Ethics in fundraising goes far beyond the donations acceptance policy

I read NCVO’s recently published Charity Ethical Principles with great interest. It highlights four principles via which charities should aspire to high ethical standards:

  • Beneficiaries first
  • Integrity
  • Openness
  • Right to be safe

I applaud its recognition that charities have impacts – both positive and negative – beyond their specific missions. It covers, for example, the importance of workforce diversity, the role that culture plays in ensuring staff feel safe at work, and a commitment to reducing environmental impact. However, it does not explore why these things are important, and for me this raised some interesting questions.

Is putting the beneficiary first always the right thing to do?

The Charity Ethical Principles states that “The interests of their beneficiaries and the causes they work for should be at the heart of everything charities and those who work and volunteer in and with them do.

I agree with this statement. However, it also seems that pretty much anything a charity wants to do can be justified by “beneficiaries first”. High-pressure tactics from street fundraisers? Check. Mass mailings with only the barest nod to personalisation? Check. Hiring unpaid interns to reduce the staffing bill? Check.

Why stop there? A homelessness charity probably can’t accept funding from the alcohol industry. But the arms trade wouldn’t be a direct conflict – and it can be highly lucrative! If selling weapons to questionable regimes raises more money for a good cause, it’s putting beneficiaries first. Isn’t it?

Obviously that’s a ridiculous statement. Aside from the practicalities of a small charity opening a trading arm to sell fighter jets to Saudi Arabia, we all know that it would be unconscionable. And it would cause a public outcry.

What do we do when “beneficiaries first” appears to conflict with our other responsibilities?

I’m by no means the first to ask this type of question. Rogare, the fundraising think tank, is developing an ethics model for fundraising: its particular focus is balancing the twin philosophies of “donor first” and “beneficiary first”.

Rogare’s Ian Macquillin recognises that “charities are run as two ‘separate’ organisations, serving two different roles to two different stakeholders [i.e. beneficiaries and donors] in two different markets (which is a key difference to commercial organisations)”.

Reconciling the needs of these two groups is no easy job. Macquillin makes the convincing argument, though, that we need a framework involving more than simply what feels right to us, or what the public, or the Daily Mail, thinks is right. We need to be able to justify what we do as fundraisers, and think twice about anything that has the potential to cause damage.

But do charities have responsibilities beyond the beneficiary and the donor? How important are these, and what does the public expect from us?

The negative externalities of fundraising and charity work

A “negative externality” is “a cost that is suffered by a third party as a result of an economic transaction“. The negative effects of pollution caused by commercial vehicles, for example, isn’t borne by the businesses, but rather those living in the environment around them. (This is the logic behind London’s new Ultra Low Emission Zone).

Learning this phrase made me wonder: what are the negative externalities of our charity work? There must be plenty: not because we are ill-intentioned, but simply because we operate in the same world as everyone else. Off the top of my head:

  • Charities may have investments in fossil fuel or arms manufacturers – indirectly contributing to pollution / global instability
  • T-shirts and other fundraising materials may not be produced to high ethical standards – affecting the welfare of workers in other countries
  • A culture of bullying causes stress and ill health in employees – a cost that is borne by their family, and possibly also by the NHS

Why should we care?

It’s impossible for any of us to avoid leaving a footprint on the world – however hard we try. We might think it’s particularly difficult for cash-strapped charities.

But this, in my view, is the wrong way to look at it. By striving to be “good” in everything we do, beyond the narrow confines of our mission statements, we can make even more of an impact on the world – and ultimately on our bottom lines:

  • Striving for a more diverse workforce isn’t just “good”; there’s a strong business case for it.
  • Treating donors’ data with care and respect will engender trust and higher income over the long term. Having seen some privacy policies, it’s blatantly obvious which organisations are striving towards transparency and which are trying to find loopholes to wiggle through. If I can spot the difference, the public certainly can.
  • The charity sector may not be the biggest contributor to carbon dioxide emissions, but we all have a responsibility to try and make the whole world better. And there are likely to be huge investment opportunities in clean energy.
  • All of the above safeguards the reputation of the charity sector. The media continues to throw mud at charities; proving that we operate in good faith will ensure that less of it sticks. And we know that, reputation-wise, one charity behaving badly affects all of the others.

Maybe I’m coming across as naive and idealistic, but surely most of us in the charity sector are here because we do want to make the world a better place overall. So my argument is that doing all of the above is putting the beneficiary first. 

Finally, I’ve heard peers complain – particularly in light of the mass mailing scandals – that the charity sector is criticised more than the private sector. Well, don’t we want to be better? Why shouldn’t we be held to high standards? If we are truly committed to putting our beneficiaries first, we should relish the challenge.

I love being right about blockchain, but also have a serious point to make

Scepticism about blockchain is turning into one of my favourite subjects. I’ve written about it here and here and here.

I was pleased to discover that my views are backed up by a recent study, which found “no documentation or evidence of the results blockchain was purported to have achieved” despite the glowing claims and forceful optimism of its proponents. (There’s also a good summary at The Register.)

Tellingly, when the study authors reached out to these enthusiasts, “not one was willing to share data on program results”. It turns out, therefore, that these companies don’t exactly practice what they preach when it comes to radical transparency.

It feels lovely to be able to say “I told you so”. However, there’s a serious side to all of this. I’ve recently read Bad Blood by John Carreyrou, which summarises his phenomenal investigation into the Theranos scandal. It’s fascinating and shocking and I highly recommend it.

In short, some of Silicon Valley’s most prominent investors were taken in by Elizabeth Holmes, a glamorous, charismatic leader who claimed to have developed a groundbreaking blood-testing device. This device, however, never existed in a functional format. It’s no longer going well for Holmes, although her story is probably going to make a great film.

The unravelling of Kids Company is similar in many ways: like Theranos it involved a charismatic founder with access to the highest echelons of political influence, but a painful lack of real impact evidence.

In both cases, the damage goes far beyond the wallets of funders or investors. Patients used inaccurate blood test results from Theranos machines to make decisions about their health, and vulnerable children under the care of Kids Company may have been put at risk.

It would be awful if anything like this happened again in our sector, but I believe there’s a risk if we take new technological claims at face value. I hope all of us can maintain a healthy scepticism towards anyone who claims that any new technology can solve social justice issues. Perhaps it can, but if these claims are grounded in reality, their proponents won’t mind answering difficult questions.

Moreover, I don’t buy the claim that only those with technical expertise can really understand. Any of us with a modicum of intelligence can get a handle on these proposals and identify the gaps.

After all, it’s much better to cause momentary awkwardness through asking a tricky question than hurt the people we are all trying to help.

Quitting social media: reflections one month on

I’ve now passed the 30 day grace period for deleting my various social media accounts, so there’s no going back – at least not without rebuilding profiles from scratch. Luckily, I don’t feel the need.

Here are some of my initial reflections on my first social media-free month.

It’s already led to more meaningful conversations

After deleting my social media, I reached out to personal and professional contacts to let them know. On the professional side, I received a few lovely, warm emails which in some cases led to interesting discussions.

No-one questioned my decision and they all appreciated me getting in touch. So far, therefore, this supports my hypothesis that social media has an opportunity cost, and without it I feel motivated to make a bit more effort to deepen my relationships.

On the other hand… it can be harder to get in touch

After reading an article by a fellow fundraiser, I wanted to make contact. Unfortunately I could only find Twitter and LinkedIn details. After a bit of hunting I found an email for a professional side-project connected to this person.

I’m also unable to participate in the Fundraising Chat and Critical Fundraising Forum Facebook groups. I do miss reading the discussions on these groups, and they have been useful in the past in sourcing interviewees for blog posts.

I’m undeterred, however; it’s difficult to leave these sites because there is a real social cost to doing so. I’m committed to paying that cost and still believe I can find a different way to thrive professionally.

Having a blog has made it easier to quit other platforms

Having an established online presence meant that I didn’t feel I was disappearing into the professional ether. I can provide evidence of my fundraising and writing credentials without using LinkedIn. Coupled with my distinctive surname, this means that anyone who is looking for me can find me quite easily.

On the other hand… visitors to this blog have dropped significantly

Twitter was incredibly useful for driving traffic to this blog; I had a modest following of fundraisers who would often click on and retweet the links I provided.

Twitter is still my main referrer, but numbers have dropped to a trickle. I’m grateful to those who are still Tweeting my blog posts, but it would be hypocritical of me to actively encourage this.

Nevertheless, I believe that I can still build up a following and gain traction via other strategies: the main one being providing interesting and useful content. The Internet, and social media in particular, is so full of rubbish that I believe good-quality content does get attention eventually. It may just take a little longer.

I’m more intentionally reading the news

I realised I was getting a lot of my news through links provided by social media algorithms. Due to growing concerns about fake news, I now intentionally read several different news sites including paying a subscription for one. On the fundraising side I’m taking more time to read articles by the trade press.

I’m also finding I’m able to more easily focus on reading more and longer articles; my attention isn’t constantly flicking back to the feed. I feel better informed and more knowledgeable about issues that concern me, such as climate change.

I feel like my mind, and my identity, is my own again

However much we try to avoid it, we are all performing to some extent on social media. I consciously tried not to, but this avoidance of performance is also a type of performance. Social media presents your content as your full humanity while at the same time being incredibly reductive. There’s no space for nuance.

A blog gives me space to explore ideas in more depth while also retaining ownership of my writing. And I’m not exactly sure why, but a blog doesn’t feel like it needs to represent the full extent of my identity in the same way that social media does. This feels freeing.

For the first few days after quitting, I found myself reflexively reaching for my phone, before realising I had nothing to look at, and putting it back down. This impulse disappeared within a week. I also feel readier to embrace a wandering mind and make time in my life for pockets of deeper thinking. I hope and believe that this will help me fulfil my aspirations as a fundraiser and a writer.

I agree with Cal Newport’s theory in his excellent book Deep Work: as professionals our most valuable resources include attention and focus. These are the precise qualities that are under siege from social media. Those who can resist these distractions and cultivate depth are at a professional advantage.

Quitting won’t work for everyone, but it’s always possible to reconsider your own approach

I’m currently on maternity leave, which in some ways has made leaving social media easier, although on the other hand it has risked making me feel more cut off from my profession (and my friends). I’ve countered this through my deliberate efforts to connect on a one-to-one basis.

I don’t foresee this will affect my work significantly when I return next month. As a trusts and major donor fundraiser, I’m able to perform my job without heavy social media use, which I appreciate is not possible in other disciplines. However, there are ways to delineate personal and professional use if you feel it would be helpful.

I hope that my renewed energy and focus on developing meaningful relationships will only be a good thing; although I tended not to connect with donors on social media, the parallels in the skills I’m developing are self-evident.

Finally, it’s always worth questioning the underlying assumptions of our working life. As Newport writes about social media: “These services aren’t necessarily, as advertised, the lifeblood of our modern connected world. They’re just products, developed by private companies, funded lavishly, marketed carefully, and designed ultimately to capture then sell your personal information and attention to advertisers.”

If you’re concerned about your social media use, consider reviewing your relationship with it.

Festive post! Bad films, bad sex and diversity in the charity sector.

I don’t watch as many films as I’d like to. I love good films, but I find it hard to find something I’ll genuinely enjoy, and by the time I realise I’m watching a clanger, I’m annoyed at the time and money I’ve wasted when I could have been reading a book instead.

Sadly I find it hard to avoid bad films and, unfortunately, I’ve learned that I can’t trust most film critics.

Before you dismiss me as a curmudgeon, let me present an example: the 2006 festive film The Holiday, starring Jude Law, Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet and Jack Black.

A combination of being a new parent and feeling Christmassy led me to want to watch something gooey and escapist. The Telegraph describes The Holiday as “a treat that will tickle your romantic fancy”.

But I had to stop watching this film. It made me too angry.

Reason 1: A joke about suicide

Kate Winslet’s character, feeling sad about a romantic rejection, puts her head in the oven before changing her mind. How hilarious!

Reason 2: Dreadful attitudes to sex

Cameron Diaz’s character tells Jude Law’s character that she thinks foreplay is overrated. He replies (paraphrase), “You are fast becoming one of the most interesting women I have ever met.”

His evident delight at the prospect of minimal-effort sex made it clear that he’s a repellent human being and not the kind of dream man that the film is trying to present him as.

Reason 3: Unintentionally hilarious lack of diversity

Later in the film (about halfway through, just before I lost patience and switched off) Law (the implausibly wealthy book editor) says to Diaz (the slightly more plausibly wealthy film trailer editor): “We’re from such different worlds“.

That says it all, really.

The world has moved on, but Hollywood hasn’t

Since 2006, my own understanding of diversity issues has improved significantly. Moreover, many industries, communities and sectors are making great efforts, but sadly, not enough is happening in Hollywood.

As the linked article makes clear, The Holiday isn’t an outlier in terms of representation. My film knowledge is far from encyclopaedic, but other examples include:

  • The Change-Up (2011) – it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything so horrendously sexist. One of the “jokes” involves a man waiting to meet a woman who he’s been told is incredibly attractive. Punchline: she’s heavily pregnant and therefore repulsive! Given I was also heavily pregnant at the time of viewing, I didn’t laugh.
  • Paterson (2016) – a critically acclaimed film focusing on a male bus driver/poet and his girlfriend. While watching it I became steadily more irate about the fact that the man’s art was portrayed as deep and meaningful, but his girlfriend’s art was shown to be frivolous and wasteful.

Maybe I would have enjoyed The Holiday back in 2006, before awareness of feminism and other diversity issues ruined most mainstream popular culture for me. However, I wouldn’t call myself humourless. I simply expect more effort from comedy writers than jokes which punch down at easy targets.

This is important because if we don’t see diversity, we don’t learn that those who don’t conform to the white, slim, conventionally attractive Hollywood model have interesting stories to tell. We get writers writing boring stories about other writers because they’re the only people they know about. We get crass jokes about suicide and pregnancy that hurt people. And, in a world where we generally don’t discuss sex openly and honestly, women don’t learn that it’s okay to seek their own pleasure and fulfilment, and that a decent partner would want to support this.

Worst of all, films like The Holiday get described as “a treat” by reviewers who don’t seem to care about these types of issues. (This excellent blog post describes many more of the film’s problems in a blow-by-blow account.)

I do like some films

In evidence to prove I’m not an utterly joyless sceptic, I’d like to list some films I’ve enjoyed:

  • Sorry To Bother You: funny and clever social commentary
  • Miss Sloane: intelligent thriller about a female poker player
  • Another Year: charming but quietly devastating family drama
  • Magic Mike XXL: funny and surprisingly feminist

None of these films are perfect; I’m not on an impossible search for perfection in the media I consume. But I do look for an effort to get away from the lazy sexist, racist and otherwise offensive tropes and tell a good story.

A lack of diversity in the fundraising profession also causes harm

It leads to the same ideas being recycled over and over again. It leads to a public increasingly feeling alienated by, and willing to criticise, the charity sector. And it means that we miss out on talented people who don’t think they can be fundraisers because they don’t see anyone who looks like them in the profession.

Things aren’t nearly as bad in fundraising as they are in Hollywood, thank goodness. And I’ve been proud to be part of the movement for change. But I hope this post serves to remind you just why representation matters so much. And maybe I’ll find another half-decent film to watch one day.

Podcast fame

I wrote in to the Reasons To Be Cheerful podcast following their episode on paternity leave last week, and Ed Miliband read out my email in this week’s episode. He also generously promoted this blog – which was particularly welcome following my decision to leave social media (and thus have fewer easy avenues for promotion).

The podcast is really interesting and makes many similar points to my blog post on the subject. I recommend it!

Faith, hope and climate change

All the news about climate change has been getting me down lately. I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling this way. Becoming a parent has intensified this feeling; it turns out all the cliches are true.

This bad news is one of the many factors that has influenced my decision to quit social media. It had become my main source of news, and given that the algorithms of these platforms favour content that evokes strong negative emotions – such as fear – I decided I was better off without this in my life.

I wanted to be informed without being skewed towards fear. The mainstream news, however, does love its apocalyptic headlines.

Yes, things are bad and the world needs to do more and faster. But as is always the case with stories like this, there is more nuance than first appears. I’ve sought out some positive stories about progress towards changing the world, and have listed some of these below.

The good news I’ve found online

The change I’ve seen in my short lifetime

In my early twenties (I’m now 34) I was passionate about the environment and combating climate change, and was involved in activism and various protests (all legal in my case; I never had the guts to risk arrest). I could also be quite annoying. I believed that evil commercial companies were destroying the planet and the future lay in “alternative” energy sources.

My politics are still left-leaning, but now that I’m older I feel as if I’m better at seeing more of the complexity and uncertainty in the world. Companies are not inherently evil. Many are actively working to make the world a better place. And the world is also improving in many ways. As is clear from some of the links above, renewable energy is no longer on the fringes.

Increasingly, those in power are recognising that the choice between improving the environment and safeguarding the economy is false. These two priorities are converging, and in my view that’s good news for everyone.

The future is uncertain, and always will be

The idea that the future might not be good, or hopeful, or full of opportunity, is a terrible one, whether you are a parent or not.

But then again, I realise I’m naive for wanting certainty about the future. Here in the developed world, it’s easy to fall for the illusion that the world is safe. But really, it never has been. Previous generations have had to deal with the uncertainty and danger of the World Wars and the Cold War. Extreme poverty and disease are still a reality for many. Even we in our safe Western homes can be reminded of our frailty by natural disasters, disease or bereavement.

The world can be scary. But recognising its past dangers and uncertainties can make the uncertainty we face now easier to accept – and help us appreciate beauty and joy where we find it.

What does this mean for those of us who work in charity?

Most charity workers don’t work for environmental charities: this sector is very small. However, we are all fighting against forces that sometimes feel insurmountable: whether it be the mysteries of a particular disease, the extent of poverty or disaffection, or the cruelty of others.

The mass mobilisations that helped end World War Two, and fixed the hole in the ozone layer, could not have happened without on-the-ground activism (although the underlying threats that could lead to similar events have never completely disappeared). Whether that activism is political, or simply takes the form of spreading kindness, we are all trying to bring out the best in people, form loving communities, and prevent future suffering.

Throughout my late twenties and early thirties, I put climate change to the back of my mind. I still recycled and tried to be a good citizen, but was relieved to focus on other matters that felt less insurmountable.

But the recent news, coupled with my new role as a parent, have brought my concerns crashing back to the forefront of my mind. It’s pointless to try and hide away from the world’s realities, and I would be doing my daughter a disservice if I tried to shield her when she is old enough to understand them. But although the human race faces serious risks and challenges, there is plenty to be optimistic about.

There’s nothing particularly new or original about my viewpoint, but I hope sharing my thoughts, and my hope, may help others in all their vital work.