever the topic, I had a question about it, or a comment about it, or a question about my comment. So it is quite incredible to me that anyone in my class believes I have anything left to say. I’m sure that they figured that if they didn’t let me speak, I’d find some way to add a comment anyway.
In any case, I’ll do my best to exhibit a brevity that was absent during my two years as a student.
Please allow me to convey three messages.
First and most importantly, on behalf of my entire class, I want to thank everyone in the audience who is not wearing an academic robe. To all of the family and friends who are here today, thank you. As our wives, husbands, daughters, sons, brothers, sisters, parents, and friends, you went through the experience with us. But your part was much more difficult than ours. In many ways, you bore all of the hardships – the long days and nights, the studying, the stress, the awkward weight gain! – and yet you received few if any of the benefits. You became accustomed to eating alone, or caring for children by yourselves – and a few of you even gave birth while you shared your marriage with the EMP program. You did not embark on the experience to learn new skills, or make new friends, or expand your business networks. You supported us only because you care about us. Thank you. We want to let you know that we are profoundly grateful for your love.
And specifically to the children in the audience: We hope that you do not mistake the times we were absent from dinners, and school concerts, and swim meets, and soccer matches, and games of catch, and stuffed animal tea parties, and Lego battles as anything other than our desire to make you proud through our effort. Do not think for one moment that you are not our most important priority, because you are. Among all the marks we received during our two years, by far the most important is the grade we receive from you. We hope we ended the program with a High Pass. Thank you for being here, because you are the reason we do what we do. (And to Matthew, Johnny, Ellie, and Danny – I love you, I’m proud of you, and yes, we can finally go to the aquarium now.)
Secondly, to everyone who teaches and works at Kellogg: Thank you. Your work is superb in intent and in implementation, and you shared it selflessly with us. Thank you for shouldering our inexperience, our overconfidence, and our impetuousness with professionalism and grace. Thank you for seeing something in us that we only hoped to see in ourselves; thank you for inviting us into your circle. We hope that we make you, and the school, proud.
And finally, to the graduates in the audience, and in particular to my fellow graduates from EMP 73: So here we are. It is amazing to think that something that took so long could go by so fast. Less than two years ago we gathered for the first time in a room just half a mile up the road as the frightening realization dawned on us: The program is not only going to involve numbers, but there’s actually going to be math. And, they’re really going to test us on it.
But we overcame our fear, and soon we got into a routine. It was a routine that was hard not to like. It involved new books every six weeks, books that were labeled with our names neatly on the top. It involved weekly group meetings, and lots of lecture notes – but it also involved omelets, and quite a few more meals than normal, healthy people should eat.
It’s true that there were exams and assignments and papers, but it also turned out that there was something else – there were good people, the kind of people you’d always wish and hope that you’d meet, people who were smart and funny and challenging and inspiring. And though we came into the program thinking that the people were a way to understand the coursework, it soon became clear that the reality was just the opposite – that the curriculum was just a door into the real value of Kellogg: All of you.
And after all your effort, after all our time learning about marketing mixes and weighted-average cost of capital and the theory of constraints and pricing strategies, our reward is to be turned loose into the worst economy the world has seen in seventy years.
It would be absurd not to mention current conditions, because the impact of those conditions has been keenly felt by our class. Our classmates have seen their salaries cut, opportunities eliminated, relationships strained, and for some, jobs lost. In a better time, discussions around the dinner table might involve decisions between new career opportunities – now, the discussions are just as likely to concern loans, and mortgage payments, and dwindling retirement accounts. The news from both Wall Street and Washington doesn’t inspire many warm feelings, and it is hard not to wish for a third year of school as a refuge. One has a sense that though the exams have ended, the biggest tests are still to come.
I think, however, that this is not the right way to view the situation. We are not the next round of cattle being led to the stockyards; perhaps we – though not completely aware that we are up to the task – perhaps we are the cavalry. Perhaps we ourselves are the solution that we are looking for.
In school we talk repeatedly about Ps – about price, promotion, place, product, and of course, the biggest of all, profit. As we leave Kellogg in these uncertain times, I have a sense that we will need to focus on two more important Ps: Passion and Perspective.
Right now, the world needs people who care – people who care enough to look beyond band-aids and sound-bites to create lasting, meaningful solutions.
And the world needs people who understand that success in business is simply a tool. It is not the end goal. The end goal is prosperity and peace for our great-grandchildren. The end goal is long-term relationships that are made of respect and integrity. The end goal is workable, sustainable methods for encouraging initiative while discouraging exploitation. The end goal is less hate and more light; decreased ignorance and increased understanding; less suffering and more healing. The end goal, quite simply, is a better world. We must have the passion and the perspective to focus our businesses, our careers, and our lives on those goals.
It is true that we are leaving Kellogg with newfound knowledge. But your biggest asset is not your head, it’s your heart. Over the last two years I have had the joy of experiencing that heart first-hand, and it fills me with optimism and hope.
There is a lot to do. The world needs you. And what’s fortunate for all of us is that you are ready.
Godspeed friends. Let’s get to work.
Mr. President, thank you for tackling the challenges facing us. These are difficult times, and difficult times require initiative and leadership. I appreciate you wading through all the muck and mire that is required to serve as an elected official in this country. We need you.
I have no doubt that you are every bit as passionate and intelligent as you appear. But I am not counting on you for single-handed transformation. This is not because I do not believe in you, but rather because I believe in us. As an American I understand that the power of this country is in the collective, not in the one — and so my hope for you is that you help catalyze the potential in all of us.
You cannot change things yourself, but you can help get the rest of us moving again. My sincere wish is that we are all successful.
With hope and resolve,
Jeff
