Philanthropy’s Road Forward: 6 Takeaways From Traveling the U.S. in Precarious Times

In the seven weeks following the April 29 release of my book A New Era of Philanthropy, I embarked on a book tour across the country and online. It was a rare opportunity to connect with thousands of philanthropy and nonprofit leaders. We gathered in bookstores and backyard salons, foundation boardrooms, large conference halls, and Zoom rooms. I talked to trustees, staff, donors, philanthropic advisers, and movement leaders, who all reflected on how the sector must evolve to meet this urgent moment for our nation.

As my tour moved from city to city, U.S. democracy was growing increasingly unstable. Law firms, universities, and nonprofits were attacked by the new administration. Kidnappings by masked, armed, and un-uniformed men at courthouses, in fields, restaurants, and neighborhoods had become routine. Marines were deployed to California. My own senator was handcuffed and forcibly removed for asking a question during a press conference.

To reflect on these changing norms, at each book event I would name one thing that had happened in the country that day. Over time, these moments formed a kind of living timeline, revealing a dramatic erosion of democratic principles. What began as a tour to discuss my book on funding during times of crisis and possibility, became something more: a shared space for making sense of a rapidly changing world — and for asking what role philanthropy must play in this precarious time.

What I Heard

Book tours are typically an exercise in speaking. But for me, the real gift was an opportunity to listen. Here are my takeaways:

Foundation leaders are clear about the stakes but less clear about what to do. Until recently, I often found myself needing to persuade those working in philanthropy about the enormity of today’s crisis. No longer. Everywhere I went, people spoke with urgency about threats to democracy, deepening inequality, and the danger of climate collapse. The clarity was striking and new.

Yet many weren’t sure how philanthropy could respond. Leaders at some of the largest foundations regretfully told me that philanthropy is “just a drop in the bucket” and couldn’t possibly plug the hole created by massive government funding cuts. I heard about trustees with crisis fatigue and foundation staff feeling frustration and despair over their employers’ failure to increase payout rates as needs dramatically escalated.

Many described a disconnect between the urgency they feel and the philanthropic cultures they operate in. That gap, as my book argues, results from the continued adherence to a philanthropic structure built for another era — one in which most philanthropists were content to do “a little good” while preserving the existing systems of power and wealth. A philanthropy for our times must seek to transform the systems of power and wealth fueling today’s crises. In conversation after conversation, I heard a hunger to do just that.

Funders are struggling to make sense of the time frame. At multiple stops, I was asked why my book, which I wrote in 2024 and was based on experiences from the previous two decades, felt like it was written last month. My answer: because the current emergency didn’t begin on January 20, 2025, and is not about one election. Funding effectively means recognizing that we are in the first decade of an era of intersecting political, economic, and environmental polycrisis. Grant makers have operated under the expectation that things will return to “normal” next year and that short-term funding bursts will be enough. Instead, what’s needed is a massive and sustained generational commitment to tackling the problems undergirding these crises.

Grant makers underestimate the damage to nonprofits and the communities they serve. Riding an elevator on my way to give an opening keynote to a conference of fundraisers, I overheard one attendee remark that the agenda looked compelling but that what the audience really needed was time for a collective cry. She was referring to the massive funding cuts to the nonprofit sector, the widespread layoffs, and the reality that everyone is being asked to do more with less. Nearly everywhere I went, people expressed anger and a sense of betrayal at the slowness of philanthropy’s response as their organizations’ capacity, built over decades, was dismantled in weeks. I can’t even get my program officer to respond to an email was a common refrain.

Philanthropy is powerful, but many working in the field feel powerless. As foundations roll back their commitments to racial justice and equity, staff members frequently asked me: How can I make a difference if I’m not the CEO or the donor?

I shared what I’ve witnessed throughout my career: that the most meaningful change in our sector often emerges from the ground up. The widespread adoption of trust-based practices, for example, didn’t begin in boardrooms. It began when grants managers, program officers, and associates reimagined their roles, centered grantee relationships, and transformed how they approached their work with nonprofits. While executives and boards make formal decisions, the culture that shapes those decisions happens throughout an organization.

At one event, a trustee listened as two program staff from another foundation spoke about grappling with recent cuts to their equity work. The trustee shared that her own commitment to racial justice was inspired by listening to and learning from program officers at other foundations who spoke candidly and offered new ideas. “Your voice makes a difference,” she said.

The sector overestimates the transformative power of the biggest funders. Bill Gates did not make it to my book tour, but his presence was keenly felt. In nearly every city, I was asked: What would you say to Bill Gates? Billionaires loom large in our culture, and the sector remains captivated by the idea that the wealthiest philanthropists are the most consequential.

But many of the most transformative shifts I’ve seen have come from smaller, community-rooted, and midsize funders willing to move money differently, share power, and take risks. Capital is important, and of course, the Gates Foundation has more than most. But transformative philanthropy also requires relationships, purpose, imagination, solidarity, trust, and more.

I loved this exchange with an audience member in Seattle. After answering the question about what advice I would give Gates, I turned it around and asked, “You’re from here. What would you say to him?” The response was quick and clear. “Bill Gates owns more farmland in Washington State than anyone else. I would ask him to give that land back to Native communities.” This notion of return and repair is a critical component of the new era of philanthropy.

The sector craves community and collective action. What struck me most across the tour was how deeply people wanted to be together to ask hard questions, reflect honestly, and work from a place of shared purpose. This desire isn’t just emotional — it’s strategic. Philanthropy cannot change in isolation. At multiple stops, CEOs told me that if there is a silver lining to what’s happening right now, it’s the new level of coordination and collaboration building among foundations.

I began this tour hoping to share a message about how philanthropy can change. I came away with a real-time glimpse of what is already shifting — and what still must evolve. As I prepare for a second season of events, the challenges ahead feel enormous. I don’t know if the philanthropic world will respond with courage and clarity of purpose. But I do know this: I met thousands of funders, advisers, consultants, and nonprofit leaders who are hungry for a new era of giving and are moving into formation together to provide the resources that a new era will require.