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Recent years have seen a rise in anti-democratic extremism, hate speech, and violence in the U.S. In 2019, the FBI documented hate incidents at an all-time high, not only in numbers but with increased levels of violence, including murder. As concern about these problems has grown, the search for solutions has led to questions about how hate groups are funded. What is the role of philanthropy and in particular, foundations of different types, in stopping the growth of hate and extremism? How does philanthropy handle requests from donors when those requests do not align with their values? What policies need to be proactively developed to address these issues?

In late 2020, the Council on Foundations launched the Values-Aligned Philanthropy initiative to build on previous efforts within the philanthropic sector and partner with others to respond to growing concerns about the issue of funding hate and extremism. The Council conducted interviews with 24 organizations from across the sector including a diverse group of foundations and Philanthropy-Supporting Organizations (PSOs), as well as advocates with specialized knowledge of how hate groups are funded. The Council released the Values-Aligned Philanthropy: Foundations Resisting Hate and Extremism white paper in August 2021, which identified five key challenges facing the sector:

1. A lack of definitional clarity and broadly accepted resources for identifying these organizations
2. Aligning organizational values
3. Establishing policies and procedures
4. Issues specific to Donor-advised funds (DAFs)
5. Enlisting government support

Challenge #1: A lack of definitional clarity and resources for identifying hate groups and gauging their harm

A great many definitions of “hate” and “extremism” exist, from the broad to the politically motivated to the definitions used by law enforcement agencies, several of which the Council collected as a resource for foundations looking for examples. Some foundations and advocates are content to let the terms speak for themselves and feel that the question of whether these terms apply to a specific group is one that should be decided on a case-by-case basis. Others are looking for a standard definition for the philanthropic sector that would be widely accepted and used. Having an agreed-upon definition can be a useful reference point in making determinations about funding when challenges arise but developing a policy should not be dependent on having a definition. It is not necessarily the best first step if it becomes a barrier to action rather than a helpful exercise. In practice, no matter what the definition, gray areas will remain and even the most carefully crafted definition will at times require discussion as to its application.

Most foundations, especially small community foundations, do not have the capacity to conduct a thorough examination of all the activity of every single grantee- in order to determine for themselves whether groups qualify as hate groups, particularly groups that fall into ideological gray areas. However, foundations do not have to start from scratch: resources and tools do exist, including the Southern Poverty Law Center’s (SPLC) frequently used list of documented hate groups and anti-government organizations,  and foundations should use them in their decision-making. However, others feel that this list, while useful, represents a political point of view that is not accepted by all their stakeholders. Other organizations also track hate incidents—see the Anti-Defamation League’s HEAT Map and Council of American-Islamic Relations’ Islamophobia Network. Additionally, Horizon Forum is currently developing a tool to aid foundations in their due diligence.

In short, there are tools available, but foundations should use discretion when using those tools: read the rationale behind a group’s placement on the hate list and use that rationale to determine whether a group does or does not align with your organization’s values.

Challenge #2: Aligning organizational values

It is essential for foundations to clearly define organizational values—and follow through with those values when both making and receiving grants. As one community foundation interviewed for the Council’s report put it, “If you don’t align with our ethical foundation, the action will probably be that your grant won’t be honored.” Further complications arise from communities with conflicting values, especially around polarizing issues. It is difficult and time-consuming to bring stakeholders into alignment to develop a shared understanding of what is valued. This is especially true for foundations serving ideologically, ethnically, politically, and religiously diverse communities—and representing a group of stakeholders with the same level of diversity. Even foundations serving politically homogenous regions and with politically aligned staff do not agree on every issue. Moreover, foundations across the political spectrum struggle with not wanting to push any one political perspective onto donors.

In other words, the line between values and politics is not always clear. To circumvent this, foundations must clearly define their values. This has different meanings for different types of foundations. For example, some community foundations connect their concerns with hate and extremism with their organization-wide work around equity and inclusion, emphasizing that values that are shared across the political spectrum can be most powerful. For the Cleveland Foundation, developing an anti-hate policy was part of a broader equity and inclusion initiative—and, for an organization representing diverse stakeholders and serving a diverse community, grounding its anti-hate policy in its anti-racism and inclusion programming gave the policy important context and logic.

Other community foundations think beyond banning hate to instead reducing harm, which to them means ending any funding to programs they believe cause harm in the communities they serve—for example, some foundations have ended funding to police-related charities in Black communities that have experienced police violence. Still other community foundations believe in neutrality and avoid taking sides on any controversial issues; they are nevertheless able to balance this principle of neutrality with concern about the impact of hate and extremism by funding groups regardless of their stance on certain political issues while simultaneously drawing the line at groups espousing hate or violence.

To do this, it is vital for community foundations to be proactive in establishing policies and procedures. For example, the Community Foundation of the Ozarks, headquartered in a conservative part of southwestern Missouri, began considering a viewpoint-based policy in the fall of 2020 after reading about another community foundation that had run into the issue. The Community Foundation of the Ozarks did what other foundations have done: they reached out to others in the sector for advice and sample policies. Yet even as they worked to develop this policy, a donor suggested a grant to an organization flagged by the SPLC as a hate group. Because the foundation did not have the policy in place, they felt it had to honor the requests—but contacted the donor directly once the policy was approved to tell them they would not make future grants to the flagged organization. The donor was not happy with the change but maintained their relationship with—and DAF at—the foundation.

It is also key for organizations to remember that this is a sector-wide issue regardless of politics or ideology. Foundations serving communities across the ideological spectrum have developed anti-hate policies. The fight against hate and extremism is not limited to one side or the other. For example, Stand Together is a philanthropic community founded by Charles Koch to unite Americans across the political spectrum against division and violence. In the aftermath of the Charlottesville riots, Stand Together helped found Communities Overcoming Extremism: The After Charlottesville Project in partnership with the Anti-Defamation League.

Challenge #3: A lack of knowledge about policy options and the need for sample policies

In general, foundations wading into this issue for the first time often lack the knowledge necessary to establish policies and procedures that are legal, effective, and broadly supported. This is further complicated by the varying needs faced by different types of foundations—for example, community foundations that must maintain donor relationships or corporate foundations that must manage broad based brand appeal.

Fortunately, this problem has a relatively straightforward solution. The world of values-aligned grantmaking is collaborative to the point of symbiosis; foundations with these policies already in place tend to make them public, and furthermore, tend to welcome other foundations to adopt or modify their policies and procedures for those foundations’ own needs. This came up regularly in the Council’s research: the Community Foundation of the Ozarks and the Cleveland Foundation both reached out to other organizations for sample policies. (The Council recently launched a resource hub featuring sample policies from a variety of foundations across the U.S. that can serve as a starting point for those  looking to establish their own policies.)

Organizations with deeper pockets can conduct even more outreach. For example, when Facebook sought to create its own policy around Facebook Fundraisers, it sought input from worldwide stakeholders, including experts on extremism and counterterrorism; experts on philanthropy; and members of civil society, especially NGOs. Their policy now makes explicit that Facebook reserves the right to deny or remove access to fundraising tools for organizations that violate its community standards.

Challenge #4: Issues specific to donor-advised funds  

Donor-advised funds (DAFs) are valuable tools for donors, grantmaking, and grantees. For many community foundations, they are key sources of funding and a vital component of their sustainability model. For donors, they are an important tool for long-term support for a cause or community the donor cares about. But, because DAFs provide donors with an extra layer of anonymity, there is not public scrutiny when it comes to funding hate groups. Hypothetically, a donor can give to a DAF at a community foundation and knowingly or unknowingly advise the community foundation to make a grant to a hate group while maintaining anonymity about that donation. In addition, because of the importance of DAFs at community foundations, community  foundations looking to establish values-aligned policies may worry that these policies will alienate donors who direct their donations to support controversial causes—or that donors will avoid a foundation with any kind of grantmaking restrictions, especially when large national DAF sponsors do not always publicize similar restrictions.

Some individual DAF holders believe that putting restrictions on where the funds can go is a violation of their First Amendment rights. This, however, has little legal support, because when the funds are given to the foundation for a tax benefit, the foundation assumes fiscal and legal responsibility for them, per the contract they have entered. Donors can make requests about where the funds are directed, but there are existing rules that already limit what kind of organizations can receive them, and foundations may exercise “variance power” in determining where funds can go. Even large national DAF sponsors have exercised this option, as when Fidelity Charitable and Schwab Charitable banned new donations to 501(c)(3) organizations associated with the National Rifle Association in 2019.

This demonstrates the importance of a community foundation knowing its legal rights while also engaging in donor education where necessary. And again, foundations can avoid this issue by having a policy and process already in place when approached by donors; they can point to these policies when asked to make grants that do not align with their values, as the Community Foundation of the Ozarks now does. Clear communication is key here: if a foundation is upfront and honest about not supporting groups that advocate extremism, violence, or hate, it can avoid the complications associated with DAFs without sacrificing the flexibility and privacy they provide.

Sometimes DAF donors genuinely do not know that an organization could be considered a hate group and are unaware of all the activities and positions of the organization. Educating donors and taking the time to have a longer conversation is necessary, even if, in the end, no agreement is reached. Very few foundations reported major problems with donors once they were made aware of the situation, with more recounting that donors had been grateful to learn more about the organizations they had wished to support.

Challenge #5: Enlisting government support

Foundations and advocacy organizations were united in their belief that the IRS should take a more active role in stopping hate and extremist organizations from receiving tax-exempt non-profit status. In order to receive this status, charitable organizations must demonstrate that they are dedicated to the public good, and most people believe that an organization with non-profit status has done so. But oversight has become weakened in recent years, with many organizations being approved through online submissions that receive only the most perfunctory review. Although many donors assume that any organization achieving 501(c)(3) status, which makes contributions to them tax-exempt, has been closely examined as to its activities and screened to make sure that it does not engage in hate or extremism, this is simply not the case.

Calls for increased funding for the IRS to improve oversight and to hold extremist and hate groups accountable have intensified since public awareness of the problem of hate funding has grown. In 2019, Congress held hearings related to hate groups and charitable organization status. This issue is contentious, with legal analysts expressing conflicting opinions over whether excluding them would violate First Amendment principles. Across the political spectrum, philanthropic organizations struggle with concerns about creating too much restriction and government intervention, and the impact this could have on donor enthusiasm, while simultaneously longing for a solution to this problem that could be provided from outside the sector. Many advocates believe that increasing government oversight and transparency can lead to exposure of organizations that are violating the law, as well as increasing the ability of government officials to monitor suspicious organizations.

Government attention to these issues is high in the wake of the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol and the key role played by racist extremists in the insurrection. Federal officials from many different agencies, including the FBI, the Department of Homeland Security, and the Department of Defense, are working to understand how these events occurred. As the federal government does this work and issues reports on how extremists operate, it will increase public understanding of who these groups are and how to track their activity, which will aid philanthropy in helping to make sure they are not receiving foundation dollars. The Anti-Defamation League published a report in the wake of the January 6 events investigating extremist and hate groups who may be abusing their tax-exempt status.

Recommendations

The eight recommendations we propose to address these issues are detailed below. Foundation staff looking to get ahead of the issue should:

1. Formulate a policy proactively, before a difficult situation arises.
2. Pair your policy with a process for making decisions.
3. Make sure you clearly understand and can explain the legal issues, particularly regarding DAFs.
4. Use existing resources to inform your decisions.
5. Align your policy with your organizational values.
6. Create consistency with both giving and receiving funds.
7. Communicate clearly and constantly with all the stakeholders.
8. Join others in philanthropy taking a stand.

For the sector, as for the Council on Foundations, this work is ongoing. It is vital that the sector speaks with a united voice in the fight against extremism, violence, and hate. To do this, grantmaking organizations must be proactive about defining their values and creating policies and processes aligned with those values. The Council on Foundations is developing tools to support foundations working on these recommendations, including our Values-Aligned Philanthropy resource hub, and will release additional resources over the next year.

This article originally appeared in the Nonprofit Quarterly. See the original article here.

I come to be the founding director of the Children’s Rights Innovation Fund as a long-time girls’ rights activist, advocate, and funder. As a girl I organized with other girls. As a youth worker, I started organizations and designed programs for girls.  As a philanthropic practitioner, I funded girls’ work and advocated for more resources for their leadership.  And still, the field of children’s rights never felt like an ideological and political home expansive enough for my commitment.

As I embark on this new role, I sit with the critical question of what will ground my work. Over this last year, I’ve learned that this question is not only a pressing one for me, but key to a conversation that is long overdue for the children’s rights field.

What has come before 

The struggle for children’s rights is a critical one with a long history of struggle, organizing, sacrifice and important wins that have taken generations to get us where we are today.  From labor protections and educational advances that enshrined childhood as a site of care and investment—to advances in nutrition, healthcare, and policy that ensure more children make it into adulthood than at any time in human history.

Yet along with progress have come deep limitations.

Children’s rights policy platforms, like the Convention on the Rights of the Child and the Sustainable Development Goals, are by their very nature a compromise, mired in practicalities of what is presently possible. Fundamentally, they rely on the powerful to ratify and thus validate any vision. While important, they cannot provide a deeper, more expansive moral compass or activate our radical imaginations.

Laws and policies are also perpetually vulnerable, particularly in these volatile political times. They can remain unratified (like the CRC in the United States) or be suddenly devalued, reversed, rescinded, or reframed. At the same time, local and national child protection laws and policies are also, at their core, just tools. Tools with inherent limitations. We see in the United States, for example, how the child welfare system disproportionately targets and compounds harm for poor and racialized communities.

Currently, the professional practice of children’s rights relies on legal and programmatic interventions to safeguard the rights of children, grounding its work in best practices, conventions, treaties, and laws. Such interventions are, at their core, tools of the powerful. They are adopted by, shaped by, and ultimately dependent upon those who already hold the political, cultural, and legal power to enforce them, often against those with the least political power.

For many of us who have committed our lives and careers to creating a world where all, including children, thrive, legality is an anemic moral standard for what children deserve. It scrapes the bottom of the barrel and establishes only bare minimums. Whether as a parent or a practitioner, I’m not alone in wanting much more for my child, and all children, than the lowest legal floor. Together, we are yearning to reach higher.

Grounding in community

Our field’s sole reliance on legal and programmatic interventions at best overlooks and too often diminishes traditions and practices of communities who have long faced systemic oppression, like racism and colonialism, and therefore whose children are most at risk of having their rights denied.

There is so much to learn in the approaches of communities who have raised children amid generations of systemic oppression and deprivation, supporting them under the most heinous of conditions. There is so much power rooted in children and youth themselves who have fought against the odds to claim and protect their own safety, since being denied the structural safety that comes with political, economic, and environmental stability. And there is so much wisdom and resolve in parents who have had to sacrifice their own safety and the prospect of raising their children for the mere chance of their children’s safety.

These innovations—tools, traditions, and skills—endure despite efforts to force them underground by state and political power. They are found in extended and chosen family structures; healing herbs and foods; in rites of passage that ground children in culture and political movement; and relationships that provide a sense of belonging and purpose.

Communities living under oppressive conditions do not have the luxury to shield their children from state violence and repression. Instead, they may build their children’s political consciousness as a form of protection to help them better channel their resistance. In the worst cases, they must do this to prepare their children for the violence they will inevitably encounter.

The lessons we take to the design a new fund

As a new grantmaking and learning fund, the Children’s Rights Innovation Fund approaches the history of the children’s rights field with curiosity, respect, and a spirit of learning. We also bring impatience and a deep commitment to justice. We are driven by a fundamental commitment to the children and youth whose needs, and whose power, have long been intentionally sidelined.

Through this lens, the deep limitations of an approach that relies on legality alone cannot be ignored.

Rooted in solidarity and accountability with communities, we will work together to invest in the vibrant and ongoing creation, expansion, and iteration of community knowledge and tools. And we seek to resist ideology that would hold that strong community-rooted child protection is somehow at odds with building youth power. In fact, the latter can’t exist without the former.

Through it all, we will bring a pragmatic and emergent approach to this work. We know that the legacies we uplift here are imperfect and in flux. Our communities are not always successful in their efforts and lessons are in constant evolution. Rather than penalize and admonish, we want to stand with our people and communities and do our part to build a way forward.

Our purpose is to uplift, center, and learn from this wisdom that has been honed over generations. It is about strengthening, fortifying, and deepening this work by centering those who have always led it. It is about sparking a transformation in the children’s rights field by building power with children, youth, and allies whose imaginations and radical visions hold the direction this field sorely needs.

A challenge to reinvigorate the field

CRIF is one actor in a large and well-established field, and true transformation will be the result of many leaders coming together over many years to build and push for a new way forward. Fortunately, over the last year, I have been encouraged by the growing number of leaders—funders, advocates, and practitioners alike—who are yearning for a more courageous approach to engaging children and youth.  One that embraces participatory practices, rather than avoiding the conversations about power, race, and colonialism that are happening across our broader sectors but remain rare in the children’s rights field. One that is grounded in trust and a commitment to building power with the movements and communities who have long led the most innovative work, and whose wisdom is fundamental to achieving our highest goals. One that reaches beyond limited legal victories to acknowledge and advance what we really face: a moral fight to ensure that our children not only survive, but thrive.

This is a time that demands collective learning, provocative conversation, and deep experimentation across our field. We know we do not have all the answers—but we must be more willing to ask the questions.

This article originally appeared in the Nonprofit Quarterly. See the original article here.

Two decades ago, a bill commonly referred to as the DREAM Act was introduced into the US Senate with both Democratic and Republican supporters. The bill’s initial sponsor was Senator Orrin Hatch (R-UT). The legislation, if passed, promised a path to citizenship for young people brought to the US by their undocumented parents.

Of course, the demand for fair and adequate treatment, including in-state tuition for children and youth, had begun long before 2001. Words such as “dreamer,” “dream act,” and “dreamer status” are often used in this movement, with its complex, rich, and fast-evolving history to demand the protection and recognition of the dignity of all people, not just minors.

Generations have used different advocacy tools to demand that something akin to the Dream Act become law. The Dream Act was first introduced as I started my sophomore year of high school in Wapato, Washington. The feeling of excitement and hope was present among many in our English as a Second Language (ESL) class because we knew someone who could benefit from the bill or we, ourselves, saw access to higher education that could make our high school experience even more worthwhile.

Our ESL instructor, Dr. Dabalos, challenged us to translate our excitement into action. We talked with our respective teachers and asked them to write letters. We shared the letters with Dabalos and, a couple of weeks later, we shared and discussed them with each other. We were genuinely impressed and moved with the content. Dabalos was impressed, too. He subsequently shared the letters with several of our congressional representatives.

When I returned to North Carolina to reunite with my mom and grandmother, I wanted to repeat the same advocacy exercise we did in Washington with my teachers. Ms. Tull, a second-year ESL teacher, wanted to support me. She was excited when I shared that there was a Dream Act bill being considered in Congress. I faced various challenges at that time: I had a below-average English vocabulary, a thick Mexican accent, and about half of my teachers were largely unfamiliar with the bill.

I was empowered to learn more English words, grammar, and cultural references of the late 90s, along with high school traditions. Several teachers had returned to Bulldog Alley to teach; they loved their alma mater.

I fell in love with my high school, too. By the end of the 2001-2002 academic year, I collected several letters from the staff. Mr. Lee, who taught me world history, sent those letters to our federal representatives this time. To this day, he checks in on me from time to time.

A New (Fresh) Wave of Leadership

Fifteen years later, I found myself working in higher education institutions. I met various emerging Latinx leaders who were fighting for access to higher education at the intersection of race, ethnicity, and immigration justice. One of them, Regina, was particularly impressive.

Regina arrived in North Carolina from Veracruz, Mexico at the age of two. A Latina Southern woman, she has been active in the immigrants’ rights justice movement since an early age through the Latino Family Center in her hometown, High Point. Although she has lived in the state since 1998, Regina is constantly reminded that she is in a place where she is not always psychologically or physically comfortable (based on systems, behaviors, and practices).

“I live inside of a cage. I am not free. This is not freedom,” Regina exclaimed. She often refers to her situation as being a DACAmented person, by which she means she’s one of the hundreds of thousands of participants in the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals or “DACA” program—a status that remains, even today, a gray zone that provides partial, and often uncertain, protection.

Regina started her advocacy by demanding language access and resources for immigrants and in-state tuition as a young woman; she is an emotionally mature advocate. Many of her teachers and mentors referred to her as capable of achieving anything in life.

Even so, Regina struggled to secure a college degree because North Carolina does not offer in-state tuition for undocumented or DACAmented people; meanwhile private schools do not always have the most accessible financial plans and options for undocumented and DACA recipients. Regina attended a nationally recognized and acclaimed private university in North Carolina. Regina does not need to be an exception to the rule to succeed. While there are many people who may be as intelligent as Regina, they often cannot earn a college degree.

La Malinche: A Revolutionary Mexican Warrior 

Regina did well in her college classes. Even so, her participation in extracurricular activities was challenging due sometimes to a lack of understanding and appreciation of her background and related culture. Despite these challenges, she fought for an inclusive and equitable climate and practices through various university-wide committees and specific groups that were focused on creating a safe and welcoming space for undocumented/DACAmented students.

Regina believed that her work and presence in these groups was a way for the university to check the “we have student input” box. She did not believe that she was making adequate progress towards enhancing fair and just practices and procedures for students of color. Through these interactions, however, Regina discovered a passion and talent she never knew she had. This is when La Malinche came about.

Regina’s friend Jenni invited her to join the debate team. Regina enjoyed being part of the team because debate is about “performance and how you effectively deliver your point,” according to Regina.

Both friends decided to research their heritage to find inspiration for their debate competition. Their journey led them to discover La Malinche—an iconic, often misperceived, but influential figure of the Mexican-Spanish Empire of the 1500s. A slave to Spaniards, La Malinche was sold by her mother, who organized a fake funeral in her memory after she sold her child. There is no extensive research and only a few anecdotes about La Malinche, an Indigenous feminist woman of the 1500s. Many perceived her as a traitor because she assimilated to Spanish culture and allegedly turned her back on her own people.

Cordelia Candelaria, a transborder and Chicanx studies expert and professor, gives a different perspective about who La Malinche is and what she represents. Although La Malinche was “bred to serve and obey,” according to Candelaria, she quickly stood out from other women who served Hernán Cortés.

La Malinche—a daughter of an Aztec chief born in 1502 in Coatzacoalcos, a pre-Columbian Mexican province—quickly became an interpreter between Spanish people and Indigenous communities. She was named Malintzin at birth and she was later recognized as La Malinche. Because she assisted the Spanish in communicating and navigating indigenous Mexican culture, she became an indispensable translator; at one point, according to Candelaria, “her astute observations led her to uncover an Indigenous conspiracy against Cortés” in Tlaxcala. Many people of her era envied and criticized her due to her closeness with Cortés and other Spaniards.

La Malinche did not received a similar empathetic treatment in history as Montezuma, the Aztec leader whose ineffective leadership contributed to the Spanish conquest of Mexico.[i] Most importantly, La Malinche challenged her time’s cultural, societal, and religious norms to be an indispensable figure and player. She was a connector, a consultant that navigated various cultural and political dilemmas. Notably, she was compelling and persuasive in both worlds.

Regina, a New Malinche

I was intrigued when Regina brought up La Malinche in our conversation. The first three letters of Malinche, “M-A-L” mean “bad” in Spanish. So, I wanted to get her perspective on the Aztec figure. “La Malinche doesn’t conform to purity. She does not fit into the motherly figure, a woman who lives on the farm, raising children. She is very different from La Virgen de Guadalupe (Virgin Mary),” she elaborated.

Regina challenges the norms of being a Latina ‘Southern’ woman living with her DACA status as a college student. She is a dark-skinned young woman with long curly hair, and large circular glasses. She is viewed as “Mexican” by many; however, the more that you get to know her, the more you see a young and powerful woman who navigates within the immigrant, Latinx, and Southern worlds with ease.

“Do you see yourself as La Malinche?” I asked Regina. I never felt the need for someone to say “yes” as I did with her, primarily because the way she described La Malinche is also portrayed by many women in my family. “I do, because La Malinche was rebellious. I don’t admit to my peers and those around me, but I am radical, and La Malinche went against many of society’s rules. She was a hero—she rebelled and came out of that very victorious.”

Currently, Regina is a refugee community organizer. She works with mainstream and local advocates to connect newcomers and more settled communities with service leaders and language access organizations. “The system is often very difficult for these population segments. I want to do something to change it,” Regina concluded.

Moving the Needle—and Movement—Forward

Through these conversations, I learned as much about myself as I did about Regina. She is a force to reckon with—a fierce and influential voice across North Carolina and the South. I saw myself reflected in her. I am thankful she, along with others in her generation, are moving the mainstream conversation away from the “good versus bad immigrant” rhetoric. These attitudes weaken our movement and decrease the likelihood of a comprehensive immigration reform bill from passing.

Regina is deliberate, focused, while still being delicate and joyful. She exemplifies undocu-joy—a thriving feeling and experiences amid the struggles she encounters as an undocumented/DACAmented woman—as she appropriately challenges others in her daily life. She has the power to strongly make her points yet has the patience and understanding to care for the people in her life.

I also see myself reflected in La Malinche because, in part, people like Regina paved the way for new and older generations. La Malinche is assertive, tactful, and can navigate multiple worlds and make them work for her. La Malinche was resourceful and intelligent in navigating two empires. Today, the many memories of her inspire Regina and her fellow young leaders to become their own historical giants.

Regina graduated from college in May 2020. She majored in sociology with a concentration in immigration and a minor in communications. She and her friend Jenni placed first in a national debate competition among 50 schools.

Regina is today’s Malinche. In fact, she was born 45 minutes away from Coatzacoalcos, Veracruz, the birthplace of La Malinche.

Like her hero, Regina navigates both known and unknown worlds and is not afraid to advocate for herself and others. She knows that her leadership is needed and that her generation, mostly generation Z and younger, is changing our ways of seeing, and our expectations of justice.

The new Malinche represents a victory for her people and justice for those that have experienced oppression. Are you ready to join us?

[i] William H. Prescott, Mexico and the Life of the Conqueror Fernando Cortes (New York: Peter F. Collier, 1842).

This article originally appeared in the Nonprofit Quarterly. See the original article here.

This article is, with publisher permission, adapted from a more extensive journal article, “Teaching (Cooperative) Business: The “Bluefield Experiment” and the Future of Black Business Schools,” published by the Academy of Management Learning & Education.

Between the Civil War and the end of segregation, over 100 historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) were founded in the South. Many have business and economics departments. Once these schools were leaders in teaching critical political economy (see Haynes & Gordon Nembhard, 1999), but this leadership has largely disappeared.

What happened? The case of the department of business administration at Bluefield Institute (now known as Bluefield State College), West Virginia, is informative. In the 1920s and 1930s, Bluefield’s business school developed an extensive program of cooperative economics and experiential business teaching. Today, few traces of this pedagogical innovation remain.

The idea that Black business schools could and should do more to have a greater social impact, instead of simply “teaching capitalism” to a demographic that traditionally lacked access to capital, has existed for over a century. A key influence that emerged at Bluefield was the work of pioneering African American thinker and civil rights leader W.E.B. Du Bois (1868 -1963). Today, Du Bois occupies a central place in post-colonial and African American studies (Gates Jr., 2011). However, his seminal thinking on economic cooperation has received comparatively little attention (Gordon Nembhard, 2014). By reviving this forgotten legacy and reconstructing the influence it had on a prominent HBCU, we help recover a rich and intricate history of Black business schools as sites of intellectual, political, and economic activism.

W.E.B. Du Bois and Economic Cooperation

Du Bois had set himself the twofold task of observing and analyzing the effects of race and racism, and of reforming economics thinking and teaching to tackle racial inequality. Du Bois strongly believed in the power of economic cooperation (Du Bois, 2007). In white America, Du Bois observed a competitive individualism that reflected a social Darwinism different from the norms of communal Africa (Haynes, 2018, p. 131). For Du Bois, what distinguished Black America were African traditions and philosophies such as Ubuntu and African cooperativism (see Mangaliso, 2001).

Particularly relevant to Bluefield were two reports by Du Bois on African American social betterment (1898) and economic cooperation (1907). These reports for decades offered the only in-depth study of Black cooperation until Gordon Nembhard’s Collective Courage was published in 2014.

The reports chronicle how Black communities overcame a deficit in economic initiative (1898, p. 21). “Cooperative benevolence” emerged, Du Bois noted, in the activism of Black churches, as well as civil and secret societies (for instance, the Masons), including in insurance, savings and loans companies, and cooperative businesses (Du Bois, 1898, p. 24; Du Bois, 1907). Additionally, in Economic Co-operation Among Negro Americans, Du Bois advocated co-ops as a means for the Black community to foster the accumulation of wealth “for social rather than individual ends” (Du Bois, 1915, p. 312).

Du Bois did not simply advocate for co-ops in his scholarship. He worked hard to promote Black cooperative enterprises across the US (Du Bois, 1919, p. 48). One particularly fruitful gathering took place in August 1918. Among the participants was William Matney, later a professor and director of the business administration department at Bluefield. This meeting started a chain of events that led to what would become known as the Bluefield experiment (Gordon Nembhard, 2014).

William Matney and Cooperative Education at Bluefield

William Clarence Matney (1897 – 1988) was born in Virginia and attended normal school (secondary school) at Bluefield (BIRLS file of William Matney, n.d.; B.S.T.C., 1936, p. 46). He attended Harvard Business School from 1921-23 (Business School Alumni Bulletin, 1925, p. 11) and was one of the first African Americans to earn an MBA (The Value of Business Education, n.d.). In 1918, Matney met Du Bois. Du Bois and Matney founded the Negro Cooperative Guild, an organization charged with assisting Black Americans form cooperatives (The Value of Business Education, n.d.).

After Harvard, Matney moved back to West Virginia, where in 1923 he was appointed professor and then director of the department of business administration at Bluefield (We Doff, 1930, p. 24). Matney became determined to teach Bluefield students an alternative to traditional capitalism.

A year after he arrived at Bluefield in 1924, Matney appealed to the Negro Cooperative Guild for support to establish a student cooperative (We Doff, 1930, p. 25; Haynes, 2018, p. 141). This proved timely. In the mid-1920s, African Americans in West Virginia were denied job opportunities on account of their race in the chemical, glass, public utilities, and manufacturing industries, and professional salaries were also meager (Posey 1934, pp. 89-90). Black businesses in West Virginia (hotels, restaurants, cleaning services, grocery stores) that generated employment were also sparse (Posey, 1934, p. 91). Matney felt that economic cooperation could provide a solution to that predicament.

The co-op store at Bluefield was reserved only for university students, but it served as a crucial practicum for teaching cooperative economics. Indeed, according to a commentator of the time (Anderson 1931, p. 13), store management was purposefully coordinated with the Institute’s course of study in business. Matney argued that the co-op store could give students “experience with the handling of business problems as they arose in reality” (Matney, 1927, p. 3).

The Bluefield store was designed to meet the needs of its Black student population, selling schoolbooks and supplies, athletic possessions, cameras, pastries (made by the domestic science department), and other goods (Sims, 1925, p. 93; Anderson, 1931, p. 13). Student members of the co-op raised capital by selling stock within the cooperative society at a price of less than one dollar a share, and received dividends paid out of net profits at the end of the fiscal period (Anderson, 1931, p. 13).

The co-op’s board was comprised of stockholders elected from the respective classes of the business school, with one vote allocated to each stockholder (Sims, 1925, p. 93). Store managers were advanced business school students, who had an almost free rein in the management of the cooperative enterprise but regularly liaised and collaborated with faculty members.

Bluefield Store’s Premature Demise

We know that the store grew steadily. By 1925, 80 percent of the student body were investors (Co-op Store, 1925, p. 4). Dividends were duly paid to the stockholders, proving the store’s economic viability (Co-op Store Pays Dividends 1925, p. 11).

The co-op also boosted the quality of life on campus. An article from the local press celebrated the store’s seventh anniversary in 1931 (Anderson, 1931, p. 13). Other contemporary commentators (Hancock, 1935, p. 8) praised Bluefield as a hive of cooperative thought, with many “student activities …placed upon a cooperative basis.”

The student cooperative generated enough revenue to award scholarships to students earning high grades (Co-op Scholarship, 1925, p. 28). Nine scholarships were paid out of dividends from 1925 to 1931, and bestowed during an annual stockholder banquet (Anderson, 1931, p. 13).

Hazel V. Clarke, who served as the cooperative store secretary (Co-op Store Prospers, 1927, p. 4), went on to have an especially successful career after she graduated valedictorian in business administration from Bluefield in 1930 (Crestmont Girls, 1930, p. 13). She pursued a master’s in business education at the University of Pennsylvania and earned a second master’s degree at North Carolina State University (NC Educator, 1962, p. 5).

But the “Bluefield experiment” ended abruptly in 1934. In a letter addressed to Du Bois, Matney (1936) explained that: “the cooperative store was closed by a general State order that all stores in connection with schools or state institutions be taken over by the State.” A year later, DuBois (1937, p. 11) also referred to Bluefield store’s closure, explaining that the government of West Virginia had decided that state colleges could not go into business as this interfered with private enterprise.

The rise of public and socially minded enterprises had become rather contentious (Radford, 2013). Once largely perceived as a benign and unthreatening means to involve working people in the economy, as the co-op movement gained in economic and political power, opposition grew. In the US, especially, invoking a threat to the private sector by cooperatives became common in the press (Killingback, 1998).

On the other hand, one cannot discount racial motivations. West Virginia had experienced significant Black migration from the Deep South. By the 1930s, an economic downturn, unionization, and strikes by Black coal miners had triggered increasingly repressive measures by both white owners and the state (Trotter, 1990). The gradual mainstreaming of the Ku Klux Klan had also impacted local and state politics in large parts of the country (Gordon, 2017).

We believe the state’s decision to close Bluefield’s student cooperative and stymie further momentum should not be seen as an isolated incident, but rather as a powerful demonstration that the experiment challenged dominant policy views. As Gordon Nembhard observes (2014), it was not at all unusual for Black cooperatives to be obstructed by white supremacy.

The student cooperative’s premature end at Bluefield was unfortunate. Had it persisted, the potential to expand off campus and beyond is evident. Cooperative League of the United States (CLUSA) founding president J. P. Warbasse personally commended Du Bois for his support of cooperative education at Bluefield: “I am writing to express my appreciation of your co-operation with Mr. Matney in promoting the co-operative idea among the colored people”—he wrote in a 1927 letter (Warbasse, 1927).

However, the loss of the “proof of concept” provided by the store dealt a blow to cooperative business education at Bluefield and across HBCUs. Even as studies from the 1940s report the spreading of cooperative theories and practices across the economics departments of several HBCUs, as well as of African American-owned cooperatives in the proximity of such Black colleges (Brooks & Lynch, 1944), this ferment declined sharply during the following decades. Eventually, Bluefield itself, once proudly dedicated to the education of Black Americans, transformed into a mostly white college (Payne Brown, 2004, p. 4). In a move that many saw as irrevocably harming the legacy of the college, in 1966 West Virginia selected Wendell Hardaway to serve as Bluefield president and its first white leader.

Although outside the bounds of our inquiry, we believe that the racial tensions of the 1960s help contextualize the meaningfulness and legacy of the Bluefield experiment. During the following decades, as Black American colleges lost at least part of their radicality and uniqueness (see also Prieto & Phipps, 2019). Students, faculty, and alumni reacted to what they saw as a betrayal of HBCU’s original mission—lamenting the missed opportunities for their wider communities. Critically, these dynamics remind us that portraying marginalized group’s patterns of resistance is as important as analyzing their experiences of oppression.

One implication of this research for HBCUs business schools is the need to learn from their own history. Cooperative ideas stand among the forgotten pedagogical innovations of HBCUs. A second, important implication concerns how HBCUs might better serve Black youth today (Alsaaty, Abrahams & Carter, 2014). Presently, there remain 101 HBCUs, the vast majority of which offer business courses. These schools are well placed to act as hubs for the elaboration and transmission of emancipatory theories and practices, and for the training of future leaders of the liberation movement and Black organizations at large (Gordon Nembhard, 2004).

Towards an Emancipatory Black Business Curriculum

Today, the academy is called to produce “social science that matters” (George et al., 2016). African American organizations and groups, together with other historically subaltern populations, are particularly well situated to ideate and implement alternative roads to socioeconomic empowerment (Higbee, 1993).

First, we suggest that HBCUs’ curriculum should include Black business history, taught from a critical and racially aware perspective. Historical teaching would serve to introduce students to entrepreneurial pioneers and role models (Prieto, Phipps, Osiri, & LeCounte, 2017; Prieto & Phipps, 2019), contributing to more inclusive, relatable teaching that helps students learn to navigate the obstacles they face.

Second, HBCUs’ business curriculum should include alternative economic frameworks, and specifically cooperative business theory. In fact, being exposed to cooperative ideas may foster novel thinking among students on broader matters of social entrepreneurship and social innovation in vulnerable and racialized places (see Crenshaw, 1990). Intriguingly, these insights resonate with innovations emerging at predominantly Black institutions across the world, such as the bachelor’s degree in Cooperative Business offered at Ambo University (Ethiopia) and a similar program offered by Cipriani College of Labour and Co-operative Studies in Trinidad and Tobago.

Third, we recommend that Black business schools’ curricula include forms of experiential teaching. We thus suggest that, drawing on the student cooperative initiated at Bluefield by Matney, HBCUs scope novel ways to teach economic theory. More broadly, cooperative economics, critical economic paradigms, and educational approaches such as the ones experienced at Bluefield are not only apt for historically Black colleges and universities, but also business and research programs at predominantly white institutions (PWIs). As powerfully argued by Cummings and Bridgman (2016), greater diversity of perspective can encourage greater innovation.

Indeed, all students and staff can benefit from a more diversified and complete education and scholarly environment. At the same time, decolonizing business education and scholarship is especially crucial for Black students and teachers enmeshed in white institutions, as they disproportionately experience the economic and social vulnerabilities that stem from race.

References

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“We doff our hat.” 1930, Summer. The Sphinx, 16(3).

This article originally appeared in the Nonprofit Quarterly. See the original article here.

Amy Costello: Welcome to Tiny Spark, a podcast of the Nonprofit Quarterly. We focus on what is required to build a more just society—in matters of race, health, the environment, and the economy. I’m Amy Costello. Today, we’re talking about how to ensure housing for all. The Department of Housing and Urban Development has reported that in the United States last year, nearly 600,000 people experienced homelessness on a single night. So, we’re going to spend time with a nonprofit that has a theory about why so many are without a place to live and what to do about that.

Let’s take a spin.

I’m in my hometown of Austin, Texas, riding in a golf cart with Alan Graham. He’s CEO and founder of Mobile Loaves & Fishes and he’s giving me a tour of this 51-acre master-planned community. It’s called Community First!

Alan Graham: So, a lot of people come out here, this is a 3D printed house right here. And you know, a lot of people come out here and they, they wanna, we wanna see the 3D printed house. We want to see the cute tiny homes.

Costello: We’re passing dozens of well-kept tiny homes, dressed up in perky colors: tangerine and turquoise, sunshine yellow. And even the names of the windy streets we drive down are pleasant, too. There’s Mi Casa Drive. Just off of Goodness Way, you can take a right onto Grace and Mercy Trail. Many residents have grown gardens in front of their homes. There’s a park and plenty of green grass around here. In addition to the tiny homes, some residents are living in large RVs that are lined up neatly along the side of the road.

This place is home—quite literally—to more than two hundred men and women. All of them have previously experienced homelessness for years and years. Alan Graham has a theory about why so many people in cities across the nation are living on the streets and in shelters.

Graham: The single greatest cause to homelessness is a profound, catastrophic loss of family. And it kind of turns out that this is the one thing that people don’t necessarily want to hear.

Costello: Why do you say that?

Graham: Because I think it opens up complexities in our culture, because if you go upstream to where all this is happening, it—to us—is the fundamental breakdown of the family, and we’re not talking the nuclear family of a mommy and daddy and all that—that’s a component of that—but the breakdown of community. And then our other foundational belief is that housing alone will never solve homelessness, but community will. Because it’s imperative that you and I be in relationship because I know—and you and I have never met—that there are two things about you that are a guarantee. You desire as a human person to be fully and wholly loved, and you desire as a human person to be fully and wholly known.

Costello: And if you’re struggling with addiction say, as around half of those experiencing homelessness in America are, you might not want to be fully known by anyone, certainly not by family, not by neighbors, and unless you’re fortunate enough to have a really solid safety net, you may very well go off and isolate yourself from anyone who loves you or knows you.

Tim Shea has been living at Community First! for six years. He’s got a ginger-colored beard that’s turned mostly white now. And he has laugh lines around eyes that have seen a lot of hardship over the course of his lifetime. Tim says back when he was using, he didn’t want anyone to miss him or feel concerned about him.

Tim Shea: As I would get more strung out, I would push people away, ‘don’t come by.’ And I would do things to hurt their feelings. ‘Yeah. Good. You’re mad. I’m glad.’  You know, that type of thing.

Costello: So, I don’t have to deal with you.

Shea:  Yeah, I don’t have to deal with you. I don’t have to deal with the shame that I know that, or the, not shame. I felt shame, but they just felt disappointment. And you get tired of disappointing people, you know, and when I would move, you see, back in the 50s, 60s, 70s, you can move and like, just assume another character. It’s pretty easy, you know, and I’ve done it. I’ve moved all over the country. And you start all over and everyone you meet thinks you’re, you’re a cool, dude, you know, you’re that. And then when I relapse, like, I can’t even face them, you know, they don’t even know what I’m doing, but I know what I’m doing. And so, I start destroying the relationship. And that’s, I think, pretty typical of addicts. You know, he’s just a miserable S.O.B. You know, he’s, he really probably cares more than you think, you know, it’s just that caring is what makes them want to push you away from, you know, especially the real close relationships, you know like kids and wives and whatever.

Costello: Kids and wives, Tim has had both during his lifetime, but he lost them during his many decades-long battle with addiction. Today, when you look at Tim, his eyes are clear and a deep shade of blue. And he says he’s in a better place now, because he knows there’s a difference between simply being clean, and actually enjoying life.

Shea: I’ve been clean for a long time, but just not using isn’t as fulfilling as when you are surrounded by a community of people that are encouraging and nurturing and stuff. So, that’s what I’ve gotten here.

Costello: We’re sitting on the back deck of Tim’s neatly kept home. And just over a low wall, you can see another tiny home, where his neighbor lives.

Christina Hite: I’m Christina Hite and I am one of the missional neighbors here at Community First!

Costello: And what does it mean to be a missional neighbor?

Hite: So, in our village, we have about 80 percent of people who have been chronically homeless. And so, then our missional neighbors are those of us who feel called here by God to live intentionally here, and just to come alongside our neighbors in whatever way that looks like, a lot of friendship-building, relationship-making, just being present to be diverse and present to people.

Costello: And what does intentional living mean to you?

Hite: Well, for our family, so my husband and my two girls live here, they’re nine and eleven, and for us, it looks like just being around the village as much as possible. We love being outside. We spend a lot of time on our porch, get to know our very closest, nearby neighbors a lot because everybody’s porch faces inward. And so, kind of just being around a lot helps people build trust. And then, kind of from there you get to hear people’s stories, get to understand some of their needs, some of their unique background, and then you know, help them connect to resources, whatever they need. So intentional neighboring looks different every single day.

Costello: Founder and CEO Alan Graham says missional neighbors like Christine and her family, who make up about 20 percent of the residents here, are key to the success of Community First!, which continues to expand since the village opened in 2015. They’re currently in Phase Two of development and they’re adding 310 more homes to this community. And soon they will unveil the next phases which will comprise another 1400 homes.

Alan says other nonprofits around the nation regularly take part in Mobile, Loaves and Fishes’ training sessions which help organizations adapt the Community First! model to their own cities.

As he was showing me around, I could tell Alan just wants more people to live this way. In fact, he and his wife live here themselves, in their own tiny home.

Graham: This is literally the best neighborhood I’ve ever lived in. The most diverse neighborhood I’ve ever lived in. And it just, a day doesn’t go by that doesn’t provide entertainment. Some of it, you know, the human struggles of people that are battling addictions and mental health issues. Love this place.

Costello: This community is located outside of downtown Austin, about eight miles from the State Capitol. Google maps shows that it would take anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half to get here by public transportation. And this is one of the challenges in cities across the United States: finding large tracts of land—near enough to city centers—on which to build new homes for people who’ve spent years living on the streets. And even converting existing structures into ones that could provide affordable housing is also a huge challenge.

Alan says there’s one reason why in cities and suburbs across the nation, we haven’t built more homes like the ones Alan has built here: NIMBY. 

Graham: Not in my backyard. Never, ever in my backyard. And until we overcome that singular impediment. Period. We’re going to be stuck in this calamity forever. This is an issue of human beings saying yes in my backyard.

Costello: Here at Community First!, families who’ve never experienced homelessness have said an emphatic ‘yes in my backyard.’ And as we sat on Tim’s porch, I wondered how these neighbors—who in another world, might never have met—get along day to day.

I want to talk about the missional families. And of course, we have Christine’s house right here, next door to yours. How important are the missional families to you and your experience here, if at all? Are they important or and…?

Shea: They are essential to me.

Costello: Why?

Shea: Well one is, it’s just amazing how people can be so willing to give of their time and their effort and everything, their emotions for other people. It just blows my mind, you know, because addiction is a very selfish thing and you’re not going to make it in that world if you’re not, you know, just totally focused on yourself all the time, getting high and fighting, whatever. And these people have come here and they’re successful people, have great lives and choose to live with us. I mean, that is just, you know, I can’t get people I know who love me, want to live with me, you know?

Costello: So, this is what founder Alan Graham is building here, or rather rebuilding for residents. The thing he says is the single biggest cause of homelessness: a loss of community.

And you can hear the way that Tim is finally getting to experience a taste of what it’s like to live in community. He says as a kid he was left on his own a lot. But now, when he turned 71 recently, he got to experience the sweet taste of community-living with his neighbors, the Hites.

Shea: Because we sort of have developed a relationship, their kids—my birthday cards—they made for me. And that’s the way the Hites are. You know, the kids aren’t gonna, they won’t go buy a birthday card. They make a card, you know, and they’re sitting on my refrigerator.

Costello: What homelessness expert can measure the meaning or transformational impact of a handmade birthday card, drawn by children and given to a man who hasn’t often experienced a sense of community in his life? And what does that simple act of love do to a man like Tim, who has so often just pushed away those kind of relationships when he was deep in his addiction?

Could it be that intangible things like a sense of family, community, love, even, are in fact, necessary ingredients to keep more people in permanent housing?

Alan Graham is betting on these small gestures, these tiny interactions, and deeper relationship-building will keep people like Tim in his house, and off the streets forever. When people move here, they’re given a home permanently. And it’s older folks who tend to live here. The average age of residents is 58.

And while most of them live in tiny homes, Tim’s is one of the few here that was made with a 3D printer. He takes me inside. The walls are textured in puffy white strips. It’s kind of serene, like you’re surrounded by marshmallows or something. There’s a rickety ceiling fan turning. And I asked Tim to describe his home to someone who couldn’t see it.  And without missing a beat, he replied, ‘Encapsulating.’

Shea: You feel encircled here, the way it’s set up. There’s no sharp corners, no edges. It’s all circular and the high ceilings, the big windows, what do I got?  One, two, three, four, five windows in the living room. Pretty cool, huh? Very airy. And with the white Lava Crete walls. And I didn’t think I thought maybe it would be dirty or, you know, get dirty really easy. It doesn’t seem to be happening and I’ve been in here a year, and it looks great! It’s easy to clean. The counters are all slate, real nice. Everything just seems to, I don’t know. It’s wonderful and I love…Sometimes I just sit in here and I just look, you know, just, just taking it in. It’s just a great place to live in. I feel comforted. I feel safe. And, I don’t know, just sort of makes me wish I had found it, I got here a lot earlier. You know, I had a good 20 years in here, but…

Costello: Maybe you wouldn’t have been ready, though.

Shea: Yeah, maybe I wouldn’t have been ready, yeah. You just never know about something like that. And, and I wouldn’t want to take a space for someone who really was at that place. So, it worked out for me. It was just the right time at the right place.

Costello: There are plenty of men and women in Austin who would like a place like Tim’s. Alan says there’s about 170 people on the waiting list, and about ten new residents are welcomed every month. And the neat houses that residents live in are hand designed. Before residents arrive, they’ll be asked about their tastes. What do they love? Maybe it’s pro sports or country music. And then staff here go and find pictures and objects that reflect those passions of the incoming resident, so that when they arrive here, they walk into a home that, well, feels like home. So much of what goes on here is aimed at making residents feel a sense of pride again after years and years of just barely getting by in life and being disparaged by so many segments of society.

Residents—or neighbors, as they are known—must pay rent here. In fact, the number one rule in the Community First! village is that rent, which ranges from $225 to $500 a month, must be paid on time. And you can’t move in until you can show a sustainable payment plan. Like Tim, some use disability payments and social security, or as Alan explains, others might be able to get a job with the so-called Community Works program right here in the neighborhood.

Graham: We are currently on pace right now to probably see our neighbors earn around a million one, to a million two, this year in what we call dignified income. People want to work. That’s the bottom line. So, if you see the panhandler on the street corner and you want to call that lazy, come spend an hour with me panhandling and you’ll realize what a miserable life that is. They would prefer to sell you bottles of water. We just don’t let them do it.

Costello: So, you’re saying in the past year or so, you’ve paid out about a million to people who live here through the work that they’ve done?

Graham: That’s correct.

Costello: Do the residents have any say in terms of like how this organization operates, do you have them on, I don’t know, let’s say the board or do you have, do they have input on the decisions about how, what goes on in the community or what is their role in that regard?

Graham: There’s a community council that gathers once or twice a month. It’s an elected group of people. I think we kind of lost that during the Covid deal because of all the gathering stuff, but that will make its way back and there will be input that will be taken into consideration. But they’re not on the board. They’re not, you know, necessarily making decisions or giving advice and counsel, and many times that advice and counsel is listened to. But you know, we, we run, we run this deal.

Costello: Has there been any discussion about bringing some residents onto the board?

Graham: To be on a board of this magnitude is very complicated, and we’re dealing with men and women that come from extraordinarily traumatic backgrounds. So, the average age here is 58 years old. The average number of years on the streets is ten years. Sixty five percent of our neighbors have two or more comorbid diseases. The average age of death is under 60 years old. There are tremendous addiction issues. There are tremendous mental health issues here, and it would not be an environment that would be conducive for them. But I have spent my life with these men and women. I have spent over 250 nights on the streets sleeping with them. I live in the middle of the community. Many of us do.  And I value who they are and their advice and counsel. And this community was built upon those relationships that we have. So just gratuitously adding them to some thing would be difficult. Mostly, what our board needs to do is raise millions and millions of dollars in order to keep this machine moving forward and getting more people up off the streets.

Costello: What is your annual budget?

Graham: The annual operating budget would be currently probably $8.2, $8.3 million. Capital budget’s going to be extraordinary. We’re probably going to be approaching twice that amount. So it’s a lot of money, and we’re about to move into a campaign that will ultimately need to raise about $150 million. So, we need those relationships of people that can come in and leverage their halo to help us do that.

Costello: And I don’t want to touch on this too long, but my understanding is, and I might be misinformed, which is entirely possible. I think that in a lot of like, homeless shelters for instance, or other places that might be a spot for people without homes, there are very strict policies about it, I think. You know, no drinking, no drugs, very punitive in that sense. And you could have, I imagine, made that rule here too, right? If you’re going to live here, there is no drinking or there is no drug use, and just, you’ve talked about it a little bit, but why didn’t you go that route?

Graham: Well, there would be no one living here if I went that route.

Costello: Christina Hite and her husband Dustin were working as pastors at a church in Peoria, Illinois when they visited Community First! Christina says it took her about two and a half hours to fall in love with the place. When I spoke to her, they’d been living here for about six months, and she told me that in that time, they’ve learned so much from their neighbors.

Hite: I mean I already knew this a little bit but there’s such generosity. It’s overwhelming sometimes, first of all, because we don’t have space to put things. So, I don’t, we don’t need any more toys. But second, because it’s people who you assume have had so very little, they want to give. They want to share what they do have. They want to bring you something that they’ve made, a treat that they’ve baked. They want to share, you know, flowers from their garden, cut you some fresh ones and bring them to the girls. It’s like generosity is almost what they lead with. And I think we all can learn so much from that instead of like, what’s mine is mine and I’m going to save it, I’m going to hoard it. It’s almost the opposite here. It’s like, I finally have things, and I definitely want to share them because I know what it was like to be without. It blows me away. Pretty much every week we’re like, Wow, I can’t believe how generous that was.

Costello: And do you think you’re a different person today than you were a year ago?

Hite: I’m sure I am. I think one of the big changes for us coming out here is that we were used to being leaders and being in charge of things. And what we’re doing here now is we’re just showing up as our regular everyday Dustin and Christina-selves. And there is a lightness and a freeness that comes with that, where you don’t necessarily, our missional team is amazing and we can get a lot done, but we also can just be. And there’s something about just being with people that is enough out here. You don’t have to find a task to do. You don’t have to organize another event. If you just come as yourself, that’s enough. And for somebody who has been in charge a lot growing up, and led all the clubs and all the organizations and then, you know, led, helped lead churches. It’s, I’m, I’m different because of that where it’s just I’m freer and lighter. And while some people might think, how is that possible, moving to a community like that, it completely is. It feels like a load off to just be present with people, and to have ministry look like that rather than organizing it all. And so…Hi, how’s it going?

Costello: And just like that, Christina’s wish to live intentionally in the community, comes to fruition when a neighbor pops by.

Neighbor: Honey, I’m sorry to bother you and I don’t have my mask, so I’m having an issue with getting to the market. I was just informed you were a missional.

Hite: Yeah, the one, the one right here on, on site?

Neighbor: I just need to get to the store.

Hite: Oh, to like JD’s?

Neighbor: Yeah, that would work.

Hite: OK. So, we’re, I am finishing up an interview, would I be able to come by your house in a little…

Neighbor: Yeah, I’m over here at 1300.

Hite: Oh, OK, yeah, that sounds good.

Neighbor: Sorry I bothered you.

Hite: No, you’re, no problem. Yup. Yeah, we’ll come back in a little bit. Uh-huh.

Costello: Tell me about what just happened there.

Hite: OK, so we had a neighbor who we talked to a few times. She’s actually brought gifts for our girls before, Barbies, and she just asked if she could get a ride to the grocery store. So, there is a bus system that comes out here, but you know, busses in big cities can take a long time. So, a lot of times people ask for rides to the closest grocery store. So, yeah, we’re happy to do that. So probably just do that in a little while. It’s nice to have a free schedule. There’s, one of the values out here is flexibility. So, there are times when we aren’t able to do that because we have stuff going on with our kids. But if we’re able to, then we just jump right in. It’s a pretty easy task.

Costello: And easy tasks to Christine can help a neighbor experience a level of security that was very hard to come by when living on the streets. For Tim, after six years as a resident of Community First!, he treasures the consistency that life here affords him.

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Shea: I don’t really ever have big ups and downs now. You know, it’s always just sort of level. You know, I know I’m bored sometimes, and that’s when I got my cat. I got my motorcycle. You know, you find other ways to fill those little holes in your life, you know?

Costello: And you say you, now you’ve got a lot to lose, right? Like, you know, and you’re aware of that. And when you look around here and you think about your life right now, like talk to me about some of the things you really cherish that kind of keep you grounded in this space, like what do you love about your life right now?

Shea: Belonging. I really feel very strong about the relationships that, I can’t say I developed. The people here, especially the missionals and staff and the residents. But the missionals and the staff reach out to us, to connect with us, to try to, you know, open us up a little bit because my, my main go-to is isolation. So just to get a house or an apartment, just shut the door, close all the blinds. And that’s when I get devious, you know. I can get high for a week. And then, you know, well if I don’t show up somewhere in a couple of days, someone’s going to come knocking on my door, not because they’re worried about me going back to drugs, but they just notice that I wasn’t there. And that’s a sense of belonging that, either I didn’t have, or I didn’t permit myself to have because I didn’t them want to know my secrets, you know? And now I can let people into my life. And that’s another very strong thing for sobriety is to know that you have let these people in, because all during the addiction, it’s pushing people away. Their disappointment, their whatever. So, even when you stay clean for a couple of weeks, you don’t want to tell anyone because you’re afraid if you go back and that’s another time you failed in your friendship, you know. So now it’s like, come, knock on the door, I’m wide open for anybody. And if you don’t see me in a couple of days, feel free to knock on my door and call me or whatever. And there’s a ton of people here that that will do that. And it’s not all me being the outlaw or me being this character, you know, because there’s, every one of us here is a character. Every one of us have, has a major story, and it’s not all popcorn and lollipops. And so, that’s why I think is such an important factor here is the missionals and the staff and how the mentality of just, you know, connecting with us and nurturing us and trying, just modeling a good lifestyle. And I love that.

Costello: And Alan Graham and the folks at Community First! hope even more people will get to find a better lifestyle with them. As the community, and indeed the United States moves forward from the Covid-19 pandemic, President Biden has launched the American Rescue Plan Act to deliver direct economic relief to those in need. In September 2021, Travis County Commissioners here voted to allocate $110 million to fund around 2000 affordable housing units in Austin. Nearly half of that will go to an initiative to house 700 residents through a collaboration that Community First! is involved in.

This article is a transcript of the Tiny Spark podcast.

ADDITIONAL RESOURCES:

Community First! website

Nicole Foy, “Austin plan calls for spending $515 million on homelessness over three years,” Austin-American Statesman, October 25, 2021.

Usha Lee McFarling, “The uncounted: People who are homeless are invisible victims of Covid-19,” STAT, March 11, 2021

Chris O’Donnell “How we treat homeless people with mental illness and addiction must change,” The Irish Times, October 26, 2021.

Ben Thompson, “Austin’s Community First Village for the formerly homeless announces 127-acre, 1,400-home expansion,” Community Impact Newspaper, April 14, 2021.

Tiny Spark Podcast: “Should We Give Our Cash To The Homeless?,” December 22, 2017.

This article originally appeared in the Nonprofit Quarterly. See the original article here.