Engaging By Means Other Than Fundraising

A recent issue of Bloomberg BusinessWeek tells the story of Jason Kapalka, a 1994 graduate of the University of Alberta, who has gave his alma mater a $100,000 for endowment.

“As Kapalka’s career started to take off,” the article says, “the university cultivated a relationship with him—inviting him back to campus, honoring him with a special award, and putting him in touch with one of his former professors.

“They didn’t ask me for anything,” Kapalka is quoted as saying. “It was me who wanted to give to them. Although being in touch with them again definitely made it easier.”

Ah, there’s so much in those few sentences.   First of all note, that it says “the university” engaged Kapalka, not the advancement or development office.  Second, he was invited back to campus and recognized for his achievements, presumably by the president.  Third, the university facilitated his reconnection to a favorite professor.  Therein lies a formula for the successful engagement of alumni.

1. Re-engage in a non-fundraising context: All too often we consign alumni to “prospect” status and have the first institutional contact, often after years of no communication or interaction, made by the advancement office.  What does this say to the alumnus?  “Your alma mater has a conditional interest in you.”   Fundraisers should contact only engaged alumni; a fundraising call, no matter how adroit the fundraiser, is not a good first point of engagement strategy.

2. Recognize achievement: There are so many untapped and under-employed means by which alumni can and should be recognized.  What does it say about an institution if it recognizes only the financially successful? What about alumni who have performed admirably in the realms of public or community service? What about alumni who have achieved literary, artistic, intellectual, or academic distinction? No, an institution cannot and should not conduct ceremonies for each but it can recognize them by publishing their achievements in “class notes” or “service notes.”  It can feature the more notable accomplishments in its publications and on its websites. It can determine which achievements warrant congratulations from the president.  It can call them to the attention of faculty members and ask that they write personal congratulations to former students.  Many alumni impute a parental significance to their alma maters; what they value most, therefore, is the occasional nod of approval from those they most respect, those who they see as keepers of institutional values.

3. Reconnect through substantive means: Institutions that sustain the highest level of alumni support offer multiple means of substantive engagement, including the opportunity to access the faculty through lectures, webinars, real and virtual book clubs, alumni college days, and education-vacation opportunities.  They do not try to park them off campus in an alumni house to wax nostalgic over beer kegs; they expect their alumni office to develop the means by which graduates can be kept current on institutional activities– and help keep their alma mater current in their areas of expertise and spheres of influence. Great institutions develop the mastery of helping students learn and learning from their most accomplished alumni.

When these things are done well, alumni like Jason Kapalka say, “They didn’t ask me for anything.  It was me who wanted to give.”  But I have a sneaking suspicion his engagement was masterminded by someone in advancement.  I congratulate him or her on the very deft and patient way it was done.   We all stand to learn from this success.

Of High Morale and Meaningful Work

The way to sustain the high morale of valued staff is to:

• Remind them of the higher purposes that your organization is working toward

• Define goals that constitute tangible steps toward the attainment of those higher purposes

• Show them how their labor will advance those goals and, when progress is made, how their efforts contributed directly to the outcome.

Yes, workers want to be fairly compensated and recognized for their achievements but what they want even more is meaning in their lives.  In our workaday world meaning is derived from seeing the results of our efforts, especially when they benefit others.

Years ago, I spent a Labor Day weekend cutting, splitting and stacking wood for my aging mother and father in-law.  Wood was their primary heating source for the winter.   For three days, my brother in-law, a neighbor rose at dawn and worked until dusk.  We ate heartily without fear of putting on an ounce and slept, appropriately enough, like logs.  At the end of the three days, our muscles ached but we had the immense satisfaction standing back and admiring three cords of newly cut, cleanly split, neatly stacked wood along the rail fence that ran adjacent to their garage.  We could see how much we had accomplished and take enormous satisfaction in knowing our work would keep Pauline and Cash’s house warm throughout the cold months.

Yet for too many, work is like a run on the treadmill. They expend a good amount of energy but never get anywhere.  They see few or no results and rarely know how they have bettered the lives of others.   The best workers find only limited satisfaction in meeting metrical or monetary goals.  They don't mind working hard or putting in extra hours if they can tell themselves or their loved ones that it was worth the effort.

High-minded ideals are wonderful but they need to be coupled incisive strategies that illuminate the way forward.  Without the path of a plan that tempers our organization’s aspirations with the realities to be faced, we wish and wander and wonder if we’re making a difference.  If we are not show a way to lend our talents and labors to those most in need of them, we work toward ends that feel empty when attained.

If you identify with these sentiments, let me ask you a favor.  Go back over the preceding paragraphs and substitute “philanthropists” and “donors” for “staff” and “workers.” You will see the same holds true.

A Letter to All Students and Alumni

Dear Students and Alumni Everywhere,

Some of you might have heard of me but may wonder if I am nothing more than a sentimental construct of the past. Some of you know me by name only. Some, I fear, know me not at all.

I am unmistakably present at fewer institutions than I would like but part of me can be found in many. I represent the part of a learning institution that cares for you, that delights in your presence, that thrills at glimmers of your potential and imagines with great hope what you might someday be, that smiles at but sees beyond the excesses of your youth, that senses your struggles, and seeks to comfort and correct in equal measure.

I can be found in the affirming academic standards of professors and the attentiveness of food service workers, and in the diligence of administrators and administrative assistants, librarians and campus safety officers. You will see me in the long hours they devote to doing well by you, in the way they not only grade your papers but seek to strengthen your powers of reasoning, in their intuiting of, and attendance to, your emotional state, and in their encouragement of your efforts and individual aspirations.

Perhaps you do not always see them or what they are trying to do for you. If not, you do not see me in them. Perhaps you are more sensitive to those who are gruff or distracted by their own ambitions or disappointments. But if you look for me, you will find me in the simple actions and quiet dedications of some people at most institutions. If you seek and discover these traits, you will carry them in grateful memory throughout your life and you will see the institution in a kinder light.

When you graduate, you will find me in those who hope to hear from you, to learn of your trials and triumphs, both personal and professional. And, yes, they will always appreciate it when you reflect on the gift you were given when you first set foot on campus; the gift from everyone past and present who built equity in the institution, who believed in giving more to the next generation than the previous generation had given them. And they will be grateful when you decide to the same for the coming generations, in any way you can.

But you will know where I reside in truest form when you see the greatest pride taken in the way you live your life, in the way you seek to serve others, in the manifestations of any obligation you may feel to “give back,” to society, to use anything you’ve learned or earned to ease the way for those with less. Then, my daughter, my son, ah, then your mother’s unabashed pride will burn bright.

And as we get older, I hope your memories will be sufficiently fond to keep an eye on me. Just because I have been of one generation does not meet I will be of the next. The hearts of those in whom you saw me will grow old and die. I can only hope that they will have inspired others to bring me to life again in their own way and time. But if you are not attentive, I can slip away. If you do not reflect on who or what made a difference as time goes by, and do not let them know how your success relates to their actions or encouragements, they will be left wondering if they made much of a difference, or at all.

So, you see, a part of me resides in and depends on you, too. If I was not a present in your life as I should, if I was crowded out by the pretentions of prestige or incessant calls for financial support, you can choose to hold that against me, to be indifferent, or aloof, or you can be for others what you hoped I would be for you. I am as mythic or as real as each generation makes me. All it takes is a few who understand the difference I can make in the lives of so many for so long.

Fondly yours,

Alma Mater*

(*Latin for “Nourishing Mother)

The Long and Short of It

As I work with clients to help them see the greater philanthropic return that can be enjoyed from engaging in values-based, long-term strategies, some become gripped by anxiety.

“This sounds good,” they say, “but what about now?” “What about our results for this year?”

I realize that some see long-term strategies as coming at the expense of short-term results. But it isn’t an either-or proposition. Taking a long-term approach can have an immediate beneficial effect on the bottom line because it offers the philanthropic investor a stronger value proposition. On the other hand, if you don’t take a long-term approach, all the prospective donor sees is urgency, expediency, opaque objectives and, in some cases, desperation. That will only diminish their enthusiasm and curb their willingness to consider significant investment. Put yourself in the donor’s position: Which is more attractive? The request for more money now for unspecified or broadly-defined purposes or for a strategic investment in a project or initiative that will advance the institution’s mission in concrete and compelling terms in a finite period of time?

In their book, “Great By Choice,” Jim Collins and Morten Hansen limn the uncommon characteristics of CEOs who have led companies to remarkable achievements despite significant challenge and adversity. All of these ultra-high achievers,” they say, “started with values, purpose, long-term goals, and severe performance standards.” Yet, when you read the case studies, each of their companies also made considerable and consistent progress year-in, year-out.

You see, if you commit yourself to enduring values, by definition you commit yourself to a long-term course. But, because the end point is true, because it has and will stand the test of time, any progress you make, on even the most difficult day, puts you closer to great and lasting achievement. If, on the other hand, you have no value-driven objectives, how do you know if you have made progress from day to day, month to month, or year to year? If your objective is only to achieve certain short-term, fund-raising measurements you may indeed reach them only to discover that you have wandered well off the course to long-term philanthropic sustainability. And that is exactly where many philanthropy-seeking organizations now find themselves.

Collins and Hansen illustrate, with one vivid example after the other, how those who commit themselves to regimens of steady progress toward long-term goals invariably outpace those who sprint to immediate gains. The key, they say, is discipline.

“Discipline, in essence, is consistency of action – consistency with values, consistency with long-term goals, consistency with performance standards, consistency over time… Discipline is not the same as measurement. Discipline is not the same as hierarchical obedience or adherence to bureaucratic rules. True discipline requires the independence of mind to reject pressures to conform in ways incompatible with values, performance standards, and long-term aspirations.”

If you assume your institution is going to be around a long-time, your best fund-raising strategy is to show donors how each and every gift adds up to something lasting and larger than all of us. They will most certainly notice the difference, and you will see an immediate impact.

Mattering Matters to Philanthropy

I interviewed a young alumnus of Georgia Gwinnett College (GGC), who had graduated at the very top of his class after having dropped out of a community college years earlier, so I could understand what had turned his life around. He – let’s call him Brad -- explained that he started GGC with good intentions but soon lapsed into an old pathology – he skipped a class. But at GGC, it was only a few minutes into that first skipped class that Brad received a call from the professor in the classroom.

“Where are you?” asked the professor.

Brad stammered out something lame and largely incoherent.

“I’d like you to come back,” said the professor.

“Now?” asked Brad.

“That would be great.”

Brad made his way to the classroom and opened the door with sheepish apprehension fearing he might be subjected to ridicule or shame. But the professor greeted him warmly and as if nothing were out of place, as did his classmates. That moment, he said, turned his life around.

“Why ?” I asked.

“In the past, I didn’t care because I didn’t think anyone else cared,” said Brad. “But at GGC, I realized my being there mattered. After that, I never again wanted to let down my professor. It went from there to not wanting to let down my classmates, and then to not wanting to let down my school.”

Note the progression of thought. Because one person told Brad that his presence mattered, he came to see himself as having a responsibility to his classmates and to his school.

Georgia Gwinnett is a new public, open-admission college, the first established in Georgia since Reconstruction. The new president, a Vietnam war hero and graduate of West Point, was given a mandate to innovate. He stipulated that all professors share their cell phone numbers with all students, and vice versa, and that all calls were to be returned in 24 hours. That policy engendered a feeling of close connection and mutual obligation between teacher and student. It ensured that students couldn’t skip class or drop out unnoticed. Their being there mattered.

So what’s the applicability of this to advancement and fund raising? Well, what happens when our donors “skips” giving? If they have given for one or more years, then cease, do we let them walk away unnoticed? Do we let them know that we noted their absence, that we wish them to come back, that their presence in our organization matters? If we do contact them, does the call or letter come from someone who represents the heart of the enterprise or just the fundraising arm? And if it is the latter, what does that say about why they matter to us? Do we miss the person or the contribution? Do we stress the importance of what we can achieve together in the years to come or just what our institution wants to accomplish now?

In higher education, we have witnessed a 20-year decline in annual alumni participation. Because we were able to raise larger amounts of money from fewer and fewer donors, some argued that alumni participation didn’t matter that much. Then the economy shrank, and the feds and state governments cut back funding to higher education. The leaders of some of some institutions of higher learning then announced they would have to turn to their alumni to make up the difference. That’s hard to do when you’ve left them feeling that their leaving a long time ago didn’t matter. Now, alumni say, (according to research done by Engagement Strategies Group), the major obstacles to their future giving include the lack of a “strong emotional connection” and the widespread belief that their alma maters “haven’t done enough to connect with me beyond asking for money.”

Institutions that enjoy the highest levels of participation, and therefore the highest rates of long-term support through major, principal and estate giving, have created a sense of community, of personal connection. If you asked their donors why they give, you would receive a variety of reasons and motivations. And while none of them may say it, the real reason, at the end of the day, might be a strong sense that they matter to that organization.

Distance learning is not the key to a greater achievement in education; closing the distance between teacher and learner is. And the key to more productive models of philanthropy is making donors feel as if they matter to the mission and to those most responsible for advancing it.

Where Credit Is Due

I’ve been fortunate enough to be in positions where I was able to help a number of organizations secure a large number of private gifts. Some of those gifts were remarkably large. Some were awe-inspiringly generous when contrasted to the donors’ means. All of them were a privilege to witness.

And, yes, I fell into the trap of saying, “I raised” those gifts. When others congratulated me for doing so, I was all too eager and happy to take credit for them. It was a trap because the more we, as fundraisers, take sole credit for private gifts, the more apt others are to assign us sole responsibility for securing them. The more that happens, the less effective we will become because the organizations we represent will fail to attend to the conditions that truly inspire, sustain and grow philanthropic support over time.

If, on the other hand, we think of ourselves not as fundraisers but as agents of philanthropy, we can help create a virtuous cycle that will promote the growth of a culture of gratitude and accountability, which will make our work more productive and rewarding.

When a gift commitment is made, we must give great credit to the donor. But we must also acknowledge and be grateful to live in a culture where so many donors feel an obligation to “give back” to society. Nowhere is that obligation felt more, or expressed more generously, than in North America. We must understand how that came to be and make sure that fundraising practice or institutional smugness do not chip away at an unparalleled human phenomenon.

Second, we must give public credit to all those who built value into our organization through their dedication and hard work over many years, if not generations. Their efforts greatly strengthened our organization’s relative societal worth and, in so doing, convinced others that it is worthy of significant and sustained philanthropic support.

Third, we must honor and acknowledge all those in our organization who contributed to the building and deepening the relationship with the donor. The giving of significant support is not an impulsive act; it evolves as a result of numerous positive impression and interactions with our institution’s representatives and beneficiaries. The alumnus who gives a million dollars to his or her alma mater, for instance, has been giving and interacting with various college representatives, on average, for 15 years previously. If we take credit for a big gift because we asked for it or cultivated that donor for months or years, we cause others to believe that the key to securing such gifts is to have a fundraiser ask for them, not commit themselves to building mutually productive and satisfying relationships over time.

If we choose to be agents of philanthropy, not just fundraisers, we take the least credit for the gifts we help secure, no matter how long or hard we work on them. We do so not to be falsely humble or self-sacrificing, but to educate our organization about the anatomy of private support. We do so to encourage others to continue to add value in the organization and to work with us to develop productive, multi-faceted relationships with those who have and might support us. We do so that we create a richer, deeper culture of accountability and gratitude so that our efforts might be more productive and our lives might be more full of joy and meaning.

Of Collections and Congregations

I am called in by organizations to answer what seems to be one question: “How can we raise a lot more money – and very soon.” It is, in fact, two different if not competing questions. The secret to raising a lot more money is to not let the need for the “soon” be the enemy of “a lot more.”

It is not what leaders of many organizations want to hear but the role of a consultant is to tell the truth as politely as possible. Rather than say, “that won’t work,” I look for a metaphor that will help a client understand why it won’t work and how it can be fixed. For instance, I might say, “If you want the collection basket to be fuller, you have to build a bigger, more fervent congregation.” The metaphor is an apt one for evaluating the health of any philanthropy-seeking organization.

In many cases, the cause of meager collections goes to the very core of the institution. They haven’t defined or articulated their deepest beliefs. They talk about what they do, but not why. They tell you about the functions they perform, not the higher purposes they serve. They fret about what needs to be done now, not the difference that can be made years and years from now. What kind of congregation can you expect to assemble and sustain, if you preach only about the management of the church, not the living of the faith?

In other cases, I find there is an inspiring faith but it is too rarely expressed or reduced to a form of conversational shorthand. The faith is alluded to as if everyone understands it and a word or two will suffice to remind us of its importance. Vibrant congregations remind themselves weekly of why they exist and why their faith matters.

In still other instances, I find a compelling calling to higher purposes and the faith convincingly articulated by the ministers but the congregation building has been left to those who pass the collection basket. Of the powers-that-be, I ask, “If you moved to a new town and were considering which church to attend, would you be most likely to join the one that sent the basket-passer to recruit you? Might not you be more inclined to join the one whose pastor first approached you or that you were introduced to by a neighbor? If you went to a church only to find the preacher asking for money and the basket passed incessantly, and each time shaken more assertively in front of you, would you be eager to go back? Would it matter if the basket passers were particularly nice looking, well-dressed, affable or well-spoken?” By this time, my points are taken or they’re looking for another consultant.

Whether you’re in the business of faith, education, science, technology, medicine or a host of other worthy causes, the success of your collections will be in direct proportion to your willingness to work assiduously at building a congregation of passion, purpose and determination to live out your faith in meaningful ways day after day, year after year.