
And now, more than ever, we need to remind ourselves of them. Because ours is a sector that, at its best, offers a beacon of hope to millions of people.
Remember that.
Not the false hopes marketed by so many wealthy white-saviour figures as they vie to build their angry tribes, but real, positive hope: of warmth and welcome, safety and belonging, health and wellbeing, collective action and social cohesion, and the extraordinary power of human kindness.
And I get that sometimes it’s hard to feel that positive. Not least because of where the current direction of travel might be leading us.
One of my colleagues in the US recently described to me the impact Trump’s latest flurry of executive orders is having on nonprofits over there, exacerbated now by the withdrawal of huge funders like NSF and CIFF.
Then she said this: “I’m due to be speaking in Chicago next week. A few blocks away they just watched masked men abseiling out of Black Hawk helicopters onto residential buildings, dragging off men, women, half-naked children. People with no criminal records. US citizens as well. For the crime of being brown in America. The idea of sitting down now and writing a keynote on nonprofit governance just seems surreal.”
Her sense of powerlessness was palpable. And it’s not surprising so many people feel the same, when so many of the algorithms and feeds that shape our worldview seem custom-designed to provoke as much anger, fear and cynicism as possible.
Which is why, for all that I’ve written about systems change, the importance of seeing the bigger picture and single-mindedly committing to realise your ultimate vision… to all things there must be balance.
Alongside the big stuff, we need to make space, consciously, to notice the small things; the things that actually, really matter.
The things you’ve achieved despite everything, and the fact you’re still here. But more than that, the green shoots, the signs of progress, the potential you see in all those around you.
I can tell exactly when someone I’m coaching has been “out in the field”, visiting their teams or programmes, spending time with other organisations they’re working with. They don’t need to tell me; the positivity is written all over their face.
Matt Hyde, CEO of Lloyds Bank Foundation recently posted on LinkedIn about his few days in Manchester, meeting the people and hearing the stories about some of the transformational work that’s happening there.
I was running a strategy workshop with him and his team the following day, and I’ve rarely seen anyone so full of positive energy.
There is so much great stuff happening across the country.
I’m fortunate I get to hear some of it when I’m meeting or interviewing different leaders, whether it’s new-found interest in neighbourhoods and community-building, the transformational potential of impact investing and outcomes-based funding, or the hugely impactful coalitions we’re seeing on everything from children’s rights to national volunteering.
The more you look, the more reasons to be positive that you’ll see. It really is that simple.
But the point is, you need to look, because these things rarely make the feed. They’re not going to be trending anytime soon because they aren’t what the algorithms are after.
And we need to recognise that.
If it’s true that we’re all products of our environment, then it’s also true that we need to take ownership of that environment and start curating it far more than we’ve ever had to in the past.
We need to become far more mindful of where we get our energy and inspiration from, and where it gets sapped and drained.
Which usually means, at the very least, stepping away from the industrial-scale online anger-farms and spending more time with good people who are doing great things.
The life of a charity leader is never easy, even in the best of times. And for charities, for those who work in them and those who rely on them, these are clearly not the best of times.
But they’re a lot, lot better than others would have you believe. You just need to switch off your screen, go outside, and take a look.