It’s Not Advice My Grantees Need. They Need My Access to Power and Money.

Illustration by Maria Mottola

Editor's Note: This is Lisa’s 15th piece in a Chronicle of Philanthropy series that originally focused on grantmaking in the coronavirus era. Recent pieces explore philanthropy's role in dismantling a system of racial injustice and evolving to adapt to the political landscape. You may view the original piece here.

My godmother Nina is not a warm and fuzzy fairy godmother. She is more of a lawyerly godmother. Despite or because of this, she taught me one of the most helpful lessons of my life. A few years ago, I was expressing my opinion about how a neighbor was managing a crisis in her life, and Nina looked me in the eyes and said: “You’re not on that committee.”

Somehow, the construction and simplicity of that statement moved me out of my righteous indignation and helped me to right size my role and reconsider how much power I had or should have over the situation.

“I’m not on that committee” has become a catchphrase among my family and friends. When I complain to my daughter about how my cousin disciplines her kids, Tessa is quick to remind me of my lack of committee standing. When my son was mulling over what college classes to take next semester, I turned to my husband and asked, “Are we on this committee?” and then decided that we are members, at least for now.

I am a big know-it-all, and among my cousins, I am the oldest and the bossiest. I imagine my unsolicited advice to be useful to many people and believe myself to be essential to all sorts of committees. While this is annoying to my friends and family, they know that they can kick me off their committees with no consequences.

This is not true when I show up with opinions for my grantee partners. If I claim space on their committees, that can make a serious impact on the people or institutions I am influencing and on our ongoing relationships.

When I was an executive director of a nonprofit, I had a program officer who always told me to talk to other people in the field. Each time I met with her, I ended up with the names of five people she insisted I meet. I would call them even if I already knew them or knew them to be overwhelmed in fielding calls like this because I wanted the program officer to like me and continue funding my work. I thought that if I took her advice, she would feel more connected to me. Whether or not these conversations were useful, I always followed up with effusive thank- you emails, and cc’d my program officer so she would know how much I appreciated her advice.

What Can I Offer?

Now that I am the one in her position, I find it confusing to know when to offer opinions and suggestions, and when to keep them to myself — in short, when I am on the committees and when I am not. Have I been invited or have I invited myself? What do I have to offer?

Sometimes I have good ideas, helpful resources, and meaningful connections to share with grantee partners. I am a pretty good listener, and I am good at remembering the details of what different people are working on and then connecting them to each other (that is to say, I finally found a profession in which to use my skills as a gossip). Sometimes grantees ask for my advice, and I can open space for connections to be made and amplify their work.

However, sometimes they ask me for advice, and I really want to be helpful but don’t have a good answer. I want to seem smart and meet the need, and so sometimes, despite my better judgment, I suggest they read an article that I have not read, guessing it will be relevant. I offer wisdom that I have learned by listening to the same public radio story they have heard. I tell five of them to go talk to the same person, without asking that person if they are willing and able to have the conversation. Or I give them dated advice that was relevant to me when I was running a program 10 years ago. Even as I am doing it, I know it is not the right move — but in the moment, I can be seduced by my own ideas.

At the foundation where I work, we spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to address the power dynamics within the grant maker-grantee relationship. We are trying to debunk the notion that because we have access to capital, we hold some greater wisdom than our grantees.

We hope that by naming the power dynamics, and taking steps to address them within our processes, we can develop more authentic relationships. I find that the things that help most to build trust are time, honesty, and vulnerability.

Action and Access

I am realizing that my contributions are most useful when they emerge from my role and experience.

My grantee partners are the experts on their program areas and the context in which they work. I can offer my perspective from where I sit, but — more relevant — I can offer action and access that they can’t always get to on their own.

As a foundation executive, I can absorb some of the risk of asking for access to power and money. There are some messages that I can relay, and some conversations that are easier for me to have than are possible for the leaders of the organizations we fund.

More and more, this is what I am realizing I have to offer as a committee member to my grantee partners — and more and more I am trying to be explicit about that, as well as about what I do not offer. And perhaps most importantly, I need to be clear that the offer is just that — an offer that can be turned down without consequence. That is not always the message that grant makers give to their grantees — and so it sometimes bears repeating.

When to Speak — and When to Listen

The last time I was on a plane before the pandemic, I went to San Francisco for a work conference. I snuck away one night to go meet Nina for dinner. She had not consulted me on where we were going to eat; she is the native San Franciscan and did not want my advice on where to go. She did not want my advice on what to order; she always gets the same thing at that restaurant.

But she did ask me about what presidential primary campaigns I was working on and where I thought she should volunteer. I would have steered her wrong about what and where to order dinner — and in fact, I steered her toward a losing candidate but one we both felt good about and who could use her talents well on the campaign’s volunteer committee.

I have learned so much during this terrible year — and I have so much to learn. I believe that the questions of where to be of service, what to bring to the work and what to leave behind, and when to speak and when to listen are at the heart of how to be of use in my job. They are also key to being a good freedom fighter, mother, friend, and ally. As we come up on the anniversary of the pandemic, I have a long way to go, and I thank the many teachers and godmothers who are helping along the way.